Nicole scoffs. “Do they know their son is a spineless piece of shit?”
“Yes,” I say. Because they do. Tom and Ruth are great, actually, legitimately great. “They’re still trying to get him to come around, to at least call Aidan on Christmas or send him a present. They’re beside themselves.”
Nicole waves dismissively. “We won’t worry about him right now. If he has half a brain, he’ll leave you alone.” A laugh escapes her. “I kind of hope he doesn’t. He has no idea who you have in your corner now.”
I’m still a bit afraid of her—she’s fierce and wild—but she knows herself in a way that I envy, and I find her words strangely reassuring. Because, for whatever reason, she’s chosen to be in my corner. Maybe it’s time to let someone else help me.
“You and I are supposed to tell each other our life stories before we begin this process,” she says, waving a hand flippantly. “Or at least that’s what they did in the original Bad Luck Club. But Damien and I are role-playing tonight, so I have to cut this short.” Before I can wrap my mind around what that might mean—and what it would be like to be so free with a man—my reaction vacillating between horror and intrigue, she continues, “Besides, I think we should do things a little differently. We’re interested in getting you to break some rules, not follow them. The original club only meets every other week, but you need way more help than that. I’m going to issue challenges to you at least once a week. Maybe twice.”
Nicole toys with her nose ring, making me cringe. Surely she won’t ask me to get a nose ring or a tattoo…
My mind flashes to Jace. I noticed a swirl of ink disappearing under the sleeve of his work jacket. What would it be like to see the whole tattoo on its muscled canvas? Does he have more than one?
The thought makes me squirm uncomfortably in my seat, because even thinking of Jace like that—naked—is enough to make my body spark to attention. To send tingles of pleasure to the forgotten parts of me.
“What are you thinking of right now?” Nicole asks, a smug look on her face.
“No one,” I start, then realize I’ve given myself away. “Nothing.”
“Too late,” she says triumphantly. “You were thinking about a man, and based on the way you’re blushing, I’m pretty sure it wasn’t your pencil-dick ex.”
“It’s someone inappropriate,” I mutter. “Wildly inappropriate.”
“Great,” she says, leaning forward and giving me her rapt attention. “This is getting better and better.”
“No. I mean, he’s someone I’d never go for. And he wouldn’t ever think of me that way. He’s the kind of guy who would go for someone like—”
You. Because Nicole is…well, she’s cool and sexy and she wouldn’t get tongue-tied at the sight of Jace leaning out his truck window toward her, his aqua eyes fixed on hers, his arms flexing a little beneath his shirt, his whole presence so bulky and powerful and manly…
“You don’t have the first idea what a man wants,” she says, “so let’s not waste our time guessing. But you want him badly. This is good. We can work with this.”
“No,” I bark out, making it pretty darn obvious I mean yes. “I mean, this guy is my son’s friend. His buddy.” Then, seeing the look on her face, I clarify, “His adult buddy.”
“Your son has an adult friend?” she asks flatly, looking at me like I’m the weird one.
I explain about the Butterfly Buddies program, and she quickly loses interest.
“OK, fine, you’ve convinced me your dude’s not a pervert.”
“Goodness,” I say, scandalized. “I hope not.”
Another hand wave. “Oh, quit it with the pearl-clutching. You’re better than that, Mary.”
Am I? I’m not so sure, and I don’t have the slightest idea why she’d think so. In fact…
“Why me?” I blurt out. “Why do you want to help me?”
“Because I see myself in you,” she says with a smirk.
“Really?” I ask, shocked.
She runs a hand through her pink hair, making it stand up straight in a way that somehow makes her look sensuous and not insane, and bursts out laughing. “No. Absolutely not. Call it my way of giving back. So, let’s get back to this guy. You’re interested.”
If I’d thought my cheeks were burning before, now they feel like they’re being pressed to a hibachi grill. “I mean, I’m not blind. He’s very handsome.”
