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I didn’t think I was interested.
But now that Clay’s awakened all kinds of feelings in me, I realize that this one-sided pining doesn’t suit me at all.
I’m not wifey-material.
Not until there’s a wifey ring on my finger.
Although Clay isn’t in a position to fill the ache in my chest, it’s enough that he showed me it’s there. It’s enough that I know I want to do something about it.
I’mreadyto do something about it.
Because Taz isn’t the only one who should be allowed to have some fun before our marriage.
* * *
I haveno idea how I should go about finding a date, but it’s not like I can ask Rosie for advice.
After the conversation this morning, it’s clear she sees me as a virgin saint, a martyr bleeding on the altar of her brother’s love.
I’m not.
But I’m not making her any wiser. I’m sure Taz isn’t telling her about all the girls he’s ‘exploring’, while we’re in this season of an open relationship.
I can’t call Gran and ask either.
For one thing, she texted me saying they were camping in a small town with bad cell service and she wouldn’t be able to call too often. For another, I’m not discussing hooking up with mygranof all people.
I love my hair technicians, but for the sake of a drama-less existence, I try to keep a clear boundary between us so there’s no question of who’s the boss.
That leaves…
Huh.
Definitely not my brothers.
“Knock, knock.”
I glance up and notice Amy standing in the doorway of my office. She adjusts her turquoise cat-eye glasses and blinks nervously. “Hey, sorry. You looked deep in thought. Is something going on?”
“No, not really.”
“I’ll take ‘Biggest Lie On the Planet’ for two hundred, Alex.”
I chuckle. “Jeopardyreference?”
She gestures the shape of a cross and mutters, “May he rest in peace.”
I smile again.
Amy and I have developed a sort-of friendly relationship since she started working with me.
To be honest, it started because I felt sorry for her. The technicians kept excluding her from their friendly chats.
Not because they’re being mean but simply because Amy’s a little slow on the uptake. And she’s hopeless when the conversation is flavored with notes from black culture.
When I saw her eating by herself at lunch one day, I immediately had a flashback to my teenaged self. My heart pained me and I invited her to eat lunch in my office while I helped Regan with her homework.
Since then, she’s sought solace in this room so much that half the things on my desk are hers.