LYDIA

"What time do you want to go to Ikea?" Payton yawns as she passes me on her way into the kitchen.

"You want to go to Ikea with me?" I look up in surprise as I raise the presser foot on my sewing machine and pull the fabric free. I snip the threads and stand, holding the completed pajama bottoms in front of me for inspection.

"Of course I don't want to go, I'm just that good of a friend," Payton quips as she pours herself a cup of coffee. She turns, mug in hand, and watches me examine the PJs. "Hey, those are really cute." She sets her coffee down and takes the bottoms from me, holding them up against her hips.

"Ha! I told you you'd want a pair when they were done!"

"So you're a secret sewing ninja or something?" She pulls the pants away from her hips and examines the wide hem I made from the border of a set of pillowcases. "I'm starting to think you were picking up life skills while I was making out with boys in the backs of cars."

"I think I'll make a dress next."

"Okay, let's not get crazy." Payton folds the pajama bottoms in half then drapes them over a kitchen chair. "Wait, how many pairs have you made so far? You did sleep last night, right?" She frowns as she picks up a pair of pajama shorts with a satin drawstring bow.

"I've only been up for a couple hours. These are just easy to make. Look, I made a matching top for that one." I hold up a simple tank with spaghetti straps and a scrap of eyelet lace added to the scoop neckline.

Payton takes the tank from me and examines it, the straps dangling from her fingertips. "Huh. What else do you know how to do? Do you churn butter? Can you knit us an afghan? Oh, my God, I bet you know how to bake a Thanksgiving turkey, don't you?" She drops into a seat at the table and places a hand on my forearm. "Lydia, did you earn the 1950's housewife badge?" She blinks, eyes wide with inquiry.

"Pfft, there is no such thing as a 1950's housewife badge, which you would know if you hadn't gotten kicked out. I did earn the dinner party badge though."

"Oh, holy shit." She drops her hand and leans back, looking at me in something akin to horror. "I was joking. There's a dinner party badge? Stop."

"There is. Also, knitting has become trendy again, just so you know. And no, I don't know how to knit. Maybe we can take a class together?" I'm teasing because I don't think there's a chance Payton is signing up for a knitting class with me.

"I don't really think that would be my cup of Coke," she replies.

"Cup of Coke? Do you mean not your cup of tea?"

"No. I don't like tea." She yawns and examines another pair of pajama shorts.

"It's just a saying, Payton. You don't need to replace tea with something you like."

"Hmm. I don't think that's right. Anyway, Ikea?"

"Do I really deserve new desk accessories if I'm getting fired?"

"Ugh, enough with the getting fired." Payton groans into her coffee cup. "It's not happening. And spending the weekend making sheet pajamas is not happening either. Let's go to the pool, then we'll go to Ikea and grab dinner."

Payton is sly. Which is why I didn't realize that 'go to Ikea and grab dinner' was really just trickery for dragging me out to socialize. Oh, we went to Ikea. She even drove. Then she drove us to the bar.

"Really, Payton?" I ask when she pulls into a parking spot at Hennigan's. "You said we were going to dinner."

"What? We can order chicken fingers here. That counts as dinner." She flips the visor down as she digs a lip gloss from her handbag and uncaps it. "A couple guys from the pool are going to meet up with us."

"This is a date? You set me up on a date?" I turn to her in confusion while trying to figure out how she managed to make plans for tonight while I was with her at the pool. She's clearly much better at this sort of thing than I am. I wonder which guys? No one I saw today compared to Rhys, but perhaps it's time I stopped being so picky. Maybe my problem is that I'm unreasonable?

"Uh, no. It's not a date." She shakes her head, raising a skeptical eyebrow in my direction. "It's a couple of guys who live at our apartment complex meeting us at this bar, which is less than a mile from where we all live."

"Oh, okay."

"Relax, grasshopper. It's just drinks."

"Great idea."

"Really?" Now she's openly dubious, doing nothing to hide her narrowed eyes or pursed lips.

