Three
“We’ve gone as far as we can go,” a man said.
A woman sighed heavily. “There’s more to us than three months.”
Mac James looked toward the back of the shop and listened. He’d entered Three Shirts to the Wind through the tangerine-colored door and found the place empty. Apparently there were two people in the storeroom. Jenna Cates and an unidentifiable man. Voices were raised. They were breaking up. He was getting an earful.
He looked around the shop. Three Shirts carried everything from plain white cotton tees to brightly colored polos. Some had caricatures while others had decorative designs. A few naughty slogans raised eyebrows. Most sayings were funny or silly. Overhead clotheslines stretched the width of the ceiling, displaying a line of Barefoot William attire.
Mac browsed the revolving circular racks as the ensuing argument grew even more heated.
“What about this weekend?” Jenna asked sharply. “We had plans.”
“I’m out.”
“But you know the Sneaker Ball is close to my heart.”
The man snorted. “Parks and recreation means nothing to me.”
“You told me you liked kids and sports.”
“To get in your pants.”
“Bastard. ”
“Whatever.”
A door slammed and Mac assumed the dude had split. Whoever he was, he sounded like a douche. But then, Jen wasn’t all that easy to get along with, either. Mac knew her from his trips home with Dune. She had short dark blond hair and a tight body, and wore round glasses. She had decent breasts. He hadn’t given much thought to her waxing.
Over the years, he would’ve been nice to her had she been nice to him. But sarcasm was her second language. More often than not she took a sander to his balls for no apparent reason. They’d never gotten along. He preferred his women sweet and considerate.
Mac expected her to be angry when she returned to the shop. Instead he caught the hurt on her face, her bent shoulders, and slow step. He felt a split second of sympathy until she spotted him. Then her anger snapped back. Lady looked fierce.
He knew she needed to vent. She was Dune’s cousin and, in deference to his partner, he allowed her to let loose on him rather than a paying customer. He planned to charge his clothes to Dune’s account.
“Heard you got dumped,” he said.
She walked toward him in cuffed jeans and a cropped white T-shirt with the motto Tell Me Something Good. A bit ironic, he thought. She wore Barefoot sandals, which didn’t have a sole. Thin crystal chains connected a toe ring to an anklet. Her toenails were painted gold. He found her feet sexy.
“Eavesdropping?” she hissed. Her chin was high and her hands were clenched. She looked ready to punch him.
He shook his head. “Your voices traveled through the wall.”
“You didn’t make your presence known,” she accused.
He shrugged. “You needed to finish your fight.”
She flinched. “How much did you hear?”
“If I tell you I like sports, can we do it?”
Her cheeks heated. She crossed to a rack of T-shirts, selected one, and held it up. He read the slogan, Not in this Lifetime.
Two could play this game. He flipped through the hangers, found a shirt scripted with I Want to Be Your Next Mistake. He waved it at her.
She flashed him back. Tool or Jackass. Hee-Haw.
He came across the perfect one for her. Bitchiness Becomes You.
She responded with the shirt, I See Dumb People.
His next one had her rolling her eyes. Never Be in Line for a Halo.
She blew out a breath and said, “Enough T-shirt talk. What do you want?”
“Shirt, shorts, and a towel,” he told her. “I need a change of clothes. I’m headed to Tide One On.”
“The party boat is clothing optional.”
So he’d heard. “I can party naked.”
“I’m sure you can.”
“Do I get customer assistance or do I shop on my own?” he asked.
“You don’t need me to pick out your clothes.” She returned to the front counter.
He could’ve used her help. He had deuteranopia and was partially color blind. He had trouble discriminating between red and green hues. The colors appeared muted or faded. He compensated by purchasing his clothes in basic colors, so the mix and match came easily. Only a few close friends knew about his vision deficiency. He wanted to keep it that way.
He wound around the circular racks until he reached the shelves of folded shorts. Size thirty-four. He read the inside label: dark brown. He could live with brown. Shorts down, a T-shirt to go.
The selection was enormous. He killed a little time going from rack to rack, spinning and reading, and keeping one eye on Jen. She didn’t hide her feelings well. She wiped her eyes with a Kleenex and her lip trembled. She was still upset over the split.
