Page 29 of When the Time Is Right
We’d had to work our asses off to get things back on schedule, but when he came home from work that afternoon, there was a concrete hole in his backyard, ready and waiting for plumbing to be hooked up. I didn’t give a fuck if he filled it with water and let his wife float in it or turned it into the neighborhood skatepark. There was no turning back.
That should have felt like a victory. And in some ways, it did, but I was exhausted, and despite that, I hadn’t been to the gym all week, so my whole fucking body hurt. I wasn’t a stranger to hard work, but with Hud Construction’s rapid growth over the last few years, I’d basically worked myself into a desk job. It felt nice to be back at it—at least in my mind. My traps were a different story though.
On top of all that, I missed Jack. He’d spent the week with Lauren’s parents at their beach house on Hilton Head Island. Judy and David owned the house next door, so I was positive my boy was having a blast and being spoiled in ways only grandparents knew how to do, but damn, a week was a long time. Technically, I only had him every other week as it was, but Lauren and I made sure he never went a whole week without seeing both of us. Sunday couldn’t come soon enough.
Oh, and speaking of Lauren, she’d had to reschedule my little meeting with investment banker Mark for the fourth time in two weeks. Apparently, he was just as busy at work as she was. How the hell they had spent more than an hour-long lunch together in the month they’d been dating, I’d never know. But it sure as hell kept me up at night, reeling through worst-case scenarios. The longer she put this off, the less I felt like “the best baby daddy ever,” but more accurately, “the most understanding and flexible baby daddy ever.”
And then there was this fucking bet with Lex. It was finally Friday, and Jesus, I’d have given my left nut to sit on my couch with a beer before calling it an early night.
But no. I had a cherry-red Chevelle to win first.
After the Chase/Cal fiasco from the week before, I’d spent a lot of time trying to pick Lex’s next date. I didn’t know him well, but I had faith Hank Davis was going to win me that pink slip.
He was a solid six-foot, so shorter than Cal, but at least a head taller than Lex. He also had short, blond hair that told me he liked to take care of himself and a good build that made me feel like in a pinch he could take care of her. Lastly, he was successful with a laid-back personality, so I knew he had drive and, most of all, patience.
According to Libby, all the girls went wild for him at the accounting firm he worked at. Okay, fine. Yes. Eighty-four-year-old Libby had found this date. He was her friend’s grandson. But I’d seen pictures and asked around about him. I didn’t know his credit score, but it was entirely (read: definitely) possible I’d had a buddy pull a background check on him. Short of his middle name being Elenor, he didn’t appear to have any deep, dark secrets.
So, while Lex was off at The Lobster Claw with Hank for some of the city’s most prized seafood food, I was walking into The Porterhouse, home of Atlanta’s best steak, to meet my date, Sandra.
Things I knew about Sandra:
Her name was Sandra. The end.
As I walked to the bar, I prayed like hell Lex had given her a tad more information about me, because there had to have been at least a dozen women at the bar. I stood there like an idiot waiting for someone to notice me, all the while scanning the women for my date. A brunette at the end of the bar caught my attention. She was beautiful. Long, brown hair, tan skin, and wearing a pair of jeans and a fitted black top. Simple, but nice.
“Um, Hi. Any chance your name is Sandra?” I asked.
Her head snapped in my direction, a pair of startled big, brown eyes staring back at me. “Nope. As far as I know, I’m still Charlotte.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. I’m supposed to be meeting my date here.” I swayed my head from side to side. “And it’s a blind date thing. So you know.”
She lifted her hand, revealing a large diamond stacked on top of a wedding band. “Definitely not me.”
A big guy in a Porterhouse polo shirt came strolling behind the bar. When he stopped in front of her, he didn’t say anything. He just smiled and stood there. The husband no doubt. Not awkward at all.
