Good Time

by Jana Aston

  Good Time

  Jana Aston

  Copyright © 2018 by Jana Aston

  All rights reserved.

  * * *

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  * * *

  Edited by RJ Locksley

  Cover Design by Letitia Hasser

  Paperback Formatting by Erik Gevers

  Created with Vellum

  Kayti McGee,

  thank you for being my emotional support kitten.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Epilogue

  Also by Jana Aston

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Learn More

  Chapter One

  “My coach says we are the CEOs of our own lives.”

  Hmm. I like the sound of that so I keep listening. I’ve never been interested in CEO-ing anything, much less myself, but now that I hear it, it sounds right. Plus the advice is coming from a bona fide life coach, so it must have merit. I wonder if I should get a life coach? I bet successful people have life coaches. Happy people. People who have their shit together.

  I don’t have my shit together. If I had my shit together I wouldn’t be stopping at a coffee shop to buy a muffin for dinner because I’ve run out of real groceries in the middle of the week.

  To be fair, winging it has worked well for me thus far, but maybe I’m capable of more? Maybe I’ve got untapped potential I don’t even know about yet? Maybe with the guidance of a life coach I could be that girl who has her shit together and wears four-inch heels on a Tuesday. With blown-dry hair and wearing a smart shirt dress with a slim belt, just like Meghan.

  Fucking Meghan.

  I usually braid my hair after my shower and let it air-dry until I get to work. Then I unbraid it before I get out of the car and tousle it with my fingers. I’ve got thick blonde hair and the braiding thing gives me a beachy look I get a lot of compliments on, but maybe people are simply being nice? I twist a lock of hair around my finger and hold it in my line of vision before dropping it. I eye Meghan’s hair once again, wondering how it’s still silky straight at seven pm.

  I wonder if her life coach gave her a referral to a good hairdresser? I bet they did. I bet they give her all the best referrals.

  The line moves and I shuffle forward, along with Meghan.

  “My coach says I have internal resistance to living the life of my dreams.”

  Oh, my God. I have that too. I have that same thing. I’ve always been sure I’m on the cusp of living the life of my dreams, but then something gets in my way. Like reality. Well, that’s settled then, isn’t it? I definitely need a life coach. I wonder if Meghan will share who she’s using? I can’t imagine why she wouldn’t, it’s not like I know her, so we’re not in a competition, but you never know. People can be so stingy with information. I stop twirling my phone in my hand and use it to look up ‘Life Coaches Las Vegas’ while I wait for Meghan to finish her call so I can ask her.

  Oh, wow. There’s like a million search results.

  The Best 10 Life Coaches in Las Vegas, NV

  Life Coaching Therapists in Las Vegas, NV

  17 Best Las Vegas Life Coaches

  That last one is weird, right? Seventeen? You don’t stop a list at seventeen, it’s just petty. I bet whoever made that list hated the life coach who ranked eighteenth so out of spite they ended the list at seventeen.

  I feel you, number eighteen.

  “Tonight we’re going to work on shifting my internal blocks,” Meghan continues, so I focus on listening to her while I click on the link to the article with the ten best life coaches, because I feel that too, about the internal blocks. I think. Except… except I usually do whatever the hell I feel like doing, so maybe I don’t have internal blocks? Or maybe doing whatever the hell I feel like doing is blocking me from doing something better?

  “We meet at that new Grind Me Café that opened in Henderson,” Meghan tells whoever she’s on the phone with, and my ears perk up, because that’s where I’m at—standing in line behind her at the new Grind Me Café! When I saw the sign go up I thought it was a clever name for a sex toy store, but when I went in the first time I realized they meant grind like coffee beans, not like—well, never mind. It’s a coffee shop—the very one Meghan is meeting her life coach at. And, not for nothing, they have excellent banana nut muffins, but the point is this must be kismet, which is a fancier word for fate but still means the same thing.

  What are the chances that I’d be in the same coffee shop, in the same line, at the same time as a woman who probably maybe has some of the same issues I do?

  The chances are low. Well, honestly I have no idea what the chances are but for the sake of argument, let’s agree they’re low.

  Also.

  The other thing is…

  I bet life coaches are expensive. And we already know that Meghan and I have probably maybe some of the same issues. So. I should stick around and see if this life coach and I are compatible. Right? That makes perfect sense.

  Meghan reaches the front of the line and moves the phone away from her lips long enough to order a medium black decaffeinated coffee, which is another thing we have in common, because I drink coffee too. With cream and sugar, but it’s still coffee.

