“Marcy, I don’t wanna.”
She let out a sigh. “Stop whining like my five-year-old niece, and get your ass in there. It’s just a party.”
My shoulders slumped forward, and I groaned. “It’s a work party, which makes it infinitely worse than any other party.”
She put her hands on her hips. “What is your party malfunction, Warren?”
“I’m a social drinker. I get fucked up, horny, and sleep with whoever is available. And with my luck, it’s the ugliest guy there.”
Her lips cracked up into a smile. “I’ll keep you ugly free.”
“That’s beside the point! I don’t want a nighter with someone I have to look at every day. Plus, Dr. Douche becomes extra douchey when he’s liquored up. I had to file a complaint with HR after last year.”
“Wait, what?” she asked with a furrowed brow. “I don’t remember that.”
“He called me a whore.”
“Whoa!”
I pursed my lips and scrunched my brow. “Then again, I may have been hitting on him. I don’t really remember.”
She shook her head and wrapped her arm around my shoulders, tugging me along with her. “Even his hotness can’t combat his horrible personality. What if we taped his mouth shut? He has a great smolder.”
My head fell back in laughter. “Don’t tempt me. It’s been a while.”
We walked in, and I took a deep breath as we crossed to the back. Most of the tables we passed were empty but would steadily fill in with the people filtering in. During the last few feet of approach to our group, I took a quick glance around the room for my exits before we reached the table where over half a dozen people already sat.
“Paisley, sit here.” Micah’s eager smile beamed at me as he patted the space on the booth beside him. The drink in his hand was half gone—sitting next to an empty one—which probably accounted for his rosy cheeks.
A hand reached out for mine and tugged me in the opposite direction.
“Paisley, dear, why don’t you sit next to me?” The corners of Dr. Mitchell’s eyes crinkled with fine lines and age, a knowing smile as he pulled out a chair.
“Thank you,” I whispered, giving his hand a squeeze.
“No worries. You aren’t the first victim of the night.” He sat back down beside me, what looked like a brandy in front of him, which he gingerly sipped from. “How have you been?”
I glanced around for Marcy to make sure she hadn’t been snared, only to find that poor Sandra had, then turned back to the older gentleman next to me. And that was exactly what Dr. Mitchell was—a gentleman. His once dark hair was white, but he still held a youthful appearance for his sixty years.
“Good. Work’s keeping me busy.”
“Not too busy for a social life, I hope,” he said before taking a sip.
Social life? In the last six months, the only relationship I had was with my couch. We had three-ways with my television. Sometimes two guys named Ben and Jerry came around for an introvert gang bang.
“Well…” I trailed off, not having an answer, my gaze glued at a spot on the table as I fidgeted with my purse strap.
“Paisley.”
I turned to him. “I’ve been spending a lot of quality time with myself.”
His lips formed a thin line. “I was afraid you were going to say that. Is it because of Digby?”
My chest clenched as the hairs stood up on the back of my neck.
Digby.
“It’s been almost a year since he moved. Do you keep in touch?”
I shrugged. “Occasionally.”
If phone sex about a month ago and a midnight hookup four months ago on his way through town counted. After being together for almost three years, it still stunned me that we were over. He got an offer with the Dallas Cowboys’ marketing team and two weeks later, he was gone.
Then again, I did nothing to follow him. We talked about it, he even proposed, but I couldn’t commit to it…to him. A mindset that’d kept me down for a year. An almost perfect guy, one who loved me, and I let him go.
“There’s someone out there for you, but you can’t lock yourself inside all the time. Get out, enjoy the world. You only live once.”
I leaned forward, wrapping my arms around his shoulders. “Thank you. I’ll try.”
An hour later, our group’s attendance hit the unlucky number thirteen. Micah’s voice was growing louder with each drink. His hands had already run Sandra off to hide behind Damon, who was in a surprisingly good mood and on his third beer. Dr. Mitchell was deep in conversation with Dr. Alma, as we affectionately called her. It was mainly due to the length of her hyphenated last name.
The glass in front of me was empty, putting me in desperate need of another if I was going to make it through another hour. Up at the bar, I found an empty seat in the now bustling establishment, and waited for the bartender to come my way.