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“What’s up?” he answered.

“Hey, do you want to go out tonight?”

I could hear Rhett’s smile in his voice. “Thought you’d never ask.”

* * *

I knewI’d made a mistake as soon as we got off the phone. And the feeling didn’t go away. Not when I finished up my work at the office. Not when I drove back to my place to get dressed. And certainly not when Rhett showed up my condo, the belt buckle from his last bull riding win glinting at his waist. But I still couldn’t talk myself out of going to the bar.

He came inside, rubbing his hands together. “Should we head out, or do you have some of that fancy liquor here so we can pregame?”

I walked to my kitchen with a view of downtown Dallas. I could almost see into my office from here. Unlike at my office, I allowed myself a minute to enjoy the view I worked so hard for. It was no country meadow with black cattle dotting the hillside, but it was mine.

I opened a modern cabinet door, revealing my collection of high-end scotch, whiskey, tequila, and rum. “Pick your poison.”

“You know I like whiskey,” he said, leaning up against the bar-height counter. The pearl snaps of his shirt glinted against the spotless countertop.

I pulled out the whiskey decanter and poured a couple shots in glass tumblers for each of us. Rhett and I both took a sip, and as the liquid heated my throat, I said, “You know, I haven’t been out to a dance hall in...” I shook my head. I couldn’t remember. “Since Tyler got the job with Crenshaw?” We hadn’t even gone out drinking for his bachelor party.

“Ten years and counting.” Rhett took another sip, then swirled the amber liquid around his glass. “We can go out to eat, if you’re too afraid.”

I put the bottle back and pinned him with a look. “I am not afraid.”

Another drink. “Coulda fooled me.”

Shaking my head, I said, “Maybe I’m realizing it’s just really fucking stupid to chase down an employee at a bar.”

Rhett’s eyebrows flew up his forehead. “Wait, what? I’m not here for a guys’ night out?”

I glared at him. “Don’t be a smart-ass.”

He was definitely smirking like one. “So it’s the mom, right? Liv told me she caught you watching her son’s game on TV. I have to say, the whole digital creeping thing... not your best look.”

Yeah, I was definitely regretting this. And we hadn’t even left the house.

“Creeping on her at a bar would be worse,” I said. “Talk me out of it.”

Rhett drained the rest of his glass. “She doesn’t own the bar. Who’s to say you didn’t just decide to go out like the single, thirty-six-year-old man you are? Hell, maybe I begged you to go out with me. You know I don’t do well alone.” He put his hands on my shoulders, steering me toward the private elevator door. “And of course I would want to go out with you and your fancy car service to drive me home. They don’t have Uber out in the sticks. You’re keeping me safe, after all.”

We stepped onto the elevator, and I shook my head, wishing I’d had a lot more whiskey. “I’m going to regret this, aren’t I?”

“The parts you can remember.”

13

Farrah

I crossed the parking lot in the only outfit I had that was remotely appropriate for drinks and dancing, but I still felt more like a dumpy mom of three than a woman about to hit the town with friends.

Even when I went out with the other moms from school in Austin, we didn’t go to places like this, ones with packed parking lots and girls walking in with less clothing than one should ever wear on a cold March night.

But here I was in the only pair of skinny jeans I owned—and even these were more like leggings than denim with the amount of stretch required to fit my curvy frame. I paired them with a bright red V-neck shirt that hugged the girls then flared down past my hips.

The black booties I wore were old but trusty, and my hair was doing whatever it pleased with my curls down and free. A few spritzes of perfume made me feel more human.

One of the first things I’d spent money on after the divorce was a new perfume just for me. Caleb always bought me the same kind year after year, and I realized it hadn’t been because he liked the scent—it was because he could buy multiple and if he came home smelling like another woman’s perfume, it would match my own.

It was an act of rebellion to get something solely for myself. I decided if I ever dated, married again, I wouldn’t let a man control things like my scent or hair color. He would have to like me for me and let me make my own decisions, whether it be about my appearance or my bank account.