“Let’s go shopping,” she said through clenched teeth. “After Bloody Marys at the Seelbach.”
After buying outrageous and unnecessarily expensive gifts for Tanya and Marianne, plus a whole stack of new books for the boys to read, they stopped for lunch at The Brown Hotel, accompanied by a bottle of much less cheap white wine. Kathy chattered for hours about nothing, exactly the way she used to do. It soothed Lindsay’s frazzled nerves on one level, but made her wish she could tell the woman to hush up for a few seconds so she could catch a breath.
As the day waned, Lindsay found herself pining for the boys again, wondering if Dom had behaved, if Antony and Paul had managed to not get into too many wrestling matches, if Kieran was missing her. She stared out the window of the cab she sprang for so they would have time to get home and fixed up to go out, really out, to a nice bar and then to dinner. Lindsay had bought a new dress, shoes, a satin garter belt and two pairs of the sort of silk stockings she used to take for granted, all for the night out they had planned.
If Kathy noticed Lindsay did very little talking, she didn’t comment on it. By the time they were spruced up, Lindsay wished she’d made an appointment with a real hairdresser and nail technician. She hadn’t had a real haircut or manicure in … well, since she’d been married.
Which had been her choice, of course, her conscience yammered at her. Poor Anton had more or less been buffeted along by the force of her focused personality. She’d initiated the sex, the wedding, all of it.
She glared at her reflection in the mirror. She’d bought new makeup, too, and applied it carefully, covering the lines and wrinkles and whatnot she’d developed while serving as Love family baby factory for the past however many years. The phone rang, making her nearly leap out of her skin. Convinced one of her sons had been run over by a truck or drowned in the Norrises’ pond, she ran to the kitchen. But it was another of Kathy’s career girlfriends, saying they would meet up at the bar in thirty minutes.
Lindsay slumped in the doorway, relieved and yet dreading a night of explaining herself as wife and mother of three boys, at her age, living in an overgrown shack of a quad-level on a few acres in Lucasville. But she wanted to go out. So she figured she’d endure it.
The night proceeded about the way she thought it would. The career ladies were all serious and put together, talking about their “savings plans” and “advancement opportunities.” She’d only needed to explain herself once, thank the Lord. After discovering her story—married, pregnant, housewife to a former stable hand—the girls had more or less ignored her while they sipped their martinis.
That was fine and dandy with Lindsay. She sipped hers and perused the darkened bar. When they ordered a second round, she sipped a little slower, knowing her tolerance had to be nearly nil after years spent pregnant or nursing, only having beer when she did drink.
Her gaze rested on the line of taps at the long, fancy bar. She had to stifle a gasp. All the time she’d spent looking at Love Brewing handles, labels and six-packs in one context—at the brewery, at home or in the Love Pub—had not really prepared her to see them anywhere else.
She got up without saying anything—rude, she knew, but she no longer cared. Taking a seat to the left of the line of taps, she studied the distinctive, hand-carved wooden heart on top of a bottle. It mesmerized her. It was a real thing, this brewery. People outside of Lucasville drank the beer her husband made, packaged, and shipped out into the world.
“Hey, do I know you?” A voice broke into her slight trance. She blinked and looked to her right. “Well, I’ll be damned. Lindsay Love. What’re you doing here?”
She took a breath, sipped her martini, and shot Joe Patterson her biggest smile. He seemed to flinch, then he smiled in return, raising his glass of what she could only assume was the Love Brewing option currently available.
After another drink, she’d decided to have her little party with Joe and not that pack of twittering wannabe wives. “On the make,” she said, leaning into Joe’s dress-shirted arm. “Every last one of ‘em. Out for a rich office husband.”
He glanced over at the table. “Hmm … maybe.” When he draped an arm over her shoulders, she edged closer to him. “Let’s go have dinner. I’d love to hear your opinion of the investor I found for the brewery.”
She looked at him from her way-too-close vantage point. He smiled. She leaned away and narrowed her eyes. “Are you flirting with me, Joe Patterson?”
He put a hand over his heart. “I declare I am not, Missus Love. Can’t help wanting to take the best-looking woman in town out for a nice meal.” He glanced down into the cleavage she’d allowed show. Her years spent breastfeeding hadn’t caused too much sag there yet. If anything, her boobs were fuller than they’d ever been. Her skin prickled when he whispered, “Unless you want me to flirt, of course.”
She waggled her finger in his face, slid off her stool and tucked her hand into his elbow. The whole table looked up at her, hanging off the arm of a tall, very handsome man. “I’ll be along later, Kathy. I need to chat with Joe here about his investments. Toodles.”
She let him pull her away as she stifled her tipsy giggles. Joe got them a cab, and they ended up at a classy but forgettable restaurant on the Ohio River. A glass of rich red wine later, she was almost seeing double so she switched to water.
Joe was in full frontal flirt mode, and she ate it up. It had been so long since any man had paid attention to her, other than the man who knocked her up the second he looked at her. Every time Joe mentioned Anton’s name, she changed the subject. It was utterly harmless, this little date. And they did talk about the brewery a lot.
He explained the angel investor’s goals, and how much he was willing to give in exchange for only a small ownership percentage. Joe almost had her convinced by the time he pulled her chair out, helped her to her feet, and guided her out of the place, his large, warm hand steady and reassuring on the small of her back.
They were sitting in the cab in front of a tall building where she presumed he lived. She was shaky, still drunk, but at least not seeing double anymore, thanks to the food and about a gallon of water. Joe studied her for a quiet few seconds. His face was so angular, his eyes that odd shade between brown and green. She fixated on his Adam’s apple, which bobbed when he swallowed.
“I need to go on up,” he said, his hand on her knee. “I’ll pay the cabbie now to take you wherever you want to go.” But he didn’t get out. “Unless, of course, this might be my lucky night.”
She sucked in a breath. The memory of the shadows, of Isabella’s voice telling Anton he should leave, and, of course, the way she had put his cock in her mouth and sucked it danced across her vision.
She waved her hand in front of her face to dissipate the images. Joe caught it, put it to his lips. She shivered and felt her nipples harden, pressing against the pretty new bra she’d bought today. “Yes,” she whispered. “I think it might be.”
They stood apart in the elevator. Lindsay had already begun concocting ways to escape, to not do this terrible, adulterous thing she’d been prepared to do not three minutes ago. Joe held out a hand when the doors parted. She walked ahead of him, stopping when he touched her elbow. He unlocked and opened his door. She hesitated, knowing full well that to step across that threshold would send her spiraling away from the only world she knew—and ruin everything she had in the process.
Not that it had stopped her husband from getting a blowjob from some old girlfriend.
He turned, took her hand, and guided her into his space. “Let’s have a drink,” he said, smooth as silk, while he tugged off his tie and hung it across the arm of an expensive-looking chair. He probably had women up here all the time. A different one every single night. She stood, clutching her bag and gaping at his nice things like a hayseed.