Stay With Me by Sharla Lovelace Page B

really have a broken ankle. My bet was that they’d had to let him go, and that meant most likely the part-time help Jim had in the back as well.

    I was sick for my sister. For both of them. Her stressed expression should have flagged something. Her comment about Ian coming back to finally do something for the family should have raised questions too. It didn’t even cross my mind that Ian would be in a place to help anyone.

    He and Jim were equal owners after their dad died, but I’d heard that Ian signed over his half, not wanting any part of it. I’d never asked, but I understood it. I remembered James McMasters pretty well. He was an ogre of a man, the kind that strangers find entertaining and eccentric, funny to listen to. It wasn’t all that funny at home.

    And Lily had been what? Too proud to tell me they had problems?

    I went through the motions, trying to churn up yesterday’s excitement. Remember a week ago, when you would have orgasmed on the spot just thinking of going to Duncan’s house? Find that!

    It was some sort of sad twisted karma that whisked that away with the arrival of Lily’s news. Yeah, right—because it was all about Lily’s news.

    I fed Gracie, ate a granola bar so I wouldn’t chow down like a horse, and then ate another one just to be sure.

    And stared at the clock. It was just after six and I was supposed to be there at seven. My hair was as good as it was going to get. Makeup was done. But the towel I had on wasn’t going to cut it. There had to be some sort of rule about wardrobe stressing twice in one day.

    “We just went through this this morning,” I said as Gracie looked up at me. “This one’s more important. If I would have known there was an encore, I would have saved that outfit.”

    Gracie wagged her tail and walked to her big bean bag chair, flopping inside and letting the denim cover mold to her.

    “Yeah, rub it in,” I said. “I want your evening.”

    Except that I might get lucky. Okay, that made me sweat a little just thinking about getting naughty with Duncan. Enough to go looking for my good underwear. The matching ones that hadn’t seen a lot of action but were totally worthy of it.

    I dug in my underwear drawer, shoving the old and boring things to the sides. When had I started settling on all this crap? Once upon a time, it was all worthy and sexy. Now—my fingers landed on the silk of the bra and I pulled it out. Red and sinful and lacy and—oh, hold the phone, what the hell was I thinking? I couldn’t go to Duncan’s for dinner with fuck-me underwear on. What if we did start to mess around and he made it that far? Little hard to look the part of conflicted good girl and not-expecting-this when the last layer is nastiness personified.

    “Granny panties,” I said, making Gracie raise her head. “That first date rule never dies, right?”

    Ugh, I needed reinforcement. It was too awkward after this afternoon to call Lily, and there was no way I was calling Abby to talk about date panties. I needed a buddy. A girlfriend.

    Most of my life, that really wasn’t a priority. When I was young, other girls were intimidated by me, giving me a wide berth, which was fine. I was good with the shock value of being a bad girl. I enjoyed it. Becoming a mom tamed that down, but I never really got involved with the other moms—I didn’t know how, and again they were some of those same girls giving me the same looks. And I had Lily. And my work, where I could pretend to be normal.

    Times like now—being normal would have been helpful.

    I rummaged through the worn-out items I’d shoved aside. I didn’t actually own granny panties, so I settled on a faded and fraying thong. Still hideous enough for me to keep my clothes on, but versatile enough to avoid panty lines. Win-win.

    An unfamiliar ringtone made me glance over at my phone in curiosity.

    “Hello?”

    “Still up for braving my cooking?”

    A tingle went down my spine and up again at the