Page 5 of When the Time Is Right
Besides, he had plenty of money. Hence the Stepford wife he now belonged to. Dr. Calvin Lawson could afford to splurge on the Kate Spade purse I had in my online Nordstrom cart—and the matching wallet. The Lord knew I wasn’t going to be dropping that kind of money for a while.
I’d only recently regained employment when one of my old waitressing friends moved back to town, and I was about a month into my new job at Warren and Warren Consulting. Sure, it was an entry-level position, mostly doing administrative work. Assistant stuff. Running errands. Still, it was good experience and any marketing knowledge I gained wouldn’t hurt. But with both Warrens expecting their first child and opening a new office in Atlanta, my need for employment couldn’t have come at a better time for all of us.
So, as the afternoon went on, I kept my mouth shut and fulfilled my sisterly obligations. The second I got to the reception venue, I limped my saintly ass up to the bar with my stupid date trailing behind me.
Normally, I wouldn’t have brought Craig—or even dated him for that matter. We’d only been out a handful of times, but his family knew my mom and she’d basically invited him after our second date.
Don’t get me wrong. Craig was an okay guy. Nothing special, but I supposed, with also still being single as fuck at twenty-eight, I was no prize peach, either.
“Two Captain and Cokes, please,” I ordered at the first port-a-bar I came to.
“Oh, no, thanks, Alexis,” Craig said after catching up to me, waving off the first cocktail that was set in front of us.
“These are both mine,” I explained.
He didn’t look impressed, but that would only cushion the blow when I let him down gently, probably the next day on the phone. It didn’t bother me one iota if he thought I was being a bad date.
I was a bad date, but that wasn’t anything new.
I was simply one of those people who knew what they liked and what they didn’t. If and when the right guy came along again, I’d know right away. Although I wasn’t holding my breath. Mostly because I didn’t really care about many people, except the ones I chose to keep around me.
They were irreplaceable.
Besides, I had more important things to worry about. A new job that was going to run me ragged over the coming weeks, two fur balls that demanded my unwavering devotion, and a small starter house I’d bought just before I’d been laid off a few months ago. Without much income, my savings—which I’d planned on spending on renovations and some other now sidelined plans—had dwindled. So I would have to be creative with my budget.
Like, pronto.
Because the leaks in my guest bathroom weren’t getting fixed by a plumber. The low-hanging tree branch and overgrown bushes out front wouldn’t be touched by a professional landscaper, and the drywall and paint the walls needed were probably going to be poorly repaired and only slightly improved by yours truly.
I wasn’t afraid of the challenge though, and I wasn’t scared to get my hands dirty. Hell, I’d grown up in the Georgian dirt with my brother, playing with bugs and chasing snakes with the neighborhood kids. Granted, our neighborhood was pretty tame, and we weren’t trudging through any wild forests, but rather a creek bed that ran through the adjacent golf course.
Regardless, I could take care of myself.
Plus, you could learn how to do just about anything on YouTube. So that left me no time or interest in a love life. Then again, everyone gets a scratch they can’t itch themselves from time to time.
I’d let Craig give me a scratching the weekend before and it had left a lot to be desired. A whole lot.
From then on, with regard to me, Craig wasn’t going to be itching anything other than the flaky, mysterious skin thing he had going on. Maybe I’d mention it when I called him the next day. I didn’t want to date him, but sometimes a guy needed a friend to nudge him in the right direction. And the only helpful direction I could point him was to a good dermatologist.
“I’ll have a Sprite,” he told the bartender as I pulled tip money from my wristlet and slugged back about half of my first rum and Coke.
When we both had our drinks, it was time to find our table. So I headed up front, knowing as part of the wedding party I’d be seated near the lucky couple. I spotted Hudson and snaked my way through the others filing in.
“Double-fisting it tonight?” Hudson made the gesture for shame-shame with his hands.
I sat and hooked my finger around the back strap of the torture devices melded to my blood-encrusted feet. “I only have two hands. Otherwise, I’d have more.”
