Page 7 of Backup Plan

I clink my glass to his and repeat the phrase, not sure what new beginnings he’s got in mind but going along with the sentiment anyway.

“So your mom’s got your kids at her place for the night?” he asks after we each take a sip.

I nod.

“What does that mean for you?”

I lift a shoulder. “I guess it means I don’t particularly want to go home to be alone with my soon-to-be-ex-husband.”

“Then stay with me.”

“Is that your solution to everything?” I ask playfully.

He chuckles. “Let me help.”

I stare at him as I contemplate what to do. He’s just being a friend, and I don’t want to go home. If it’s just Brent and me there, chances are good we’ll just end up screaming at each other, and I’m at the point where I just want this to be over. I just want to be able to move on with my life.

You know what I’d really like to do? I’d like to just…up and move somewhere. Get out of Chicago. Take the kids somewhere and start over.

If I had the money, I would.

But I don’t, and besides, Brent would never let that happen, anyway.

I’m done thinking this through, and it looks like the wine is making the final decision anyway. I finally nod, and my voice is small when I say, “Okay.”

Izzy drops the bill, which he promptly picks up and pays, and we finish our drinks.

“Ready?” he asks, and something seems to shift in the air.

“Ready,” I confirm, and he slides out of the booth. I follow, and he holds out a hand to help me out. When my fingertips connect with his palm, I feel a crackle of electricity pass between us.

It’s definitely the wine creating an extremely overactive imagination.

His eyes land on mine for an extra second, and he pauses right there before he seems to remember that I’m his older sister’s best friend, not some woman he’s picking up at a bar to bring back home for the night.

Though to be honest…maybe my mom’s right.

No. I can’t get horizontal with Liam Bradley.

But it’s been forever since I’ve gotten horizontal at all with anybody.

Brent was busy getting it elsewhere while I was being the faithful wife who just assumed sex waned with time. At this point, it’s been well over a year since I’ve had sex.

I don’t know why sex is suddenly at the forefront of my mind. I’d blame the wine again, but that excuse is getting old even in my tipsy brain.

Something tells me it has less to do with the wine and more to do with the man currently holding my hand to help me out of the booth.

He doesn’t let go as he leads me through the bar, and I think he must be doing it for show. This is his local haunt. He probably comes here all the time, and this is his signal to Izzy and everyone else in here that he’s not going home alone.

I let him hold onto my hand mainly because it feels nice but also because I’m slightly unsteady on my feet right now.

Once we’re outside, he lets go of my hand. The air feels chilly in the upper fifties, with the famed Chicago wind working hard to blow my skirt up. Thankfully it’s a pencil skirt paired with a red sweater and short black boots with heels, and it’s behaving itself for now.

We walk side by side, a few inches separating us, and I’m watching the sidewalk in front of me so I don’t trip and make a fool out of myself.

“You said you live close?” I ask.

He nods up ahead of us. “Just around the corner.”