He grimaced. “That can’t be healthy.”

I hitched my shoulder up in a shrug, keeping up my steady pace.

“Anything in particular that made you need a ‘shower’ today?” he asked, watching me closely.

I glared. “That is not a friendly question.”

He sighed heavily, turning away. “My bad,” he muttered, heading to the free weights.

We hadn’t gotten much sleep the night before, and I found myself laying down for a nap by early afternoon, since Jerry and the kids were still out and about.

I was just burrowing into the covers when there was a soft knock at my door.

“Yeah?” I called.

Tristan poked his head in. “Hey. I was going to take a short nap, too, before I go out. Mind if I stay in here with you, since the living room will be overrun by the kids pretty soon…”

I watched him. “No funny business?”

“No funny business,” he agreed. “I’ll stay on my side of the bed.”

I snuggled into my pillow, almost at peace with the fact that I could never seem to tell him no. “Okay. Night, Tristan.”

The bed moved as he climbed on the other side. I shivered as I felt him getting under the covers with me.

“Sweet dreams, boo,” he said quietly.

I smiled, my eyes drifting closed.

I woke up as my bathroom door opened. I blinked up at Tristan, who was fully dressed for his night out. He wore a crisp navy dress shirt with dark-washed jeans.

The sleeves of his shirt were rolled up; the collar unbuttoned enough to show a distracting amount of his throat.

“Aren’t you going to be hot?” I asked.

He grinned, approaching the bed. “Aren’t I, though?”

I rolled my eyes.

He startled me by bending over and placing a soft kiss on my forehead.

I gave him wide eyes as he straightened. “What was that?”

“That was a ‘have a nice night, friend’ kiss.”

I pursed my lips, sitting up. “Do you kiss Cory or Kenny on the forehead?”

He just smiled. “I would, if they were as gorgeous as you. I’ll see you later, boo. Have a nice night.”

“You too,” I told him as he walked out.

CHAPTER TEN

I started making snacks early for the girls’ night. Those bitches could eat. Everyone would show up, say they weren’t hungry, have two cocktails, and promptly pig out. I loved it, and I made sure we were prepared.

I prepared a mix of healthy and unhealthy comfort food. I made guacamole, but also put out some processed cheese dip that one of the girls loved. I put out plain tortilla chips, whole wheat pita chips, and plain old potato chips. I made pigs in a blanket, and baked some tater tots, but made sure I cut plenty of fresh vegetables. It was a diverse crowd of women that attended our girls’ night every week, and we tried to accommodate them all. One thing they all indulged in equally, though, was Bev’s cocktail of the week.

Bev joined me in the kitchen when she got home from work. She came bearing gifts in the form of bottles of apple juice, apple schnapps, and vodka.

I nabbed one bottle, inspecting it. “Apple juice, huh?” I asked.

“Indeed,” she said with a grin, washing her hands. “Appletinis.”

One of the best things about girls’ night was that no one even considered dressing up. We all wore sweats or yoga pants. I had my favorite pair of pink sweat short-shorts on that read ‘sassy pants’ on the butt, and a red half-shirt that read UNL because the V had worn out.

Bev took less than five minutes to change into her own pair of sweats—a sight you only saw on girls’ night.

“Jerry just called,” Bev told me as she came back into the kitchen. “He and the boys are catching a movie. They won’t be home until bedtime.”

The doorbell rang, and Bev answered it with a ready cocktail in hand, all of the dogs following closely on her heels.

It was Lucy. Lucy always showed up early. She sort of ran this thing, though she’d been reluctant at first. Our girls’ night had, over time, turned into a weekly group therapy session. Lucy had argued at first that it might not be the best idea to have therapy sessions with her friends, but, when she’d seen how much we all apparently needed it, she’d become more enthusiastic than any of us about the whole thing.

We’d even affectionately named the event. ‘Fuck Anonymous’, because it was anything but anonymous, had been going strong for over a year now, and I wouldn’t change a thing about it.

Lucy and Bev embraced, kissing cheeks, and Bev handed off the cocktail.

Lucy studied the bright green liquid in the martini glass. “This is either tasty, or wicked,” she murmured. She was a petite black-haired woman in her early forties. She had a pretty face, with dark eyes that always seemed to be crinkled up with laughter.

“It’s a little bit of both, I think,” Bev said.

Lucy came into the kitchen, where I was laying out the food, paper plate buffet style.

I set down the plate in my hand to give her a big hug.

“How are you, dear?” she asked as she pulled back. “You look great.”

I glanced down at my sloppy ensemble, wondering if she could be joking. “Um, thanks. I’m doing good.”

Bev went back to bartending from the small bar in the dining room, pouring and then bringing me my own bright martini.

I thanked her, taking a tiny sip. My brows shot up. “That’s tasty.”