“What’s with the Sneaker Ball?” he asked from across the room.
“What’s it to you?”
“It’s a cause close to your heart.”
“Why do you care what’s important to me?”
Lady was snippy, difficult, irritating. But she’d just gone through a breakup. He took that into consideration and tried to be nice. “I’m in town for three weeks. The event sounds big.”
She took overly long to respond, finally saying, “The affair is this weekend. Shaye and I are co-chairwomen. Black tie and sneakers. It’s a night to raise money for outdoor activities. The dance is held on the pier. Barefoot William supports its youth. The entire town turns out.”
“Everyone but you.”
“Salt to my wound,” she muttered as she collected a notebook from the counter and crossed to the nearest revolving rack. She cut him a look, then said, “No further disruption. I’m taking inventory.” She held up a shirt. You Have the Right to Remain Silent. So Please Shut up.
He didn’t want to be quiet. He looped around until he stood directly behind her. “Twelve, thirteen, fourteen,” he disrupted her counting.
She elbowed him in the gut. “What’s with you?”
He rubbed his abdomen. “I’m being sympathetic,” he said.
“You’re being an ass.”
“Breaking up sucks.”
“How would you know?” she challenged.
“I’ve been dumped.” She glanced his way, sharp and disbelieving. He recalled his play date days. “I was young. It was summer in the park. The moms sat on wooden benches while the kids played. Missy Harris and I were both three. Enter Canyon Carter, the older man, age four. We shared toys in the sandbox. Canyon offered Missy a teddy bear he’d gotten wet while drinking at the water fountain. I went with a Tonka truck. She preferred the one-eyed soggy stuffed animal. Broke my heart.”
“Scarred you for life, I see.”
“For about a week,” he said. “Until Libby Atwell went down the sliding board and flashed her floral panties.”
She stepped around him. “Panties do it for you?”
“What are you wearing?”
“My Thursday cotton grannies.”
He let his gaze drop. “I imagined silk bikini. Definitely a Brazilian wax.”
“Stop staring at my crotch.”
He looked up slowly. “Only if your tits stop staring at my eyes.”
“Jerk.” She turned her back on him. “Aren’t you done shopping yet?”
“Never rush the customer.”
“I want you gone. Now.”
He followed her to the sale rack. Shirts and shorts were half-price. “What caused your breakup?” he asked.
Pain and annoyance flickered across her face. “Why would you care?”
“Curiosity.” He’d found over the years if a woman talked about her broken heart, the hurt didn’t fester. He’d had women cry on his shoulder. Others had actually slapped him in their rage over another man. One had kneed him in the groin.
He glanced at his watch. He had a few extra minutes to spare. He’d listen if she wanted to talk. She was slow to come around.
“We split over sex,” she finally told him.
“He needed it ten times a day and you could only go nine?”
She rolled her eyes at him.
He tried again. “You were the horny one?” Hard to believe, but he had to ask.
Her answer came through a T-shirt. She set down her notebook and located a step stool and a chrome pole garment hook. She stepped up, using the pole to straighten a T-shirt that had twisted on the hanger. Earn It was scripted on the front.
Mac’s laugh was immediate and inappropriate, but he couldn’t help it. “You made him work for sex.”
She climbed down. “Stan thought so.”
“No man likes to jump through hoops for nookie.”
She turned on him. “I’m not easy.”
He never thought she was.
“I made him wait.”
For nearly three months from the sound of their breakup. “Your dude suffered blue balls, uncomfortable but curable,” he said.
He hadn’t been in Barefoot William long enough to turn blue. He’d hook up on Tide One On. He had his eye on the tall brunette from Crabby Abby’s. Her white crocheted string bikini was so small she spilled from the top. He figured she was bare shaven. He thought about buying her a Friction Club T-shirt. He needed a good body rubbing.
“Did you care for the guy?” he asked Jenna. In his mind, knowing someone for three months was lust, not love.
“I thought we had more in common than we actually did.”
“Deceiving bastard.”
