Page 10 of Bombshell (Whiskey Dolls 1)

My friends were dead to me. Every single damn one of them, butespeciallyLayla for setting me up on this freaking date.

The drive into the city had been a bit of a deterrent, but when my date, Clark, had informed me he’d gotten us reservations at a fancy restaurant I’d been wanting to try for a while, I’d decided to look at that as a silver lining. It didn’t take long for me to realize that was going to be theonlyupside to this evening.

Things had started out well enough. He’d been waiting for me near the hostess stand when I first arrived. At first glance, I’d been pleasantly surprised. He wasn’t big and brawny like Charlotte’s man, Dalton—or half the male population of Hope Valley for that matter—but it was clear he took care of himself. He was cute in a clean-cut, guy-next-door kind of way.

He’d been polite and complimentary as we’d gone through introductions before heading to our table, telling me how excited he was to meet me. I’d even found it a bit endearing when he admitted he’d changed his shirt three times in anticipation. It was nice to hear he’d been nervous, and I’d actually thought maybe the night wouldn’t be too bad.

Then between getting our drinks and putting in our dinner order, the vibe began to shift.

“So, tell me, Marin, what’s your ten-year plan?”

It was a question more geared toward a job interview than a blind date so, needless to say, I was a little thrown.

“Um...” I cleared my throat. “I’m not really sure. I guess I haven’t given it much thought.”

He arched his brows in bemusement. “You haven’t? But aren’t you already in your thirties?”

My chin jerked back in shock, my hackles rising at the question and his tone. “I just turned thirty a few months ago.”

“That’s still in your thirties. So in ten years, you’ll be forty. And you’re a burlesque dancer, right?”

I wasn’t certain where he was going with his line of questioning, but I had a feeling I wasn’t going to like it. “Yes,” I answered, dragging that one word out cautiously.

“You have what, maybe another five or six years left in a job like that? You know, before gravity comes into play?”

The jackass actually held his hands out in front of his chest before dropping them like my boobs were only a matter of years away from needing to be tucked into the waistband of my pants.

I choked on my drink, hacking to get up the swallow of gin and tonic that had gone down the wrong way. “It’s not like I’m going to wither into dust in the next ten years.” I exclaimed on a croak once I was able to breathe again.

“No, no. Of course not,” he attempted to backpedal quickly. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to imply anything.”

He wasn’t really implying so much as coming right out and saying I was a hop, skip, and a jump to being past my prime.

“What about marriage and kids? Do you want a family?”

Oh, for the love of...“Yeah. One day. But there’s still time.”

He lifted his glass of wine and gave a thoughtful hum before sipping. When he was done he stated, “Well, not really. I mean, isn’t there an age limit on getting pregnant? Like, the plumbing’s only good for a certain number of years, right?”

Lifting my drink to my lips, I sucked back the last of it and scanned the area for our waiter. Raising my empty glass to him, I gave it a little wave and mouthed, “Double.” He nodded briskly before scurrying toward the bar, and I made a mental note to add to whatever mydateplanned on tipping him.

In only a matter of minutes, this dude made me feel like I was close to retirement, with cobweb-riddled ovaries.

I took a fortifying gulp of my fresh drink the instant the waiter set it down in front of me. I cut Clark off as he rattled on about my dusty old lady parts and the importance of having my eggs frozen... just in case. “I’m sorry. I should have asked this at the start of the date, but just how well do you know Layla?”

For the life of me, I couldn’t imagine she’d set me up with this guy if she knew him well. Either that, or this was a prank, giving her a massive laugh at my expense.

“Oh, not very well. I’ve been her accountant for a couple years now, but we only really talk around tax season.”

I was going to kill her so dead.

Our entrees arrived after that, and I breathed a sigh of relief, thinking I’d get a reprieve from the weird and outrageously invasive questioning while we enjoyed our meals, but I was so very wrong.

“So what’s your retirement plan look like?”

My fork paused halfway to my mouth. “Sorry?”

“It’s important to have a plan in place for when you get too old to... you know, do what you do.”

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