FLIRTING WITH 40

off.” There is a pleading disbelief in her voice that has me averting my eyes. “Blake.” She waits until I meet her eyes and then huffs. “Why would you not put her in her place?”
I stare at her as I fight the tears welling in my eyes and shrug, embarrassed. “I should have. I felt so good about myself for the first time in forever, and then . . . I didn’t.”
“What did you do?”
I cross my hands over my face as if to hide from her. “Don’t ask.”
“Blakely.” My name is a warning. “Spill it.”
“I slipped her card under his drink and snuck away while he was on his call.” Shame heats my cheeks as I force myself to meet her eyes.
“Why on earth would you do that?” she asks. “Why would you let her win?”
“I’ve asked myself that a million times. It isn’t as if anything would have come from it. He was there for whatever, and I was trying to unwind—”
“But you obviously hit it off.”
“That’s an exaggeration. We barely met.” I say the words, refusing to acknowledge that there was a connection so I don’t feel like more of an idiot than I already do.
“Did he flirt with you?”
“I don’t know. I mean, he was just being nice,” I deflect.
“Was there any casual touching? You know, the kind where his knee accidentally hits yours but doesn’t move away?”
I think of his hand on the back of my chair, of the soft graze of his thumb against my shoulder, and don’t answer.
“Was there the tingly feeling?” She waggles her eyebrows, and I laugh.
The funny thing? Kelsie and I are best friends on the level of we tell each other everything. She knows the things Paul did in bed that I hated and the ones that I loved. I know the quirks of the men she dates. And yet, I’m hesitant to admit that I really liked Slade.
Well, I am glad that, for whatever reason it was, you stopped in here tonight.
“Hey, Blake?”
“Hmm?”
“You should never let another woman steal your sparkle. You know that.”
She’s right. I do know that. “This thing with Paul—his moving on—has really done a number on me.” It pains me to admit it, but there it is.
“It would do a number on anyone. Hell, you aren’t made of stone, but at the same time, who the hell was she to say that to you?”
“It was probably for the best. Did I really think anything was going to come of it?”
“That’s beside the point,” she says resolutely as she rises and heads to the kitchen to choose another bottle of wine. “For all you know, Slade was falling massively in love with you. You were going to have a quick, torrid love affair where he made you realize that you were a wildcat in bed, that Paul was more than selfish with giving oral, and that you are a badass at work who is going to get that promotion.”
“I think you’ve had too much to drink,” I say through a laugh as the neck of the bottle clinks against the rim of her wine glass as she refills it.
“And I think a man like Slade is just what you need—a little youthfulness to remind you that you may be divorced but you aren’t dead. A little reminder to you that—oh my god!” she screeches as if she just had the biggest epiphany ever.
“What?”
“Do you know how awesome it would be if he went with you on your company retreat? Some hot, sexy man who all the women would be jealous over? He would make the bitches in your office see you in a new light.”
“Gee. Thanks.” I roll my eyes. “Because, obviously, you have no faith that I can win them over on my own.”
“No, that isn’t what I mean. You know I have faith in you, but women pay attention to men. They’d all be vying for a scrap of his attention while he’s too busy doting on you. Then they’ll wonder what you have that he sees but they don’t, and then”—she throws her hands up—“voilà. They fall in line, and you become the one everyone wants to be.”
“You’re forgetting one very important fact.”
“What’s that? That he has a huge cock—”
“Yes, that’s exactly it. In the whole twenty minutes we talked, we talked about how big his dick was. You really do need help.”
“Can’t blame a girl for thinking large.” She offers me a sarcastic smile. “And that is one very important trait.”
“Well, the fact I was opining on”—I clear my throat—“was that you can make up this whole Blake and Slade fantasy all you want, but it isn’t going to happen.”
“Says who?”
“Says the fact that I left without finding out anything about him other than his name,” I say. “So even if you concocted the most beautiful love story ever, it isn’t going to happen.”
The cogs in her brain seem to click into place as she settles back into her seat. “But if you did—if fate worked in some funny way and you had his phone number—would you call him?”
“Let’s not have you make up fake scenarios and live vicariously through me, hmm?”
“I’m serious.” She gestures dramatically. “If you had his number—no, better yet, if he told you he really wanted to take you to your company retreat, what would your answer be?”
I stare at her and her ludicrous ideas with a dumbfounded look on my face. “I’d say have another glass, er, bottle of wine.”
“The answer is yes. It’s always yes.”
“Whatever.” I wave a hand at her.
“I’m serious. If Slade was standing in front of you right now, the answer would be ‘Yes, please come to my mountain retreat with me. Show everyone else up with your easy charm, nice ass, incredible smile, and huge co—’”
“You haven’t even met him.”
“I don’t have to.”
“He could be a serial killer.”
“He isn’t.” She holds her hand up to stop me from asking her how she knows that. “He’s the perfect rebound for you.”
“Oh Jesus.”
“What better way