Page 35 of Let It Breathe
“It’s dinner, not an orgy.”
“Don’t you have anything that matches?” Larissa marched over to Reese’s bureau and began rummaging around. “Here. Black lace bra, black lace panties. This works.”
Reese frowned at them. “I haven’t worn those for years. I think they’re itchy.”
“They’re sexy. And they’ll go great under the top I brought. Come on, hurry up.”
Knowing there was no use arguing, Reese wriggled the panties over her hips and fastened the front clasp on the bra.
“The jeans might be a little snug, but they’ll make your ass look great,” Larissa encouraged. “Careful not to mess up your hair.”
Reese finished buttoning and snapping and then turned to survey herself in the full-length mirror.
“Wow.” She blinked at her own reflection. Not bad. Not bad at all. “I don’t look like a total tramp.”
Larissa grinned. “We can fix that. Just let me undo a couple buttons here?—”
“No,” Reese said, swatting her hand away. “I actually look pretty good. You think?”
“You’re beautiful.” Larissa folded her arms and gave a decisive nod. “It’s about damn time you let someone appreciate that. Someone besides your ex-husband, his wife, and your cousin. Are you sure we all need to be there?”
“Positive. I’m going to need moral support.”
Larissa laughed. “I’m much better with the immoral support.”
“Let’s go.” Reese grabbed her purse off the chair and flipped it open to make sure she had her house key. She frowned. “Did you stick a condom in here?”
“Just looking out for you, cuz.” Larissa linked her arm through Reese’s and tugged her toward the door. “Come on. Let’s go meet your new boyfriend.”
Clay shifted on the bench seat at Vineyard Grill, trying hard to listen to every word his new AA sponsor was saying, but he wasn’t having much luck.
It wasn’t that he didn’t appreciate the guy’s insights. Patrick was a general contractor who’d been sober eight years. He had shaggy brown hair, huge biceps, and a demeanor that suggested he’d been around the block a few times and bench-pressed several lampposts en route.
The local AA group had put Clay in touch with Patrick when he’d called to find out about meetings in the area. He was a fellow alum of the Belmont Health System rehab center, and they’d talked on the phone a few times before Clay had moved back to Oregon. It was clear Patrick had a great grasp on AA and the recovery process.
His grasp on grammar was a bit shakier. Clay couldn’t stop staring at the blue tattoo on his forearm. A prison tat, from the look of it. The words read: Your stronger than you think you are.
Clay shook his head and tried to focus on what Patrick was saying. “That’s really cool you haven’t been experiencing a lot of cravings.”
“Cravings?” Clay said, his mind veering in an unexpected direction before he caught up with the conversation. “Oh, at the winery?”
Patrick nodded and picked up his soda. “Well, yes—at the winery or anywhere else there might be temptation.”
Clay nodded and looked at his hands. “The temptation at the winery is nothing I can’t handle.”
“Careful with the confidence. Remember that you can’t prevent relapse alone.”
Alone. The word hit him funny in the gut, but he knew what Patrick meant.
“You’re right,” Clay said. “I plan to hit all the AA meetings while I’m here.”
“That’s smart.” Patrick gave an affirmative grunt and shifted in his seat, revealing another tattoo on his bicep that read: Strength threw sobriety.
Clay looked away and glanced toward the door of the restaurant. As if on cue, Reese walked through it. He blinked. It was Reese, wasn’t it?
But this was a different Reese. Her hair was down and fluffed around her shoulders in a way that made Clay wonder what it would feel like to grab a handful at the nape of her neck and tug it to make her back arch. She was wearing some sort of slinky black top and jeans that hugged her?—
“Clay?”
