Flirting With Forever by Kim Boykin Page B

beside her. He was looking away from Tara, toward the Exit sign above the door.
    “Just pick a room,” she said like she was hoping he’d go back down stairs and pick hers. He wanted to. Yeah, not sleeping in the same bed with her, or not trying out that big ass Jacuzzi tub downstairs that was definitely big enough for both of them? That was going to suck. He dropped his bags in the bedside chair in the first bedroom he came to. This waiting thing was going to be a lot harder than he thought.
    I pulled a yellow halter dress that still had the tags on it out of the closet; I’d bought it at a trunk sale just after the first of the year. I knew if I put my new black heels on, we probably wouldn’t make it next door. The way Mike Lemieux looked down on Jake and me from his balcony, there was no doubt he’d come over and drag us out of the house like a couple of horny teenagers.
    Maybe I was in denial, but nothing bothered me about being with Jake in the same house I’d built with my husband. Not pictures of Jim, not mementos from our travels, nothing. It wasn’t a revenge kind of thing. For the first time in a long time, I was happy; Jake had a lot to do with that. But what surprised me most was that I felt less and less anger toward Jim. Maybe our marriage had run its course. Maybe Jim had fallen out of love first, and I’d followed suit.
    I had no idea where this thing with Jake was going. Who knows, he might run screaming from me by the end of the tour, and I wouldn’t have to find out what my forty-year-old body looked like next to his. The age difference still crept up in my mind from time to time, especially when some young twenty-something sashayed by. But Jake made it easy for me to believe age really doesn’t matter.
    “Really?” I stood there with a bottle of wine in each hand, looking at him dressed in shorts, a vintage t-shirt, and flip-flops.
    “What?” He looked down like there was a big catsup stain on his shirt.
    God, he was gorgeous and looked way younger than thirty. “Come on, mister,” I said, heading for the front door. “I’m going to need to see some ID before you can have a drink.”
    During our car trip to the island, I’d briefed Jake on my history with the Lemieux, which included them being Jim’s and my financial planners as well as neighbors here at the beach and next door neighbors for twenty years in Charlotte. Marsha and I had become instant friends, best friends.
    “So, it’s Mike and Marsha, right?” he asked. “And who’s Melissa again?”
    “She’s my friend and realtor.” And matchmaker. He nodded and grabbed one of the wine bottles along with my hand. I stopped in my tracks. “You sure about this, Jake?” Hand in hand, meeting my oldest and dearest friends, and Jim’s too?
    “It’s okay, Tara. Friends can hold hands.”
    To say our reception from the Lemieux was at opposite ends of the spectrum would have been an understatement. Mike barely said anything and Marsha immediately made an excuse to drag me into the kitchen where Melissa was whipping up Firefly martinis.
    “Oh. My. God, Melissa, you have to see Jake. He’s gorgeous.” Marsha was nearly hyperventilating. “Tara, go back out on the deck and nonchalantly press your body against him. I’ll bring Melissa out to introduce her to Jake so she can see those sparks for herself.”
    “Come on, Marsha,” I said. “Settle down.”
    “But you like him. I can see it in your face,” she gushed. “Besides, Melissa’s an expert at these kinds of things.”
    “And you have no filter and a very loud voice. Please, don’t drink anymore.” I took the wine she’d just poured herself and set it out of reach. “Please calm down and lower your voice.”
    “All right. All right.” Marsha nabbed her glass and took a couple of big gulps. “Melissa was over there not even an hour ago, working her magic. I bet she used one of those Geechee spells her grandma taught her. I bet there are love charms all over