F*ck Marriage(30)

I open and close my mouth. There haven’t been many moments in my life where the cat has actually gotten my tongue. I don’t like how out of control I currently feel, or how his eyebrows are lifted practically to his hairline as he messes with me.

“Are you flirting with me?”

He doesn’t say anything, but his smile is enough to send every pathetic girl feeling I have into overdrive. I stand firm against the butterflies and try to look unfazed. For lack of anything better to do with my hands, I take a sip of water from the bottle I brought and spill half of it down the front of my shirt.

“Shit…” I’m brushing off water, hot with embarrassment, when I hear Woods’ voice.

“So you guys are gym partners now?”

My eyes don’t immediately leave Satcher’s face, they linger on the smug set of his lips before I turn my head to look at my former husband.

“Hello to you too,” I say.

Woods is annoyed; his eyes always get really small when he’s annoyed. He has a wad of Juicy Fruit in his cheek, and he holds it there while he stares between Satcher and me like we’re two teenagers coming home late from prom. I hold my shirt away from my skin, feeling awkward. I don’t know how the two of them got to this place, but there’s a palpable tension between them.

“I’ll see you, Billie.” Satcher winks at me before moving away, never actually acknowledging Woods’ presence.

I watch him go, disappointed. We’d been having fun, even if he was teasing me. I’m not the only one staring at him; half of the female gym in the vicinity turn their heads as he passes by.

“That’s something I never expected,” Woods says.

“What?” I’m still watching Satcher’s back.

“My best friend and my ex-wife…”

My attention snaps back to Woods and I want to laugh—I do. I am so far from Satcher’s type it is upsetting to think about. I almost correct him and then think better of it. Let Woods think there is something going on between me and Sasquatch. I raise my eyebrows in a what-in-the-world way.

Woods sighs. “I better get to work.”

I start to walk away and he calls after me.

“Hey, Billie!”

“Yeah.”

“You look ... great.”

I suppress my smile. “Thanks. You too.” And then it takes everything in me to walk away. I can feel his eyes roving ... roving, but I keep walking. Slow and steady wins the race.





Chapter Sixteen





I catch the red-eye to San Francisco alone. Everyone else flew out yesterday, but we are launching the newly branded F*ck Marriage next week, and I still have to finalize a lot of the details with Dave, who stayed behind to keep things running. Now with an hour to go before the luncheon, the first of the events, I have clothes strewn all over the hotel bed and zit cream on my chin. What are the chances I have a huge event and get a zit for the first time in two years? I glance at my outfit options for the day.

I selectively packed things from Jules’ closet, knowing I’d have to wear them since they were all I brought. Now, looking down at the tight black pants with a sheen that makes them look oil-slicked, I feel a wave of apprehension. Maybe this isn’t me. I pull them on anyway, despite my loud inner protesting, and put on the emerald green halter top I brought to pair it with. I look good. Really good. But not like me.

Something about having your heart broken and getting divorced gives you a raw sort of edge. I feel like Sandy in Grease when she dons her leather pants and fuck-me heels and goes to reclaim Danny with her new attitude. This is who I am on the inside, and it will just take a little practice to get comfortable expressing it with my (Jules’) wardrobe.

An hour later when I walk into the luncheon, I know I’ve made the right decision. The vendors greet me with happy surprise and several of the other bloggers run up to welcome me back and to tell me I look great. I’m riding high on all of the affirmation when I grab my first mimosa from a serving tray and make my way over to one of my old blogger friends, Annalise. She yells in excitement when she sees me. We remove ourselves from the bustle to talk, standing next to the drink table where I pluck another mimosa from the tray.

“It wasn’t the same when you left. Satcher did a great job holding things together, but I assume he brought you back for a reason.” This from Annalise; she started the Fab, Fit, Five blog around the same time I launched Rhubarb. She has five kids, all of them blonde and blue-eyed, and her blog is basically a recipe for depression if you’re not a size two, don’t breastfeed for a year, and throw peanut butter and jelly into a paper sack instead of making healthy gourmet school lunches.

“I assume so too,” I say, noting that Annalise has a new, upgraded engagement ring on her finger. Goodbye to humble beginnings. Her husband, Ned, is a developer. He recently built them a new mansion, which Annalise posts regularly on the blog’s decorating section. Despite my stint with depression when I was in Washington, I always kept up with what Fab, Fit, Five was doing; there’s something endearing about Annalise, right down to the way her finger and toenails always match her lipstick.

Once we’re done covering business, she lowers her voice considerably and asks, “So how has it been working with Pearl?”

If Annalise ever swore, I imagine the offensive word would be said in the same tone she says Pearl’s name.