Half a dozen women clattered through the bar, in clothes that paid no mind to the temperature outside—crop tops revealing honed bellies, legs bare under sexy minis. A brunette in a strapless dress straightened a lacy bridal veil over a riot of curly hair.
Their whoops and raucous laughter suggested this wasn’t the bachelorette party’s first bar, confirmed by the slightly lurching gait of the bride-to-be. She steadied herself on the black quartz counter. “Five fireball shots, barkeep, my girls are paying, and a tomato juice for my sober driver.”
As she hitched up her strapless dress she made eye contact with a guy waiting for service. “Look your fill, buddy, cause tomorrow I’m taken… No, not tomorrow. When am I getting married again, girls?”
“Next weekend, Paula,” they chorused.
“Holy shit, I gotta find someone to flirt with.” Swinging around, her gaze swept the room for prospects.
Kayla grinned and said to Jared, “Look taken.”
“I am taken.” He leaned forward and kissed her.
It was a nip of a kiss, light but provocative, and so unexpected it flustered her.
“Too soon, Betty?” he asked politely but she recognized that inflection in his voice. Husky and knowing, dirty and dark. He wasn’t sorry, not one bit.
“Actually, Bob, I was thinking, is that the best you can do?”
His eyes darkened. God, she loved it when she turned him on. “You think you’re safe because we’re in public?”
She let her chuckle answer.
He leaned forward again, and she waited, lips slightly parted. These days, he wore expensive cologne, but she could smell her man underneath the warm sandalwood. A scream split the air, making them start.
“No fucking way,” yelled the bride-to-be. “It’s him… Y’know, him.”
Jared tilted his head to glance over Kayla’s shoulder. “Brace yourself.”
She planted a kiss on his cheek. “Make it fast, so we can return to the slow.” Collecting her bag, she stood. “I’m going to the bathroom.”
“Don’t leave me.”
“Are you kidding? We have kids. One of us has to get out alive.”
Kayla nodded to the stampede as she passed but only the sober driver responded. The others were too intent on their prey. Poor Jared.
Glancing over her shoulder she saw him still watching her, and did a va-voom hip swing, more in bravado than with any real confidence.
For a long time, she hadn’t stressed about the women wanting to flirt and flatter and touch as they asked for autographs and selfies.
Turn him on girls, and I’ll take it from there.
It had even been funny seeing classmates who hadn’t looked twice at Jared in high school, breathless with excitement running into him in the market on their brief visits home. She and Jared had laughed about it. “Hey sex symbol, it’s your turn to change our baby’s poopy diaper.”
On tour, it had stopped being funny. Every new country they traveled to seemed to be full of beautiful, slim, sexy women desperate to get into her husband’s pants. Women who didn’t care that he was married, or if Kayla was in the same room when they propositioned him. She’d watched him becoming enamored of the attention, though not of any particular female. It was in London that Kayla first overheard herself described as the starter wife.
She took her time in the bathroom, partly to avoid the fan girls, partly because she had to wrestle off the stomach and thigh slimming pants she wore to smooth her silhouette in this too-tight dress. Briefly, she considered tucking them in her purse. But as long as she was in public—in this dress—she felt more confident having a garment remember to hold her tummy in.
Besides, she and Jared were really smokin’ together for the first time in months. The shapewear would stop her giving it up too easy. She grinned at her reflection as she washed her hands. You are such a slut.
After reapplying red lipstick, Kayla went to check her messages before remembering that Jared had her cell.
And her wedding ring. Her hand felt bare without it.
When she exited, the bachelorettes were lining up with their cells to take selfies with him. She checked her watch. Eight-thirty. The babysitter was booked until midnight. No later, she’d told Kayla, she had rehearsals next morning with her band of Christmas carolers.
She waved to catch Jared’s eye. C’mon, babe, this is our night, remember?
Over female heads, he returned an apologetic, “What can I do?” shrug.
You could have found a secluded booth. You could have chosen a venue that wasn’t the hippest place in L.A. You could say, I’m on a date, please respect my frickin’ privacy.
Kayla exhaled her irritation. The trouble with being a celebrity was that any unwillingness to engage could be blown up on social media. And with Rage’s reputation tarnished, Jared had to court goodwill. Usually, she could make allowances for that. But tonight was different. He’d raised her hopes when she’d been keeping them manageable, keeping them meek.