She tried not to smile, but he saw the slight curve of her lips. She showed him a T-shirt with the slogan I Used to Have a Handle on Life, but It Broke. She was ornery and standoffish, but still feeling vulnerable.
She went on to count a row of men’s cargo shorts, jotted down the number, then hesitantly asked him, “How long do you stay in a relationship after you realize it’s over?”
“A minute, maybe two.” He’d broken a few hearts. Several of his lovers had begged him to stay. But if he wasn’t feeling it, he was gone. He wasn’t being mean, merely honest. “Leading a woman on is far worse than letting her go to find the right man.”
“You’re the wrong man in so many ways.” She pointed to a shirt pinned to the wall. Your Sole Purpose in Life is to Serve as a Warning to Others.
“Do you always let your T-shirts speak for you?”
“The slogans say it all.”
He wandered over to the men’s shirt rack, sizes medium and large. He looked through the larges. He liked the slogan Got Sex? He would fit right in on the booze cruise.
His shorts were dark brown, but he couldn’t distinguish the background color of the T-shirt. He raised both shorts and shirt and called to Jen. “How’s this?”
She scrunched her nose. “Orange isn’t your color.”
He put back the shirt, tried again. This time he chose what appeared to be a tie-dye with Try Me, You’ll Like Me. “Jen, does this work?” he asked.
She glanced over. “Only if you’re a firecracker. Red-gold is too bright. More women than men buy tie-dyes.”
Crap. He’d yet to nail the shirt. He hated to draw her into his decision, but he didn’t have all afternoon to fool with the color. There was a beach babe on the party yacht with his name on her. “Pick one out for me?” he requested.
“Do I look like your mother?”
“A little bit around the eyes.”
“I’m busy,” she stated. “The inventory won’t take itself.”
Contrary woman. “Help me with my shirt and—” His heart skipped a beat. “I’ll take you to the Sneaker Ball,” he said in frustration.
She did the unexpected and laughed in his face. “Not a sincere invitation,” she said. “What makes you think I’d go with you?”
“I’m a volleyball god.”
“Believe what you will.”
“Guess you’d rather go alone.”
“Guess you’re right.”
What was her problem? Mac wondered. Women stood in line to date him, yet Jen hung back, reluctant and indecisive. She looked a little nauseous.
Several minutes passed before she set down her notepad and found him a shirt in a light color. Beige or white, he guessed. He smiled over the slogan: You Say Psycho Like It’s a Bad Thing.
She handed it to him. “Tan goes well with your brown shorts.”
He felt a mild sense of relief.
“Need help with a towel?” she asked next.
“I can manage.” He headed toward the shelves of towels near the front of the store. The color didn’t matter. He snagged the first one within his reach.
Jen came up behind him. “I didn’t take you for a peach kind of guy.”
He’d thought it looked deep gold. A rack of sunglasses on the checkout counter caught his attention. Very cool shades by Bandy West and Red Eye. He lost sunglasses as fast as he bought them. He tried on a narrow dark frame with even darker lenses. “What do you think?” he asked her.
“What does it matter?”
“I’ll be wearing only my Bandys shortly.”
“Buy a bigger frame.”
“There’s not a frame big enough—”
She held up her hand, stopped him. “Too much information.”
“I have a lot to share.”
She’d had enough of him. “Pay up so you can go pass out.”
“I don’t drink to pass out,” he said. “But I still get hang-overs.”
“Hangovers are a waste of a morning.”
“All depends on who you’re spooning.”
“I’ve never known sex to fix a hangover.”
He grinned. “I have. It’s all about blood transfer from the brain to the penis. Pain shifts to pleasure on climax. Headache’s gone.”
Jenna Cates stared at Mac James. There was something about him that irritated the hell out of her. He was too good-looking and he flipped off life. Chiseled and athletic were a dangerous combination. He seduced by breathing.
Sex was as much a sport to him as volleyball. Town gossip had him in and out of a relationship before a woman could pull up her panties. Commitment gave him hives.
He was an amazing volleyball player, according to her cousin Dune. When Mac was “on,” he was unbeatable. He’d never played in Dune’s shadow. Focused and honed, he had years of greatness ahead of him. Should Dune retire, Mac would be in demand as a partner.