That word feels too small, though. It’s the kind of thing you’d call some guy in a well-fitting tux to applaud him for making an effort. Jace isn’t handsome, he’s glorious. He’s like the wild ocean, and I’ve only ever dipped my toes into a man-made lake. But lusting after him is like lusting after Damon Salvatore on The Vampire Diaries rather than one of the boring human characters. (I watched an episode with Molly once, and although I rolled my eyes through the whole viewing, I found myself tuning in for more episodes late at night on my iPad when I couldn’t sleep.)
“I can appreciate a man’s looks without wanting…” I wave. “You know.”
“You can’t say the word ‘sex,’ can you?” she asks.
I want to be pissed at her, and I sort of am. She doesn’t know me, yet here she is ordering me around and making all kinds of pronouncements about my life. And I’m letting her. Why am I letting her?
Because she’s not entirely wrong.
I’m not comfortable saying sex out loud. And isn’t that ridiculous? I’m a thirty-four-year-old woman. “S—ex,” I whisper.
And when I say it, I’m not thinking about my sex life with Glenn, where what passed for excitement was the one time he actually scheduled “sex” on our shared Google calendar. No, I’m thinking about a man who takes up space so effortlessly and without thought. I’m thinking about a man with blue eyes and a short beard—I’ve never kissed a man with a beard—and work boots. I’m thinking about a man who would never in a billion years look at me as a woman.
“See,” Nicole says, giving me a thump on the shoulder. It’s probably meant to be supportive, but it’s a little too hard.
Then she’s rising to her feet.
“Are you leaving?” I sputter, flummoxed.
“I told you about my thing with my boyfriend,” she says. “Damien’s going to be a vampire this time.”
Shock jolts through me. Can she actually read my mind? Does she know about my secret TV addiction? But no, that’s ridiculous.
Either not noticing my reaction or not caring, Nicole continues. “He’s going to wear fake fangs. It’s a whole thing. But first I have to give you a challenge.” She pauses for a moment, then smiles in a way that tells me I won’t much like what she says next. “The theme for this week is your sexual awakening.”
“What?” I say, my mouth hanging open after the word escapes. “You don’t expect…?”
Again, my mind pings to Jace, to that tattoo peeking out from beneath his sleeve. I’d like to follow it to its source like a loose thread.
She laughs again. “No, nothing like that. You can’t join the Olympics before you run some laps. Buy yourself an early Christmas present. A vibrator.”
I reach up to my collarbone as if to clutch pearls that aren’t there. “I can’t do that.”
“Your first challenge,” she says, turning her back to me and walking off.
“But how will I get in touch with you?” I call after her. An odd feeling of panic wells up at the prospect of never seeing her again. Not because I plan on actually going through with her challenge—I don’t, do I?—but because it’s kind of nice talking to someone like this. Opening up in a way I can’t bring myself to do with my sisters. Maybe because I don’t care what Nicole thinks of me, and I desperately care what they think.
“Oh, don’t worry,” Nicole says, throwing a wink over her shoulder. “I have your number.”
After she disappears, I text Molly: If you were worried about me, you could have just said so. I guess I’m joining Nicole’s club. Actually, I don’t know that I can call it a club. It�
��s just the two of us.
Her reply is instant: Oh, I’m super worried. I’ve tried like a bajillion things to get you to loosen up and break out of your Stepford Wife shell. Nicole is basically a last resort. Don’t worry, though, she has enough personality for a dozen people, so you won’t be lonely in your club of two.
Me: I basically couldn’t say no to her.
Molly: She does have miraculous powers of persuasion.
I tap the side of the phone for a second, thinking, then look at the time. Half an hour before I’m supposed to get Aidan. I could text Maisie to let her know that I’m coming early, but there’s this needy feeling inside of me, something Jace put there, and instead…
Well. I spend fifteen minutes researching the top ten vibrators available on Amazon.
When a local number rings on my cell phone the next day, I pick up without hesitation. It’s not my lunch break—the only time I usually let myself answer personal calls unrelated to Aidan—but I’m ninety-nine percent sure it’s Nicole.
