Page 23 of Baby Maker

“The girls are vomiting everywhere, and Bridget is miserably sick. I need to go home and help.”

I squeeze his arm, forcing a smile. “Yes, you do. Let’s get our coats.”

“I’m sorry I ruined your evening.”

“You didn’t.” It’s true. Simon didn’t ruin anything. I ruined it, allowing my unrestrained hormones to seize on a moment of passion. Worse, I also destroyed the fledgling friendship between Keegan and me, all because I couldn’t keep my hands to myself.No, they were far too busy trying to rid the man of his pants.

Note to self: don’t drink wine and kiss handsome doctors.

Bad idea. Very bad idea.

“Are you okay?” Simon questions, his brow furrowed.

“I’m just worried about your family. They need you.” I catch sight of Keegan across the room as we make our way to the door, his blue eyes fixed on my countenance. Burning holes into me, much the same way his kisses burned holes into the armor I placed around my heart.

I force a polite nod in his direction before slipping out the door.

So much for wading back into the world. Neither one of us was ready for the other.

* * *

A few days later,I’m perched in my typical evening location, a tub of ice cream on my lap. No, I haven’t entirely fallen off the “rejoin society” wagon, but I am taking a hell of a detour.

Chocolate chip cookie dough helps.

My phone buzzes next to me. Bridget. Here’s hoping my friend is feeling human again. “Are you better?”

“Finally. I thought I was dying a few times there. Of course, Simon offered no sympathy. The joys of marrying a doctor.”

An innocent statement. Totally devoid of malicious intent. But it still makes my ill-received kiss with Keegan come screeching back into the forefront of my mind. Glancing down, I stab at the ice cream in the tub. About halfway gone. It might last the evening.

“I wanted to broach a topic with you.”

Christ. I’m not in the mood for broaching. “Go ahead.”

“I was showing my friend photos of our trip a few years back. The one to Maine? Well, he thought you were the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen.”

“So, you were showing photos to a blind man. Don’t know how that works, Bridget.”

“Funny. He got divorced last year and was hoping you might be interested in going to dinner.”

Nope, half a tub isn’t nearly enough. “Why?” Normally, I would force some level of decorum, but I’m fresh out tonight.

“He’s a hell of a guy.”

“So are tons of men out there, but I don’t want to date them, either. I don’t even know what he looks like.”

A beep sounds on my phone not ten seconds later. The bitch was ready and waiting for that retort. Okay, he’s good-looking. Very good looking, actually.

Now I have to figure out another excuse. “I don’t think I’m ready.”

“You might not be, but you still need to give it a shot.”

Oh, Luv, I tried that the other night, and it was a bomb of a performance. “We might have nothing in common.”

“You both like the same music, yoga, and James Dean.”

“This is not enough to go on, Bridget.”

“Please. Just one dinner.”

Releasing a huff, I pull myself upright. “He’s bugging you, isn’t he? So, to get him off your ass, I’m now relegated to going to dinner with him. Is that it?”

“I’ll owe you forever.” Now we’ve reached the bargaining part of tonight’s show, folks.

“You and your husband already have a tab as long as my arm.”

“What else are you doing Friday night, Calli?”

The sad truth? Nothing. Not one damn thing. “Fine. Have him meet me at the bistro at seven.”

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