Ditching The Dream (Dream Series) by Isabelle Peterson Page A

go to and see him.” Jeremy was Jessica’s youngest, just a few months older than my youngest, but he’d chosen to not go to college. Instead, he and his buddies, who’d formed a band in high school, a really good band, decided to take some time off from school and hit the road to see if they could make the big times before going off to college. And these kids weren’t cover artists. They wrote their own stuff and were really incredible. They were rather successful, too. They were having no problems booking gigs and were gaining a following. It was only a matter of time before they got signed.
    We talked for another twenty minutes, catching up on her kids, the gossip from the neighborhood, and my new place of employment. I told her about my haircut. I was under strict orders to text her a “selfie” picture the second we got off the phone.
    “Thanks for chatting, Jess. I needed some support and normalcy, but I should get to bed. It’s almost two a.m. here and the three double shifts from the past three days have caught up. I’m so happy to have the lunch shift off tomorrow – er – later today,” I groaned, stifling a yawn.
    “Okay, well text me your address when you send your haircut pic so I can send you a birthday card. Besides, someone has to have your address and an updated photo of you in case you go missing, okay?” Yes, her reading included detective novels.
    “Sure thing, hon. I’ll call you in a few days, okay?”
    We hung up, and I took the “selfie” and texted it to her, along with my address, then was finally able to find some slumber.

    I wasn’t out of line? Was I? I mean, I lost my virginity when I was sixteen, and I had more than my fair share of action. Elizabeth was almost nineteen, and she doesn’t even remember it. At least that’s what she told me years back. And I liked that I was sort of her “first.”
    And what’s that saying? “If you love someone set them free”? But I don’t think I’ll lose her. I mean, she’s my Elizabeth. Besides, she probably won’t even do it. No, in fact, I know she wouldn’t. She would never do that to me.
    I should have just let her get a stupid job somewhere here when she started groaning about it a few months ago. Not sure what she would have gained from that. I have never complained about a dime she’d spent. Ever. Hell, I gave her spending money every week to boot.
    Picking up my file folders, I shoved them angrily in my brief case. No point in trying to work now. Now I’m just pissed, again. I just hope she gets what she needs out of this because I was really fucking sick of takeout and frozen microwave meals. I dumped my half eaten frozen lasagna in the trash. Elizabeth’s was so much better.

CHAPTER 8

    M onday morning I let myself wake up naturally, which actually turned out to be about one in the afternoon. Tom, the third bartender at Ed Scott’s was returning from his honeymoon vacation today, and I was looking forward to meeting him – later. The three days of doubles, covering for his absence, was enough for this almost forty-three year old.
    I took that last couple of hours before I needed to head to work to supply a mini-bar in my apartment. Heading out for a twenty dollar drink on stressed out nights was not going to cut it. I left my phone on the charger and headed out.
    I found a liquor store and filled my cart with bottles for a home liquor bar. Wine. Check. Some garnish and ‘accessory’ pours like maraschino cherries and Rose’s Lime Cordial. Check. Baileys. Check. Kahlua. Check. Triple Sec. Check. Kettle One. Check. Tanqueray. Check. Then I came across the scotch section. My eyes were inexplicably drawn to the Macallan. Okay, well maybe not inexplicably. It might have been the perfect mouth that had ordered it. And the eyes that seemed to speak louder than words. What did he think, when he looked at me the way he did? I wondered.
    Damn it! I was letting Greg and Jessica get into my head. Thinking of other men.