Weirdly, I want her to be proud of me. When I actually pressed the order button for the vibrator, something I did at around one in the morning, after a glass and a half of wine, I felt an unexpected prickle of pleasure and pride in myself. Because I did something a little naughty, a little daring, and I liked it. Because I didn’t let myself get hung up on the thought of what other people might think or whether it was selfish of me to do something solely for my own gratification. I still can’t imagine myself actually using the vibrator, but maybe…
“Hello,” I say, just barely stopping myself from saying, I did it, Nicole. You asked me to, and I didn’t think I could, but I darn well did it. See? Who’s a good girl now?
Except it’s a good thing I didn’t, because a man’s voice responds to my greeting. “Hi, Mary.”
It’s his voice.
Jace’s, I mean.
I drop the phone, literally drop it, and it bounces off my desk and into the small potted Christmas tree that my boss, Hilde, dropped by yesterday morning. She was adamant that it was a pagan tree, not a Christmas tree, but in the next breath she encouraged me to decorate it, so I’m not sure what the difference is. Probably she doesn’t want to get sued—it is an office full of lawyers. It would look more festive with some flair, but so far, it remains as undecorated as the Charlie Brown tree at home.
That one will likely go undecorated forever, because when I asked Aidan last night, he told me that he wanted Jace to help decorate it. He was adamant about it, and it’s nearly impossible to convince him something like that would be inappropriate, so he’s unlikely to back down. Tom and Ruth are taking him for the weekend. Perhaps they’ll be able to persuade him.
Part of me doesn’t mind, though, because the Christmas tree ornaments come from two painful sources: (a) my childhood home and (b) the home I tried to build with Glenn. I could do without the memories. Last night, Maisie gave me another box I don’t want to open.
Maisie still lives in the house we grew up in, the one that belonged to our mom and dad. She only started going through their things a few years ago—for a while, living among all our old stuff was her way of dealing with grief, or not dealing with it—but I’d thought she was done. When I went to pick up Aidan, she surprised me by presenting me with a dusty old box.
“These things are yours,” she said. “From your old room. They were tucked away in a corner of the attic that I only just now made it to. I figured you’d want them.”
Except I know Maisie, and Maisie knows me. She knows I don’t want them—she thinks I need them. But I couldn’t bring myself to open the box.
Just like I don’t want to take this call.
“Shoot, shoot, shoot.” I pick up the phone and press it to my ear, my heart hammering in my chest.
Why is he calling me?
Has something happened to Aidan?
Except…if something happened to Aidan, wouldn’t it be the school trying to reach me? They would have had Ms. Liu call me, or maybe even the principal. Get a grip, Mary.
Still, I ask, “Aidan. Is he okay?”
“Yes,” he says quickly, sounding immediately remorseful. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to worry you. I was just hoping to catch you before lunch. Could you get away for a quick meeting?”
My mind immediately jumps to my bedroom. No. My bedroom is a place I honestly can’t imagine sex happening. It’s almost clinical in its sexlessness, perhaps because all the decorations are the same as they were in my house in Charlotte, the one I shared with Glenn. He’d insisted on a beige color scheme, and although he’s right—neutrals are practical—I’ve come to hate it. But Jace’s bedroom is probably all satin sheets and smoke and…
Smoke? What the heck is wrong with you, Mary? There’s nothing sexy about a fire.
Besides, he doesn’t want sex from me—of course that’s not what he wants.
So what does he want?
But he’s waiting for an answer, and I find myself saying, “Yes. Where would be convenient?”
He releases a sigh, but it doesn’t sound relieved. More like he’s dreading this conversation. “I’ll meet you wherever you like.”
Again, I have that vision of a bedroom—his bedroom—and to shake it off, I say the first thing that comes to mind. “Tea of Fortune. They…um…I hear they have a lunch menu now.”
“Sure, that’s fine,” he says. “Twelve o’clock?”
“Uh. Yes. That would be good. I’ll see you there?”
“See you soon, Mary.”
Before I can even process what’s happened, he hangs up.