Jen had watched countless games on television. The Cates clan followed Dune religiously. Beach Heat and Ace-hole dominated. The moment a game ended, Mac embraced his fans before accepting his trophy. Men shook his hand and women grafted themselves to him. The beach babes consoled him when he lost. The night was one big party when he won.
His lifestyle went beyond what she’d ever known. He lived life large and, for some unidentifiable reason, that grated on her last nerve.
Perhaps she was a little jealous, she forced herself to admit. Men didn’t flock to her. The few guys she dated lied to her without remorse. She’d become a spinster with four cats at twenty-eight. She told herself that didn’t bother her overly much. She had the T-shirt shop to keep her busy.
She glanced at Mac. “Cash or plastic?” she asked as she rang up his sale.
“Put everything on Dune’s account.”
“Mooch.”
“I don’t carry money or credit cards with me.”
“That’s because you travel with Dune and he always pays.”
“Eventually I pay him back.”
She handed him the receipt to sign.
He wrote Dune Cates.
“You’ve got my cousin’s signature down pat,” she noted.
“Should have, I’ve forged it enough.”
“What a good friend you are.” She knew she sounded snarky.
His jaw shifted and he was suddenly serious. “Dune accepts my idiosyncrasies.”
“Idiocy is more like it,” she said as she slid his items in a plastic bag. She passed it to him.
He didn’t immediately pick it up. Instead he flattened his palms on the counter and leaned in. His gaze was narrowed, deep blue and questioning. “Are you a man-hater or is it just me?” he asked.
“It’s you and men like you.” She was honest.
“What exactly am I like?” he pressed.
She didn’t hold back. “You’re irresponsible, unpredictable, into yourself—”
“You know this how?” he cut her off.
“Through my best friend.”
“Which friend?” He appeared genuinely curious.
“You dated Bree Bennett a year ago. Dated her twice, then never called again.”
“Bree?” His brow creased. It was obvious he didn’t remember her.
She jarred his memory. “Redhead, dimples. She manages Petals on the boardwalk.”
“The flower shop chick.” He took it all in, then said, “She had issues. Gossip ruins reputations. Your conversation with Bree was preconceived and one-sided.”
“I say she’s right.”
“I say she’s wrong.”
Her chin came up. “Prove it.”
“Why should I accept a dare to prove I’m a nice guy when I don’t much care what you think of me?” He shook his head. “No motivation, babe.”
He shot her down and she sent him on his way. “The booze cruise waits,” she said. “Go spread yourself around.”
He eased back, scooped up his plastic bag. “I give good spread.”
Her heart gave an odd little squeeze.
He walked toward the door, only to turn at the last minute. “Feel better?” he asked.
Surprisingly she did. Her breakup seemed ages ago. Mac had a way of moving time forward. “I’ll live,” she said.
“Then my work here is done.” He was gone.
His departure left a gaping hole in her afternoon, one she didn’t want to dwell on. Over the next four hours customers came and went. The UPS driver dropped off two big boxes. She unpacked the shirts, steamed the wrinkles, then hung them on the front racks.
A particular slogan fit her well: No Outfit is Complete Without a Little Cat Fur. The story of her life.
Another motto described Mac James: On the Eighth Day, God Created Volleyball. She knew Dune would like the shirt. She set one aside for her cousin.
She went on to choose a few items for the sale rack, items that hadn’t moved for months. She then decided to rearrange the display of flip-flops. Her part-time sales associate would clock in at six to work the evening shift. Jen had two hours before she closed out her day.
She took a short break, returning to the storeroom to grab a Cherry Dr Pepper from the mini fridge. A café table, small desk, and narrow set of cabinets fought for space amid boxes of Barefoot William key chains, baseball caps, and waterproof wallets. Her ex-boyfriend’s presence still lingered. Stan Caldwell had always worn too much cologne. She sprayed Lysol to remove his scent, then returned to the main shop. The man was dead to her.
She popped the tab on her soda, took a sip, and grew thoughtful. She wished she had a date for the Sneaker Ball. But there was no longer anyone special in her life. Stan had turned out to be a prick.
