LoveLines by S. Walden Read Free Book Online

coworker.”
    “I know.”
    “You can , however, date one of the many cute college boys we’re about to meet,” she said.
    I grunted. “I’ve no desire to date a man ten years younger than I am.”
    “Okay. Let me rephrase that: You can sleep with one of the many cute college boys we’re about to meet.”
    “No.”
    “Why not?”
    “Because they’re ten years younger than I am,” I explained. I twisted a strand of hair around my finger and looked out the window.
    “We’re just talking sex here, Bailey. We’re not talking about commitment. I know 21-year-old men are stupid. But they can make fun boy toys.”
    “Gross. Will you just stop?” I glanced at the cab driver who ignored us.
    “How long has it been?” Erica asked softly.
    “What?”
    “You know . . .” She gave me that look. The raised brows. The pity. The fearful anticipation of a really embarrassing answer.
    “I’m not telling you. I don’t need your judgment,” I said.
    “Judgment? When have I ever judged you? I fed my kids fish sticks four times this week, okay? No judgment.”
    I cracked a smile.
    “Go on,” Erica encouraged.
    “Aside fr om that random dude we met three months ago at The Blue Post, there hasn’t been anyone.” I watched Erica’s face carefully. She sat back in her seat and exhaled a long, judgment-filled sigh.
    “You ’ve had sex once in the last six months?” she asked.
    I nodded.
    “Once.”
    “Once,” I repeated.
    “One time. One time in half a year?”
    “Yes, Erica.”
    “Okay, honey? That’s what married people do who don’t like each other.”
    I ignored her , catching sight of Kenan Memorial fountain as we traveled down Market Street. Someone poured dish liquid in it, creating sudsy water that bubbled and glopped over the edges. “No respect,” I whispered, then giggled.
    “I have mad respect for you,” Erica countered.
    “I’m talking about the fountain,” I said, pointing behind us.
    “Huh?”
    “Nothing.”
    Erica shrugged. “Bailey, you need to get laid.”
    “Among a lot of other things,” I added.
    “We’re gonna find you a guy tonight,” Erica said.
    “Erica, I’m not interested in a one-night stand, okay? I’m thirty-one. I want a relationship. Hello? I’m a 31-year-old single woman who owns her own house. Do I come off as the kind of person who wants meaningless sex?”
    Erica blinked. “You need a few drinks. Then we’ll revisit this topic.”
    “Good grief,” I mumbled.
    We tipped the taxi driver and hopped out of the van in front of The Reel Café—our favorite dance club in Wilmington. I had to be careful not to flash anyone with the too-short dress Erica insisted I wear. She really didn’t have to convince me. I’d been working my ass off for months for this trip and was ready to show some skin. But I admit I felt the slightest bit trashy next to Erica, whose dress was much more subdued.
    “I’m a mom,” she said to me when I pointed it out in our hotel room. “There are certain things I just can’t get away with anymore.”
    “Really? Because I’m not buying it.”
    “I’m serious.”
    “You were wearing a micro bikini on the beach today,” I said.
    We laughed.
    “Was not! It only looked ‘micro’ because of this gut,” she said, rubbing her hands on her belly.
    “You’re so full of shit, Erica. You know your body is rockin’,” I said. “So now tell me again: Why aren’t you wearing a teeny dress like mine?”
    Erica hesitated, her brush frozen halfway down the length of her golden hair.
    She sighed. “I want tonight to be all about you.”
    I said nothing, then burst into a fit of giggles.
    “What?” Erica asked indignantly.
    “I appreciate you not wanting to upstage me,” I wheezed. “I mean, we both know you’re the pretty one.”
    “Shut up! That ’s not what I meant!” she cried, giggling.
    I laughed harder, then said dramatically, “Thank you, Erica, for giving me a chance tonight.”
    I repeated the statement to her