  I place an order for the same thing and add a muffin because that was why I stopped here in the first place—to buy a muffin for dinner. Meghan probably had a grilled chicken breast for dinner with a side of kale because her life is coached. She’s not flying by the seat of her pants and eating muffins for dinner because she ran out of Cheez-Its. Never ever. I take my time adding cream and a packet of sweetener to my coffee while Meghan finds a table and wouldn’t you know it, there’s an empty table next to hers. Luck or kismet? Hmm? Either way, this kind of opportunity cannot be ignored.

  So I sit.

  At the table next to hers, slipping a set of ear buds into my ears. I don’t turn them on, obviously. They’re just a diversion to make it less obvious that I’m eavesdropping.

  That sounds so sordid—eavesdropping. It’s more of a sampling situation, like when you go to the grocery store and they’re offering samples. If Meghan didn’t want me to sample her life coaching session she should have had it somewhere a bit more private, am I right? Besides, kismet has decided that I’m meant to be here right now, sampling, and everyone knows you can’t fight kismet.

  I’ve no idea if I’m using the word ‘kismet’ correctly but I’m sure that’s the spirit of it. Sure enough anyway.

/>   I place the muffin on top of a napkin before I dig a pen out of my handbag and smooth a second napkin out for note-taking. I’m just a girl enjoying her own company with a cup of coffee and a muffin, incognito-ing like a baller. I stuff a bit of muffin into my mouth and resume the search for the best life coaches in Las Vegas while I wait for Meghan’s to show up, because if tonight’s appointment goes well I’m totally getting my own coach.

  Except.

  Oh, holy hot damn, life coaches are popular. Real popular. I sip my coffee and work my way through the top ten list. The website for number one claims they have a one-year waiting list.

  One. Year.

  I toss my pen onto the table and sigh. Like I’m supposed to wait an entire year to get my life together? I’m no expert in life-ing but that doesn’t seem right. I move on to the website for number two, which claims they’re not accepting any new clients at this time. I can’t even get on the waiting list for number two.

  Dumb.

  Coach three is the same. I don’t care for the vibe of coaches four and five so I don’t bother checking their wait lists. Coach six is an attractive man who has no right coaching anything but my orgasms. So he’s out because I’m not paying for that.

  I like number seven but… wait. Wait one minute. Is that price correct? I assumed they’d be expensive, but not that expensive. Who in the hell can afford that? Only a person with their life already together, that’s who. Kismet is stupid. Why did it cause me to want a muffin for dinner, stop at this specific coffee shop and stand in line behind Meghan while she was blabbing loudly enough for the entire shop to hear her if I wasn’t meant to get a life coach? Running out of Cheez-Its yesterday can’t possibly have been a coincidence either—it was the catalyst for this entire sequence of events.

  I stuff another bite of muffin in my mouth while I ponder what all of this means, but then Meghan’s coach arrives so I decide to put my thinking aside while I focus on getting the most out of my sample appointment. That’s the point of a sample, right? Maybe life coaching is the worst and kismet only wanted me to start blow-drying my hair. Might as well find out.

  Fifteen minutes later I have my answer. I’m sold. Meghan’s life coach is the best. She makes me want to be a better me. She makes me believe I can be a better me! I totally get why someone would want a life coach. I already feel calmer and more focused just from sampling Meghan’s session! So… I know I should probably leave now. I should. But I still haven’t solved the problem about how I’m going to pay for my own life coach, or even where to find one. It’s not as if I can stand up now, stop at their table and ask for a business card, can I?

  I cannot.

  So.

  I’ll just stay a bit longer. A wee little bit. Or the entire hour.

  It’s the most practical thing to do. Normally practicality isn’t my thing, so the fact that I’m willing to be practical feels like another sign, don’t you think? I do. I think it means I was meant to be right here, right now. Besides, it seems like Meghan and I have a lot in common. If I was a few years older, had a better wardrobe, took the time to blow-dry my hair, and could afford a life coach we’d practically be the same person. Admittedly that might be an overstatement based on fifteen minutes of sampling her life, but we’re similar enough. So it’s kinda like she’s helping her past self be her best self.

  I pause and twist a lock of hair around my finger. Okay, yeah, that’s a stretch.

  I stay anyway.

  The rest of the session is just as life-changing as the first fifteen minutes. We’ve worked on identifying our key strengths and identifying new skills we’d like to develop. And the thing is, it feels really good to identify my strengths. I’ve got a lot of great qualities. For example, I’m spontaneous. That’s something Meghan is working on. I’m also really outgoing and great at going with the flow. Adaptable, is how Carol would classify it.