Her days revolved around T-shirts and shorts. Her work attire was casual as well. The Ball was her chance to feel glam and girly. She’d chosen a dress by Daze, a strapless black silk with a fitted bust and tapering pleats from the waist down. The designer’s creations turned a man’s head and made his jaw drop. Her sneakers were silver with gold ties.
She was co-chairwoman and had a couple’s ticket for the event. She’d now rip the ticket in half. She knew Mac James’s invitation rose from sympathy. She refused to be his pity date. They had nothing in common.
She finished off her soda, then swept the hardwood floors. Customers had tracked in sand. Dusting came next. Five-fifteen. Customers swarmed her shop. Beachgoers were headed home and wanted to buy last-minute souvenirs. T-shirts were always on their lists.
Jen assisted each one. She helped find the perfect shirt to keep Barefoot William alive in their hearts and minds for months to come.
Her skin suddenly prickled in warning. She glanced toward the door just as Mac James and his crocheted-bikini date walked in. The woman was sunburned from her day on the party yacht. Mac’s tan had only darkened.
He found her in the crowd. His gaze was sharp and very blue. Too sharp for a man who’d partied on Tide One On. His hair was wind-blown. He wore the Psycho shirt she’d chosen for him earlier as well as the brown shorts. He was barefoot. He looked lean and masculine; his expression, smug. A man soon to get laid.
His date appeared a little tipsy. Mac’s peach-colored towel wrapped her hips and the knot kept slipping. Her eyes were red-rimmed and she kept licking her lips. Jen figured her mouth was dry and she needed lip balm. She sold it in several flavors. Mac could pick out the one he’d like to kiss. Jen took him for a cherry or pineapple taste tester.
“Excuse me for just a minute,” she said to a barrel-chested male tourist from Wisconsin who’d taken thirty minutes to choose between T-shirts that read Body by Buddha and Beer is my Best Friend. Jen suggested he take both.
She crossed to Mac. His arm draped the brunette’s shoulders and they appeared joined at the hip. The woman clung to him as if she were afraid he’d wander off.
Jen faced him, raised one eyebrow. “Party over so soon?”
“I had Dune’s speedboat so we left the yacht early,” he said easily. “Kami liked my shirt so much that she wanted to check out your shop. Jen, Kami,” he introduced them.
Jen forced a smile. “Look around. My store has the largest selection of shirts on the boardwalk.”
Kami stroked Mac’s chest. Her fingernails were painted licorice black. “Find me one,” she said.
She couldn’t make her own decision? Jen cringed inwardly. Mac was not a man to rely on. He didn’t make great color choices.
Kami with the long hair and sunbather body drew Mac from rack to rack, holding up shirt after shirt. She giggled like a girl and her breasts jiggled. Mac’s approval came when she held up the belly shirts. He liked a bare midriff on his woman.
“Mine!” Kami spotted a hot pink shirt with the motto, Trace My Tan Lines with Your Tongue. Mac grinned, then nodded. She threw her arms about his neck and kissed him.
Those still in the store turned and stared. The kiss lasted longer than what was appropriate. So long, in fact, that several parents herded their kids toward the door. Jen refused to lose business to their lip-lock.
She crossed to Mac and hissed near his ear, “Take it outside.”
They broke apart and Kami sighed. “I’d rather take him to bed.”
“Later, babe,” said Mac. He passed Jen the shirt. “We got what we came for. One T-shirt. Unless there’s something else that catches her eye.”
“Do you like body jewelry?” Jen asked Kami. “I sell a lot of belly chains.”
“I like body candy,” Kami said. “SweeTart bras and panties are yummy, but Red Hots are my favorite. They heat a man’s tongue and leave a warm trail—”
“No candy here,” Jen stopped her. “The belly chains are on display at the front counter. Most have ornamentations.”
Kami tried on every single one, twenty-five to be exact. She gave Mac a belly chain fashion show, which he seemed to enjoy. He stood with his arms crossed over his chest and his stance wide. He stared at Kami with absolute focus, as if she was the only person in the room.
