“She’s next,” Lorie said. “So... who is he?”
“Who is who?” I looked around, searching for the unidentified male in question. Had Sully walked in without my noticing?
“The guy you’re thinking of.”
“Oh. No one. I mean, I’m not thinking of a guy.”
“Okay,” Lorie said, clearly disbelieving. “I was just wondering if maybe it’s the guy you have a date with later tonight.”
“Me?” The idea seemed ludicrous. “I don’t have a date.”
“Really? Cause I’ve never seen you wear makeup. I’veneverseen you this dressed up. And that dress? That’s a man magnet if I’ve ever seen one. So you might as well fess up.”
“I promise—I don’t have a date.”
“But thereisa guy.” It wasn’t a question but a statement.
I couldn’t keep up the act. Closing my eyes in mortification, I said, “It doesn’t matter anyway because he doesn’t see me that way.”
“How do you know?” Lorie asked.
“He’s dating someone else.”
“Well, if he ever gets a look at you in that red dress…” She held her hands inches apart then slammed the pinched fingertips together. “Magnets, baby.”
She waggled her eyebrows, making me laugh in spite of my misery. “I doubt it. But thanks.”
Sully probably wouldn’t evenseethe “look” I’d spent so much time creating for him. He’d left the house early this evening while I was still getting ready, and he probably wouldn’t be home until very late.
He might not come home tonight at all.
My stomach cramped with a sick, twisting pain. I wasn’t sure how I’d be able to handle it if Sully started seeing this woman—or someone else—regularly.
The mental image of another woman spending time at the house with him and the girls, holding his hand, and kissing him, and doing...romance novel stuffwith him filled me with a sense of outrage so heated I felt like I might spontaneously combust.
Not that I had any right to complain. He wasn’t mine, would neverbemine. He was a single man with incredible good looks, natural charm, tons of money, and unlimited opportunity—naturally he’d want to date.
Movie stars. Models. Successful, famous,experiencedwomen who understood everything there was to know about attracting and pleasing a man. I was an idiot for even thinking of him in a romantic way.
When bowling was done, I’d take Skyla and Claire out for frozen yogurt as I’d promised, give them their baths and their bedtime stories, and then I’d march right to my own room.
I’d scrub off the stupid makeup and change into my plain, unsexy pajamas, pull my hair into a ponytail, and go to bed with a book as usual.
One of myownbooks, a historical mystery.
Only after we’d gotten home and the girls were asleep, Ididn’tgo to my room.
Instead, I went back downstairs, made myself a cup of hot chocolate I didn’t even want, and carried my book to the comfy leather sectional that anchored the family room.
Curling into a corner of it, I flicked on a reading lamp and waited. And waited.
And waited.
The longer the wait stretched, the stronger the feeling grew inside me. It was like nothing I’d ever felt before, an acidic blend of longing and alarm. I turned pages after barely skimming their contents, using so much force I nearly ripped one.
Finally, at fourteen minutes to midnight, the door from the garage opened. My stomach leapt into my throat.
Sully walked into the adjoining kitchen, dropped his keys on the counter, and let out a long, audible sigh.
