Turns out in small towns you didn’t need to give out your phone number to potential friends. Just one biker. Which was what Gwen was explaining. I was two cocktails deep and fully relaxed. So this might be why I didn’t feel a little more alarmed to hear that Gwen and her equally beautiful, equally glamorous friend Amy were married to the two hotties Cade and Brock. It was hard to imagine the petite, chocolate-haired beauty clad in Gucci being with a rough biker like Cade who looked deadly. Ditto with the curvy, red-headed bombshell who was obviously from a lot of money, considering her jewelry and handbag that cost more than my car.
“I already knew you’d met Lucky, considering he wouldn’t shut up about ‘the hot MILF who named her car Betty,’” she explained, sipping her soda. “So got your number off him—small towns. Once one person, namely a big-mouthed biker’s got your digits, they’re practically public domain,” she informed me. Her face was panicked slightly. “I hope you don’t mind,” she added.
I waved my hand. “Not at all. Lucky seriously called me a MILF? That’s so sweet,” I sang, feeling the effects of two very strong cocktails. I frowned slightly. “And I didn’t name my car, my child did,” I clarified, not wanting my glorious new friends to think I was an idiot that named cars. Plus, I was at least ten years older than them. I felt like I needed to at least give the illusion of maturity.
They all laughed slightly, then Amy leaned forward slightly drunkenly. Woman had had at least two more cocktails than me; I didn’t know how she wasn’t on the floor. “Now, Mia. You’ve gotta tell me, you’ve got a sixteen-year-old kid—totally beautiful by the way.” She gave a head tilt. “Yet you look younger than me.” She moved her head in even closer, moving to a whisper. “What’s the secret? You make a deal with the Devil or somethin’?” Her voice was so serious I couldn’t help but laugh. Like properly laugh, throw my head back and everything.
That’s how the rest of the night went; easy chat with women who were impossible not to like. Women who were fast becoming friends.
“Bye, Gwen!” I called. “Thanks for the ride.”
“Anytime!” she yelled back with a grin.
“Your place next time—you’re making daiquiris,” Amy added from the passenger window, giving me a thumbs up.
I laughed. “Lexie’s got a great recipe,” I called.
They pulled away, sounding the horn and I waved once more.
I may have been a little tipsy. A smidgeon. This was not due to the fact I drank a lot. This was due to the fact I was a mother who had a poor constitution for strong cocktails on account of hardly ever consuming them. When most of your time is dedicated to raising a child, cocktails with the girls was not something I got treated to. When you have that child before you are legally allowed to take a drink, that meant I didn’t even have cocktails with the girls prior to that. More like stealing beers from my parent’s fridge.
Needless to say, three of Laura Maye’s “specials” had me stumbling slightly down our pathway. Those same cocktails had me pause and turn to squint at the house across the street. Like mine, it was dark and didn’t show any signs of life. It wasn’t late, and I didn’t think bikers were the early to bed type, so I deduced he wasn’t home.
I turned back to my own house, deflated. Three cocktails had me feeling not only tipsy, but horny. Though my priorities needed to be in place. Which was why I crept into my house and checked on my most important priority.
Lexie was fast asleep, the dim light from her lamp showing she had once again fallen asleep with a book on her chest. I quietly approached her bed and lifted the book off her. I made sure to mark her page before setting it on her side table and brushed the hair out of her face.
“Did you have fun, Mom?” she asked groggily, slowly opening her eyes.
“Sure did, Dollface,” I whispered. “You have a nice night?”
She yawned. “Yeah, and the strippers all left before you got home, which was a plus.”
I shook my head. “I hope you got good photos.” I kissed her head. “Night sweetie, love you.”
She rolled over. “To the moon,” she murmured, already falling back asleep.
My heart warmed slightly. When she was little Lexie was fascinated with space and the moon. At five years old, when we were lying on the grass of our backyard watching the stars, she pointed at the full moon. “Is the moon far away, Mommy?” she asked in the way that every five-year-old did. Like their parent had the answer to every question in the universe and trusted whatever answer they got to said question.
I found her little hand and squeezed it. “Yeah, baby, so far away they need a big spaceship to travel there,” I told her.
“Farther than Ava and Steve’s house?” she asked with wonder.
I giggled slightly. “Yeah, doll.”