a scientist performing an experiment, and it’s soothing to watch. And every once in a while, she catches me staring, and her cheeks and neck begin to flush, and she gets this faint sheen of sweat on her face. It drives me fucking wild.
Kate’s voice cuts into my reverie again. “I said I’m going to murder you if you bring some random college girl to my wedding in a few weeks.”
“Murder seems a bit excessive,” I mumble under my breath and take a sip of my coffee. Damn, Norah makes a good cup of coffee.
“It’s not an overreaction,” Lynsey interjects, reaching out and grabbing my hand from where it’s resting on the table. “I still can’t forget the Lila disaster that happened a few weeks ago. I’m a therapist, and I think I need therapy to recover.”
“Her name was Lala, and you’re both being dramatic.” At least, I think that was her name. I jerk my hand away, her gentle touch a harsh contrast to my irritation. “It wasn’t that big of a deal.”
“She lit my tiki bar on fire, Dean,” Lynsey exclaims, and I swear her eyes well with tears because she’s obsessed with that stupid thing. “Lola or Layla or whatever her name is was so sloppy drunk she caught her hair on fire, which caught my tiki bar on fire, which resulted in the neighbors calling the fire department.”
“Your neighbors were overreacting. Nobody was in real danger…well, except for Lala. But your doctor husband said her hair will grow back, and there were no serious burns. Don’t make it bigger than it was.”
“Dean,” Kate chastises. “Listen to yourself.”
“I am listening to myself. I replaced Lynsey’s tiki bar, so what more do you two want from me?”
“It’s not about the tiki bar,” Kate blurts, her eyes wide and fierce on mine. “It’s about the fact that you brought an underage girl to Lynsey’s house for margarita night.”
“I wanted to bring a date, and she told me she was twenty-one,” I snap, frustration vibrating through my limbs. “I didn’t think I needed to check her ID—at least she was over eighteen.”
Both Kate and Lynsey gape at me, and I wonder when the fuck I started hanging out with such prudes. Kate writes erotic romance novels, and Lynsey got knocked up by a one-night stand. Surely, bringing a younger woman around isn’t that damn shocking for this group.
Kate exhales heavily. “Dean, I’m not even going to address the fact that you’re thirty-one to that girl’s twenty because I write romance for a living, and I’d be a fool to say that an age gap can’t be super-hot. But that girl had nothing going on upstairs. She thought Ebola was a country.”
I cringe as I recall her arguing fervently with Josh, the doctor, on that particular subject. He had to get out his phone and show her that Ebola was a virus, and even then, she got out her own phone to pull up a map. It was seriously uncomfortable.
“I didn’t realize there was an IQ prerequisite in order to hang out with all of you,” I reply flippantly, knowing I sound more childish than the child sleeping next to me.
Lynsey gets a sad look on her face and glances at sleeping Julianna. “Are you even happy with the women you’re dating, though? You don’t seem happy. You seem…bored.”
“What does it matter?” I snap, seriously wishing I was anywhere but here. “It’s not like I’m marrying these girls.”
I glance out the window at the people milling around Pearl Street, dining and shopping. Kate, Lyns, and I used to own this town. We’d be down here multiple nights a week having so many laughs our stomachs would be sore the next day.
Now, things have changed.
They’ve changed.
They aren’t the fun and wild girls I used to pull pranks on. I miss dropping into Tire Depot to give Kate shit about writing sex scenes in a waiting room. I miss buying Lynsey overpriced charcuterie boards and watching her clumsy ass trip in front of guys. The past year has started to feel…lonely. Which is not something I cope with very well.
Case in point: Lala.
Kate’s eyes find mine again. “We’re worried about you, Dean. The girls you’re dating keep getting younger and younger, and none of them have any substance. You’re floundering, man,” Kate adds, her voice taking on a serious tone I do not like. “This is a peen-tervention.”
“A what? Jesus, would you listen to yourself? I don’t need a peen-tervention…which, by the way,