  Next week we’re working on decision-making skills. It seems that Meghan has made some bad decisions, but there’s no judgment from me, because who hasn’t? Besides, Carol said that oftentimes bad decisions lead to good decisions, because we learn from our mistakes. She also said that bad outcomes are not always the results of bad decisions. She said sometimes the right decision still has a bad outcome through no fault of your own and it shouldn’t stop you from trying again.

  I’m pretty sure they were talking about a condo she bought before moving to Las Vegas but the advice applies to all of the guys I dated in college as well. See how adaptable I am?

  Carol is amazing.

  Which makes me think, perhaps I should come back next week.

  Because really, who’s to say how long a sample should last? Not me. I’m not the sample police.

  I’m just a girl, sitting in a coffee shop, capitalizing on my strengths. Unlocking my life’s purpose. Expanding my comfort zones. Besides, this isn’t even the worst idea I’ve ever had. It’s not even the worst idea I’ve had this week, which is fine because bad ideas spark creativity. At least that’s what Carol said, and I really like that outlook so I’m adopting it.

  “Is this a good location for us to meet again next week?”

  Yes. Yes, it is. Technically Carol was asking Meghan, but a coffee shop is really not the place for a life coaching session if you don’t want strangers to benefit from the session too.

  “I can’t do Thursday next week,” Meghan replies. “I’m out of town on a business trip. Let me check my schedule and send you an email.”

  Well, that’s that then, isn’t it? I’ll never know when they’re coming back and I can’t very well hang out at this coffee shop on the daily like some sad novelist with an allergy to working at home. I eye a woman at a corner table mumbling to herself as she types. Definitely not.

  “The only other opening I have is Sunday morning at two,” Carol announces.

  Problem solved.

  Chapter Two

  “Holy hell, who is that?” I stop dead in my tracks, causing Mark to slam into me from behind.

  That’s not a dirty euphemism or anything, we’re fully clothed. Mark bumped into me because he was too busy looking at his cell phone to watch where he was going. It might also be because I abruptly stopped walking, but the pedestrian always has the right of way, so whatever. Granted, the pedestrian rule is for vehicles and people crossing the street, not for co-workers in hotel corridors, but I’ve always been pretty good at adapting rules to suit my needs.

  “Payton, Jesus. Watch where you’re going.”

  “Me? You’re the one who bumped into me!”

  “Because you stopped walking in the middle of the hallway.” He looks past me and waves at the empty hall to indicate how idiotic my dead stop mid-hall was.

  “I stopped exactly because I was watching where I was going,” I counter. “And I watched that guy”—I nod my head in the direction of the lobby visible from the second-floor balcony we’re standing in front of—“and decided to stop.”

  “Watched that guy? Nice grammar.”

  “Mark.” I pause, waiting until I have his full attention. “I need you to focus.”

  “Focused.”

  I really like Mark. I’m thinking about making him my work husband. It’s early days because this is only my second week of work, but so far it’s looking good. Sometimes when you meet the right co-worker you just know.

  “Who is he?” I move closer to the balcony rail so I can better ogle my potential future husband. “The gorgeous one talking to Canon. Do you know? Does he work here?”

  “No idea.”

  “We need to find out because I might marry him and have his babies.”

  “Really?” Mark questions, his voice filled with the undertone of not taking me seriously.

  “Yes, really. It could happen. He looks like just my type. Tall, dark, handsome and hung.”

  “Hmm,” There’s that tone again.

  “What? You don’t think I’m his type?”

  “I didn’t think you were the type, period.”r />
  “What type is that?” I take my eyes off the gorgeous stranger to give Mark a glare. Just for a second though, because I can look at Mark anytime I want, and who knows if I’ll ever see my maybe husband again.

  “The serious type. The type who cared about getting married. Just yesterday you told me most couples would be better off setting a pile of cash on fire and using the flames to roast marshmallows instead of wasting it on a wedding.”

  “That’s only because we were working on the Johnson-McNally wedding and that couple would be better off setting fire to a pile of cash than wasting it on a wedding to each other. They’re both horrible. Also, I was hungry and I wanted a s’more.”

  “Hmm.”

  “Besides, it’s a well-documented fact that couples who spend less than one thousand dollars on their weddings are less likely to divorce.”

  “A well-documented fact, huh?”

  “Your lack of faith in me is uncalled for, Mark. I know things.”

  “Sure, sure.” Mark pauses for a moment before continuing. “Where is this information documented?”

  “I saw it on a video in my Facebook feed.”

  “Your Facebook feed. That’s real news, for sure.”

  “It looked pretty legit. It was a very professional video.”

  “Hmm.” Again with the hmms.

  “It could be true,” I insist. “It sounds logical. Possibly.”

  “Based on that thousand-dollar rule every quickie marriage in Las Vegas should result in a long and happy union.”