Page 124 of About that Fling
“I’m going to assume you mean best attorney.” Allie slipped on her own sunglasses as Wade pulled away from the curb, though the thick, wooly cloud cover meant shades weren’t strictly necessary. “I don’t need to know about your sex life. Besides, I wasn’t going to say anything about the car. Or your junk.”
“Because you have fond memories of the glory that is my massive meat pipe?”
Allie snorted. “Ugh. No, but thanks for that visual.” She shook her head, but couldn’t help smiling. His silly dick jokes normally jostled her out of her post-prison blues, but not today.
Today, she had other things on her mind.
“No offense, but I barely remember your meat pipe,” she told Wade as she gazed out the window at the blur of cars moving past. “I’ve erased it from my memory.”
“That must be hard for you. Speaking of hard?—”
“Enough!” Allie barked, but she was laughing now. “Really, thanks, Wade. I’m grateful. For the ride. And for what you’re doing tonight. I wouldn’t trust anyone else to be my fake boyfriend.”
Not for the first time, Allie wished she’d had some real romantic chemistry with Wade. Even when they’d dated, it felt like dipping her toes in a lukewarm Mr. Turtle Pool. Pleasant enough, but not the sort of bone-deep, bubbling heat she felt in a Jacuzzi or when she’d been with Jack.
Jack. Allie’s stupid, traitorous heart clenched. Dammit to hell.
“So remind me again how we’re playing this,” Wade said as he steered the car onto I-5. “Are we an affectionate, can’t-keep-our-hands-off-each-other kind of couple, or cool and aloof lovers?”
“Can we play it by ear? Let’s see what Jack and his wife are like together and we’ll cue off them.”
“Roger that.” Wade changed lanes to pass a slow-moving Prius following another slow-moving Prius. “Tell me the wife’s name again so I don’t forget.”
“Paige,” Allie said. A fizzy ball knotted in her gut, the same one she’d felt every time she’d said or thought the name since she’d gotten Jack’s email a week ago.
I’ll be in Portland next week for my college reunion. If you’re free Wednesday or Thursday, maybe we could have dinner and catch up. Would love for you to meet Paige and to hear what’s new in your life.
Just like that, out of the blue. She’d heard he got married a few years after they split, but she never knew his wife’s name, or even that he’d gone back and finished college after dropping out their sophomore year. The last time she’d seen Jack Carpenter, he’d been sitting on a sagging futon with a video game controller in one hand and a can of beer in the other. He’d worn a paint-stained shirt and a dumbstruck expression that was as likely a reaction to something in the game as it was to Allie’s request that they throw in the towel on their engagement.
“We want different things out of life,” she’d told him back then.
“Not really,” he’d replied, shaking his head in disbelief. “We just have different ideas about how to get there.”
“So what are we having for dinner?” Wade asked, jarring Allie back to the present.
“Seafood en brodo with tarragon pesto,” she said. “And bourbon-roasted peach cheesecake for desert.”
“Pulling out all the stops.”
Allie shrugged, not wanting to admit how much thought she’d given the menu. How she’d remembered their sophomore year in college when she and Jack dug change out of the overstuffed sofa to find enough gas money to drive to the coast. They’d rolled up their pant legs and walked barefoot in the sand, digging clams until they had enough to fill their small red bucket. Later, they’d nestled together in an ocean of pillows on their living room floor, licking butter from their fingers in the flicker of candlelight.
“The meal is no big deal,” Allie said as she pulled out her phone to review the evening’s menu for the millionth time. “I just needed something I could make in advance. “The brodo, the pesto, the dessert—I did it all last night. All I have to do is heat it up, add the shellfish, and drizzle in the pesto.”
“I grabbed a loaf of that bread you asked for. The crusty stuff.” Wade reached over to tousle her hair. “You’ll do fine, Albatross. Stop worrying.”
Albatross. Wade had given her the nickname several years ago after Allie threw in the towel on yet another relationship that wasn’t going anywhere. Allie Ross the Albatross, the bird who’d rather fly alone.
It wasn’t entirely true, but Allie had liked the way it made her sound strong and independent instead of like a loser whose romantic aspirations never turned out the way she thought they would.
“Go get ready,” Wade said, and Allie looked up, startled to realize they’d arrived at her small, shoebox-shaped duplex already. “I’m sure you need to preen before your long-lost ex arrives, and I want to spend a couple minutes texting with Francesca.”
“Who?”
“My date from last night.”
“I thought her name was Vanessa.”
Wade waved a hand. “Something like that.”