Kami ate up his attention. She finally narrowed her choices down to two chains. She squinted at the dragonfly. “What color are the wings?” she asked Mac.
Mac bent toward her, eyeing the ornament that dangled near her navel. The corners of his mouth creased and he seemed to hesitate.
Jen gave him a moment to consider the color before she said, “The wings are pink quartz.”
“I also like the tribal charm,” Kami debated.
“Dragonflies are free,” said Jen. “Tribal charms are—“
“Wicked.” Kami giggled.
Definitely so. Jen was certain Kami would go tribal until Mac said, “The dragonfly looks best against your skin.”
“You think?” Kami took a second look in the full-length mirror on the wall.
“I like the dangle.”
His date hugged him. “I love shopping with a man who knows what looks good on a woman.”
It was a belly chain, Jen inwardly groaned. Not a cocktail dress, business suit, or designer sportswear.
“We’ll take it,” Mac told Jen.
“Lip balm?” Jen suggested for Kami’s dry lips.
Kami checked out the fruity flavors. She looked to Mac. “Cherry, mango, or pineapple?”
He went with pineapple.
“A charge to Dune’s account?” Jen asked.
Mac nodded. “He’d approve of the purchases.”
Men, Jen mused. A little dazzle near the navel and their eyes dilated.
“No need to wrap the chain,” Kami said. “I’ll wear it.”
Mac signed the credit slip. It was a nice sale for Jen, her biggest of the day. She hoped Mac kept his word and paid Dune back.
Mac and his date were ready to leave when Kami noticed the poster hanging on the wall that listed all the upcoming boardwalk and beach events. She put her finger under each word as if she couldn’t read and comprehend an entire sentence all at once.
She was still a little drunk, Jen guessed.
“Look at all these events to kick off summer,” Kami slowly said. “Stand Up Paddle Races and the Boat Float. There’s sandcastle building and a kite flying contest. The Sneaker Ball, how cool is that? It’s this weekend. Let’s do it. Tickets can be purchased at the Chamber of Commerce.”
Jen’s stomach squeezed just a little. She’d had the chance to go with him. She’d busted his balls instead.
To her surprise, Mac didn’t jump on Kami’s offer. He leveled his gaze on Jen instead. Her heart rate did the unthinkable. It quickened. Goose bumps skimmed her spine. Restlessness shifted her weight from one foot to the other. She looked away.
“You’d have a great time,” she said to Kami. A ticket sale was a ticket sale. A couple’s ticket went for two hundred dollars.
“Are you going?” Kami asked her.
“No date, but I’ll be there,” Jen said.
Kami frowned. “You can’t go alone. Invite a guy buddy or a friend with benefits.”
Jen had numerous male friends. But they already had dates.
“As far as relationships, Jen has her T-shirts and the boardwalk,” Mac said. “They keep her happy.”
“I prefer men,” said Kami.
Mac was definitely a man. He was also an ass. Jen gave a wave, then hinted, “See you.” Hoping they’d leave. They did, and neither one looked back.
At six p.m. sharp, Jen’s part-time associate clocked in. Jamie Maye was a high school student, smart and dependable, while exploring her own sense of self. She’d recently added orange highlights to her brown hair. A new piercing placed a barbell above her left eyebrow. She ran track and was a star in the fifty-yard dash. She had a high metabolism and packed protein snacks for her three-hour shift.
Jen left Three Shirts in good hands. She met up with Bree Bennett at Brews Brothers, the boardwalk coffee shop. It was a weekly ritual between friends. They’d order caramel mocha iced cappuccinos, kick back, and discuss their day.
The scents of freshly brewed coffee, cinnamon scones, and peanut butter cookies teased Jen when she entered. Shades of green gave the shop a relaxing atmosphere. Philodendrons flourished in hanging brass planters. Booths, tables, and clusters of chairs invited customers to sit and savor their coffee of choice. Wi-Fi was available. There was no rush.
Bree was already seated when Jen arrived. She’d grabbed two comfortable leather chairs in the corner. She’d angled them to face each other for privacy. Their drinks sat on a side table. They took turns buying.