Tea of Fortune? What came over me?
Tea of Fortune is the tea shop run by an old family friend, Dottie Hendrickson. I’m fond of Dottie, only a stone could withstand her charm, but she’s the most eccentric person alive, and she’s certain to have ideas about why I’d show up at her tea shop with a gorgeous man—and have no compunction about expressing those ideas.
It’s just…my rational mind doesn’t work right around Jace, and the first thing I thought of popped out of my mouth. Maisie and I were talking about Dottie last night, and Maisie conveyed some more sisterly wisdom.
“You barely talked to her at Thanksgiving. You kept hiding behind Aidan, and once I even saw you duck behind the turkey,” Maisie said, rolling her eyes. “She cares about you, and she really wants to have a heart-to-heart. You should go see her at her tea shop. Seriously.”
It’s hard to say no to Maisie, even more so when she has Mabel cradled in her arms, so I promised I’d visit Dottie sometime, and Jace makes me lose my head, so now, apparently, I will be fulfilling my promise under the most humiliating circumstances possible. At this point, the only thing I can do to head this off is go early so I can try to waylay Dottie and her ideas.
It’s only later, when I’m in the car, that I realize there’s only one reason Jace would ask to meet with me privately, without my son.
He knows I’m lusting after him, and he wants to let me down easy.
Oh God. How embarrassing.
The fact that Dottie will likely be hanging around, watching us and probably trying to matchmake us, only makes everything worse.
There’s no sign of a red truck when I get there, which isn’t surprising given I’m ten minutes early. I go in, and a familiar person with short dark hair and large eyes perks up and rushes toward me.
“Are you here for lunch, Mary?”
It’s only as she comes closer that I place her. This is one of Molly’s roommates—Tina, the one who talks a lot. I probably should have known she works here, but somehow that information failed to make it to my long-term memory. That’s not like me. In any case, this means Molly is about to get an earful about Jace. Shoot.
“Um, yeah,” I say. “I’m a little early, but I’m meeting a friend. A platonic friend.”
She nods as if that wasn’t a purely insane thing to say and leads me to an empty booth in the back. I notice a huge star made of sticks and covered in holly, propped
against the wall across from me, along with several wreaths. It comes as no surprise that Dottie, like Hilde, favors pagan decorations.
“More private this way,” Tina says as I slide in. It’s on the tip of my tongue to repeat myself—platonic, platonic—but she’s sliding into the booth across from me.
Oh God. If Jace finds us sitting like this, it’s going to be even more awkward. Hi, Jace, you know how you asked me here to kindly let me down? I brought a friend to witness my embarrassment! The more the Mary-er.
She must see it on my face because she gives the air a little swat. “I’ll just be a moment. I wanted to ask you about Nicole. You’re joining her Bad Luck Club?”
Is there anyone who doesn’t know?
I settle for a slight nod. “She’s persuasive.”
Tina lights up. “I want to join too.”
“You’re unlucky?” I ask, genuinely shocked. Admittedly, I’ve only met her twice, but she seems like the kind of person who’s always happy. She’s certainly not the kind of woman who’d let anyone else tell her what to do or think or be. She wouldn’t spend her whole life hiding.
Still, a little voice reminds me, How do you know? Didn’t you always seem like the kind of person who had it together?
She makes a dramatic frown. “Let’s just say it’s best if I don’t play the lottery. What did Nicole ask you to do for your first challenge?”
I have this sudden fear that I’m going to tell her, and Jace is going to walk in just in time to hear the news about my new vibrator, which is due to arrive on Friday, hopefully after Glenn’s parents pick up Aidan for his weekend in Charlotte. The fear of him overhearing, of him knowing I’m thinking of sex, is so heavy, so convincing, that I just shrug. “I can’t tell you until you join.”
She gives me a big, dramatic wink. “Can’t blame a girl for trying.” Then she stands and asks, “Do you know what you want?” as if I’m a regular who comes in every day for tea and snacks.
Jingle Bell Hell (Bad Luck Club) Page 6