Page 31 of Knockout (Whiskey Dolls 2)

I opened my mouth, prepared to tell them about Jude’s ex and how he’d compared me to the vile woman up untilveryrecently, but I couldn’t bring myself to say any of that out loud. I knew that my friends would be offended on my behalf, and for some reason, I didn’t like the idea of damning him in their eyes. Although the truth of what he’d done still kind of rankled, even with our truce intact.

Instead, I decided a lie would be best. “There just wasn’t any spark.”

Truth was, the spark I had felt was so damn intense, at least to me, it was a wonder it didn’t singe my skin. But a spark did not a relationship make. Unfortunately.

“Talk about build-up with no climax,” Alma grumbled.

I rolled my eyes as her. “I told you, I wasn’t going to sleep with him on the first date, no matter who he turned out to be.”

“I wasn’t talking about your date,” she shot back. “I was referring to your story. We’ve been waiting all damn night. Then...” She blew out a raspberry and flipped her wrist over. “All that anticipation for nothing. I haven’t been so let down since the time I picked that firefighter up at a bar and took him home, only to discover he had a micro penis.”

“That’s a medical condition,” sweet Delanie insisted. “You can’t really blame him for that.”

“I’m not blaming him forthat,” Alma said. “But you’d think if a guy wasn’t packing in his briefs he’d at least compensate...orally. But nope! Nada.”

This conversation had officially gotten away from me, something that seemed to occur on a regular basis with this particular group of women.

“Anyway,” I spoke up, shifting us off the topic of micro penises and oral skills before poor Delanie was scandalized to the point she quit. “It was a nice date and we left it in a good place, so I don’t really have any complaints.”

Another bold-faced lie. But what could you do?

“Well, since that didn’t work out,” Mac started in, “I know this other guy that—”

“Not a chance,” I shouted at her from across the room. “No more blind dates. I think we need to accept the fact that when it comes to setting each other up, we all suck at it.”

“Amen to that,” Marin concurred.

At leastoneof my friends was sane. The jury was still out on the rest of them.

14

Layla

It had been four days since my quasi-date with Jude, and it was one of the very rare days I had off with nothing else going on. I didn’t have to go to the club for rehearsals and I wasn’t scheduled at Hope House. There were no errands to run, my laundry was done, and my apartment was clean, so I planned to take full advantage.

Today was all about pampering myself.

I put together a charcuterie board and set it out on the coffee table so I didn’t have to go back and forth from the living room to the kitchen if I got the hankering to snack, and rummaged through my copious bottles of nail polish until I settled on a color that struck my fancy.

With a bottle of fire engine red polish in hand and a mask made to hydrate and rejuvenate slathered on my face, I settled in on the couch and queued up one of the million true crime shows I had saved on my DVR. This was my recipe for ultimate relaxation.

I’d just finished applying the first coat to my toes and gotten to the part of my show where they were detailing the killer’s upbringing, trying to give us insight into what made him turn into a nutball who whacked his wives, when someone knocked on my door.

Pausing the show, I twisted the polish closed and waddled to the front door, careful not to mess anything up. I couldn’t deny there was a tiny part of me that hoped it was Jude on the other side. I hadn’t seen him since the night of our date, and with every day that passed, it felt like something was itching beneath my skin, trying to claw its way out. I tried stomping that feeling into submission, but it wouldn’t let up. It was a persistent fucker.

I knew better than to hope like that. After all, there really was no reason for Jude to show up on my doorstep. And why did I want to come up with a reason all of a sudden.

“For the love of God, Layla. Get your shit together,” I grumbled to myself as I made it to the door and pulled it open.

Sure enough, it wasn’t Jude on the other side, but an adorable little old lady in a brightly colored caftan and the most amazing pair of bronze gladiator sandals I’d ever seen. Her white hair was clipped short and curled in a perfect poof, and the oversized cat-eye eyeglasses on her face were a bright teal that matched her outfit to perfection. Every damn inch of her short, sloped frame looked fierce as hell, and without either of us having said a word, I knew without a shadow of a doubt that I wanted this old lady to be my best friend.

“Uh, hi...” I dragged out. “Can I help you?”

The smile she gave me was full of kindness. “Oh, goodness. I must have gotten off on the wrong floor. Silly me.”

This. Lady. Was.Adorable. If I could have, I’d have stuck her in my pocket and kept her forever. “That’s okay. Who are you looking for? Maybe I can help you find them.”

“Oh, no. Please don’t worry yourself. I’m just looking for my grandson. I believe he’s just one floor up, right above you.”

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