Bree was all smiles. “I booked the Abner-Jacobs wedding,” she said. “After a month of my sending faxes and proposals to the bride, Genevieve Jacobs picked Petals over Saunders’ Bouquets. I finally beat the competition.”
Jen raised her plastic cup and the women toasted. “That’s major money coming your way.”
“I’m going to hire extra help,” Bree said. “It’s a society wedding, very classic and sophisticated. The church theme is lavender and ivory. The reception will showcase a deeper plum and dove white.”
“Best news ever,” Jen said, then added tongue-in-cheek. “Looks like Flower School paid off.”
“I owe you a lot,” said Bree. “The Floral Design Institute was your idea. Knowing how much I enjoyed pruning plants and arranging cut flowers, you pushed me toward a degree. You even filled out my application. And, once I was accepted, you drove me to Miami in time for the start of classes.”
“And now look how successful you’ve become.”
“I love working at Petals, but someday I want my own shop.”
“Growth is good,” Jen agreed. “You’re going big-time.”
“Speaking of big-time,” Bree said, lowering her voice. “I heard Dune and Mac are in town.”
Jen nodded. “They arrived on Tuesday.” It was now Thursday. “Mac stopped in Three Shirts today. He was headed for Tide One On and bought a change of clothes.”
Bree took a long sip of her Frappuccino, then made a face when she got brain freeze. “How’s he doing?” she asked.
Jen shrugged. “Okay, I guess.”
Bree shifted on her chair, looked uneasy. “I made a huge mistake with Mac,” she slowly admitted.
“How so?” from Jen.
“We went out twice and, by our second date, I got ahead of myself. Three orgasms in an hour, and I told him I loved him.”
“That was lust talking.”
“It freaked Mac out. He was dressed and gone in under a minute.”
“You were angry afterward.”
“I regretted my actions,” said Bree. “I went ballistic on the man and said some pretty mean things.”
That she had. Words such as irresponsible, unpredictable, and egotistical crossed Jen’s mind.
Bree finished her drink and said, “Every woman should experience a Mac James in her lifetime. Looking back, I can honestly say he’s likeable, fun, and looks amazing naked.”
Looks amazing naked. More than Jen needed to know.
“Henry’s my world now,” said Bree.
Henry was her man and soon-to-be fiancé. They’d dated a year and were comfortable, compatible, and inseparable. He’d be picking Bree up shortly. They’d have dinner together.
Jen would go home to her cats.
“I found a dress for the Sneaker Ball,” Bree said. “It’s pale blue, low cut with a swing skirt. My tennis shoes are bright orange.”
Jen nodded, turned quiet, not wanting to discuss the Ball further. She had nothing to contribute.
Bree picked up on her mood. “You and Shaye put the event together. Tickets are nearly sold out. Where’s your excitement?”
She couldn’t hide much from her friend, so she came clean. “Stan broke up with me this morning. No date.”
Bree’s eyes went wide. “No way.”
“Mac James was in the shop when it all went down.”
Bree scrunched her nose. “How embarrassing.”
“Definitely humiliating,” Jen agreed. “He felt sorry for me and extended a pity invite.”
“I hope you accepted.”
Jen almost wished she had. She now had second thoughts. “I can have a good time without a date.”
“Ah, sweetie, it just won’t be the same.”
Which Jen knew. She’d be alone, greeting the partygoers with a pasted-on smile. Men would be charitable and offer her a courtesy fast dance. It was the slow songs that made a woman want to press her body against the right man. The night was very romantic. There’d be no romance for her this year.
“Can you contact Mac and tell him you’ve changed your mind?” Bree asked.
“He’s already moved on,” Jen said. “He met Kami on the booze cruise. She’s more his type.”
Bree wasn’t giving up. “What about Bill Landers, the new lifeguard?”
Jen shook her head. “He’s into Violet. She packs him a sack lunch from the diner each day.”
Bree went down a long list of men and Jen dismissed each one. She ended with, “How about Chase Wallace?”
“He’s a senior in high school and madly in love with my assistant Jamie.”
Bree had run out of options. “Looks like it’s you and the man in the moon then.”
Jen could do worse. “I’ll survive.”