“A gift from the guys at the bar,” he replied, glancing behind him.
I followed his gaze to see three men watching us with matching grins, then turned back to Summer and Margo and lifted the glass in front of me.
“Let the games begin,” I joked, getting ready to take the shot.
“Wait!” Summer shouted, startling me so badly I almost spilled the contents. “We should make a toast … to the Jilted Wives Club.”
“Is that what we’re calling ourselves?” I asked, not sure if I liked the name, but willing to play along since it obviously made Summer happy.
“Yeah, how do you know we’re jilted wives?” Margo asked.
“Based on the group session we were all supposed to participate in, I made an educated guess.”
I looked at Margo and shrugged.
She rolled her eyes and said, “Fine … to the Jilted Wives Club.”
We all raised our glasses to each other, tapped them on the table, and did our shots.
The first meeting of the Jilted Wives Club had begun.
Two
Luca
“Your mother’s hoping you’ll be able to make it to dinner on Sunday.”
I glanced up from the slider I was currently slathering with sriracha aioli and shrugged.
“Not sure yet. Things are pretty crazy at the office.”
Campanella’s was packed, but my father and I often came here after work for a drink or a bite and had no problem grabbing a couple seats at the bar when necessary.
“And they always will be crazy, son, but you have to learn to balance work and family. It’s important. You haven’t been to a Sunday dinner in over a month.”
I knew he was right, and I also knew I didn’t want to suffer through another phone call with my mother where she went on and on about how disappointed she was when I missed another family dinner.
“I’ll be there,” I said definitively.
Once I made up my mind about something, that was it. I went after it with a single-minded focus and did whatever I needed to do to make it happen.
In this instance, it would be staying up late on Saturday to ensure I got everything done and was able to be at my mother’s table the next day. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to go. I loved my family and enjoyed spending time with them.
But when you were the son of one of your firm’s partners, you tended to either work your ass off to prove yourself or skated by on the family name. I fell into the former category. My father understood this, which is why this was the first time he was bringing up my absence at dinner.
“Perfect. I’ll let your mother know,” my dad said, before draining his bourbon and signaling the bartender for another round. His head turned toward a couple staff members from the firm who were talking loudly and raising their glasses to another table.
We both shifted to see who they were toasting and when my gaze landed on the table of three very beautiful women who were ignoring my idiot coworkers and throwing back shots, my world tilted.
I’d seen, dated, and bedded my share of beautiful women. From models to co-eds, to up-and-coming businesswomen … I loved them all. But there was something about one of the women in that group that made my pulse quicken.
They were an odd trio. One blonde bombshell, one maneater/ballbuster, and then there was her.
Decidedly feminine, in her navy-blue dress with white polka dots, which seemed to float around her. Her chestnut hair hit her shoulders and looked incredibly soft, making my hands itch to touch. Her face was captivating. The slight smile on her lips as she listened to her friends and the way her eyes seemed to complete that smile made her seem not only approachable, but like she would be a kind and understanding person.
It could all be bullshit, of course.
I’d had plenty of instances where my first impression of someone was way off and I’d ended up with a stage-five clinger on my hands, or on a date with a woman who was so self-involved there wasn’t room for anyone else in her life.
I was an optimist at heart, however, so I embraced my first impression and vowed to talk to her before I left the bar.
“Quite an attractive group,” my father said, pulling my attention from the women. “That Margo is a force to be reckoned with, or so I’ve heard.”
“Which one is she?” I asked, even though I was pretty sure I knew who he meant.
“The tall dark-haired woman,” he said, eyeing me curiously.
“And the brunette? Do you know her?”
He raised an eyebrow and said, “Can’t say I do … Why the interest?”
“What’s not to be interested in?”
“Well, I’d guess she’s closer to my age than yours…”
I took a sip of my drink and grinned at him.
“Come on, Pops,” I joked, knowing how much he hated being called that. “Age is just a number.”
My father simply shook his head, downed his drink, and said, “See you tomorrow.”
“Have a good night, Dad. Drive safe.”
“You too, Luca.”
He paid the bill and walked out into the cold evening. Not that I was alone, considering I knew fifty percent of the people in the place. Still, there was only one person I was interested in talking to at the moment.
I swiveled on the bar stool just in time to see my pretty brunette sliding off her chair and heading toward the restrooms in the back.
Seeing an opportunity, I picked up my glass and made my way to the back of the bar to the jukebox, which was near the bathroom. Most of the customers thought it was just a nice piece of nostalgia, but the jukebox actually worked and was stocked with classic rock, top forty hits, and a little jazz.
I kept a lookout for her blue-and-white dress as I scanned the offered tunes and when I saw her coming, I felt the thrill of anticipation and maneuvered my body slightly toward her.
“Excuse me, Miss?” I called when she was about to pass me.
I gave her a onceover, noting her ballet slippers, shapely calves, and absence of a wedding ring, before I gave her my most charming smile.
When her dark, chocolate eyes met mine, a jolt rocked through me and I knew my initial attraction was nothing compared to seeing her up close.
“Yes?” she asked, her tone friendly, yet apprehensive.
“I was wondering if you could help me … I can’t decide between Wicked Game and Fade into You.”
Her lips quirked up and she met my gaze straight on.
“Why not just go for it and choose Let’s Get It On?”
“I was trying to be subtle,” I countered.
“Oh, is that what you’re doing?” she asked with a laugh, looking down at the ground briefly before meeting my eyes once again and tucking her hair behind her ear in what I assumed was a nervous gesture.
I lifted a shoulder in response and said, “I’m Luca.”
“Whitney.”
“Whitney,” I repeated softly. “It’s nice to meet you. Would you join me for a drink?”
Her cheeks pinkened prettily and when her head tilted slightly, I knew I was about to be rejected.
“I’m flattered, Luca. Truly. But I’m actually here with some new friends and I need to get back.”
“Maybe another time,” I said, hoping she’d respond in kind, but she simply gave me one last smile before turning and walking away.