Bev went back to the bar, pouring herself a glass. She held it up. “Cheers ladies. Fuck anonymous!”

“Fuck anonymous!” I said, raising my glass.

“Fuck anonymous!” Lucy called, smiling.

I took a long drink, then went back to stocking the buffet.

The doorbell rang. Bev answered it with another green martini in hand.

It was the neighbor, Sarah. She was a short, plump, white-haired woman in her sixties. She had a plate of her famous peanut butter cookies, as always.

Bev handed her the cocktail, and took the cookies.

They embraced, and Sarah took her usual spot on the sofa in the living room.

“Fuck anonymous,” she called out sweetly, before taking a big drink.

Jen, another neighbor, arrived next. Jen was a blonde, Barbie doll housewife with a great personality and a beauty pageant smile. She was the only one of us that never resorted to wearing sweats, even for girls’ night. She wore an emerald green sheath with mint green stilettos.

“I matched the drink of the week. What are the odds?” We all laughed.

She’d brought a huge box of chocolates, and we added it to the paper plate buffet.

“Fuck anonymous,” Sarah said quietly, taking a drink.

Harriet and Sandra arrived together.

Harriet was an attorney, like Bev, though her firm was smaller. She was thirty-nine, and she had dark hair and nondescript features. No one would know at first glance that she was a closet sexpot.

Sandra was Harriet’s neighbor. She was a small brown-haired, brown-eyed woman with a somewhat austere demeanor. She was an assistant at the art gallery at the Cavendish resort. It went without saying that after two drinks she’d start going on about how hot her boss, the hotel’s owner, was. I’d seen pictures of the twenty something billionaire playboy, and I couldn’t really blame her.

Olga showed next. She was a retired gymnast/acrobat with a heavy German accent. She was older, with a bit of overdone plastic surgery that made it hard to tell her age. She could drink the lot of us under the table.

Candy was the last to make an appearance. At thirty-four, she was the closest of the group to my own age, though there was still a thirteen-year gap between us. She worked in a burlesque show on the strip, and was a dead ringer for Betty Page, hairstyle and all.

“Hello Hookers,” she called loudly as she took her martini glass from Bev, giving her an air kiss. Her hair and makeup were fully done, but she was wearing Betty Boop PJ’s, and kitty slippers. “I’d like to start tonight, if no one objects. I need to vent.”

“No objections here,” Lucy said, looking around.

I moved into the living room, Dot and Pupcake following me again. They always followed Bev around for a while right when she first got home from work, but some or all of them eventually made their way back to me.

“Sounds good to me,” I said. I sat down on the loveseat with Bev and took a big drink of my martini.

Everyone sat. There were plenty of seats, with spots for six on the sectional, the loveseat, and two extra recliners. The living room wasn’t pretty, but it was comfortable. The dogs lounged around the room, as though they were in on the discussion.

Candy was the only one who didn’t sit, tapping a kitty slipper, her hand on her hip.

“Okay, here goes,” she began. “I’m frustrated—no, you know what, I’m pissed, at George! I just don’t think that he even attempts to understand me, and sometimes, a lot of times, I feel like he just tries to be contrary, like he’s just looking for reasons to shut me down.”

Lucy’s brow furrowed as she studied the other woman. “Okay, you’re frustrated that your partner doesn’t understand where you’re coming from—“

“I don’t think he even tries to understand,” Candy burst out.

Lucy nodded calmly. “I can see how that would be frustrating. I think we can all relate to that, on some level, but can you give us some specific examples of why you’re feeling this way?”

Candy downed her martini, and Bev was up to take her glass for a refill before she continued. “Well…you all know I’m bisexual. George knows it. He’s known it from the start, but he won’t let me be with other women. He actually had the nerve to say that he would leave me if I hooked up with someone else, even if it was a woman!”

“Are you still monogamous?” Lucy asked, her tone very neutral.

Candy blew out a frustrated breath. “Yes. We’re living together now, but I like to be with men and women. George is talking marriage, and part of me is thrilled by that, but another part of me can’t imagine not having sex with a woman for the rest of my life. It’s not fair of him to ask that of me.”

“Well, you may just have to choose, Candy.”

“But that’s not fair. I’m attracted to men and women.”

“I understand. And that’s fine. Only you can decide what you want to do, and how you want to prioritize your relationships. You did agree to monogamy with George. If I recall, it was your idea. What he’s asking you to do—to not have sex with other people, is no different than what any partner asks in an exclusive relationship—“

“But I’m attracted to women.”

Bev brought Candy another martini.

Candy thanked, her, taking a long drink.

“I understand that. I really do. Do you think any monogamous relationship doesn’t face those same challenges? It’s a commitment for everyone to deny those other potential attractions. If you married George, you may never have sex with another woman, but that’s what marriage is. If George says he won’t tolerate you having sex with other women, you either need to adhere to that, or break it off.”