"Really." I flip my own visor down and examine my reflection. "Well played, just warn me next time so I can wear something besides a t-shirt that says 'Let's Taco ’Bout It.'" I remove the hair band from my hair and shake my hair out, combing my fingers through it. I got some sun today and I put on mascara before we left, so good enough. "But tomorrow I'm making sheet pajamas all day," I tell her, waving my hands in the air, complete with wiggly fingers, "and I don't want to hear a word about it."

"Fine. But this was disappointingly easy. I was kinda gearing up to drag you inside," Payton says as we exit the car. The warmth hits the moment I slide a leg out of the car. It's about seventy degrees at eight PM, but yes, it's a dry heat, as they say.

"Sorry to disappoint," I tell her as I slam the passenger door shut. "If it helps, I'm not making out with anyone this time though. And that is not a challenge. It's not happening."

"Why not? The best way to get over someone is to get under someone else."

"I was never under Rhys."

"I think it's figurative."

Once inside, we grab a table and order a couple of beers. I don't particularly love beer, but what the heck, when in Rome. I wonder if they drink beer in Rome? Maybe that's not a great analogy. Maybe I should have ordered wine? I wasn't sure if chicken fingers went with wine. Well, never mind—my beer has arrived.

Josh and Dan have arrived too. I recognize them from the pool, Payton reminding me who is who before they reach our table. A third guy arrives a few minutes after them, one I don't recognize but who seems to be a friend of theirs. I don't catch his name, and he doesn't appear to have much interest in getting mine, so I don't bother. In any case, Payton wasn't lying. This isn't a setup or a date. It’s just some people getting together to have a drink, maybe become friends. Maybe more, who knows?

Socializing is hard.

I don't have any particular phobias about socializing, nothing like that. I'm quite good at social etiquette and making friends. I earned every life skill badge one can obtain during my Girl Trooper days.

But bars are different. Distributing coasters to avoid drink rings on the tabletop is not considered a social asset, for example.

Which is ridiculous, but whatever. I dip a chicken finger into a plastic ramekin of honey mustard and listen to what Josh is telling me about his job. He seems interested in me. Not aggressively interested, just normally interested, which is nice.

He's attractive.

He's attentive.

He's available.

I feel nothing.

But maybe I will feel something, if I try harder. Maybe that's how this works. Maybe it's not always instant, blinding, inexplicable lust.

Like it was with Rhys. Why was it so instant with Rhys? So annoyingly instant. The first time I saw him I was in lust with him before he'd even caught me looking at him.

Focus on Josh.

I order another drink and focus. On Josh. Nice Josh. Age-appropriate Josh. Not my boss' boss' boss Josh.

I looked Rhys up last night. Of course I did. Once Payton pried the cutting ruler out of my hand and sent me to bed, I lay in the dark doing internet searches on Rhys Dalton. I'm not sure what I was looking for exactly, it's not as if I was going to find an article about some other girl who embarrassed herself in front of him worse than I did.

Okay, yes, I did look for that article. It doesn't exist, obviously. Then I Googled ‘embarrassing myself in front of my crush’ just to cheer myself up. Two stories in I decided it was best I stop reading in case I was subconsciously storing additional ways to embarrass myself.

Anyway, I didn't find much on Rhys. A few boring business things. I couldn't find a wife or girlfriend, but it's not like he had a Facebook page for me to troll through. The only social account I could find for him was on LinkedIn and that site was really not designed for creeping on your boss. Not in a meaningful way, at least.

He's thirty-four. A little old for me, possibly. But it's not as if I have daddy issues, so I think it's okay. I had two dads growing up. Two perfect dads who adored me and each other. My childhood was the opposite of dysfunctional. It was totally functional, in a nonconventional way. So no, I don't have any need to be daddied and if I want to lose my virginity to a man who's possibly a little too old for me, that's really my decision, isn't it?

"Lydia?" Josh is asking me something and I'm not paying the best of attention. Because I'm thinking about freaking Rhys.

"Yes?" I smile at Josh and renew my effort to pay attention to him. He has nice hair. And he's nice. And he's speaking to me and would probably respond if I offered him whatever he wanted instead of just staring at me as if I had not just made a very generous offer.

"Darts?" He nods to a dart board near our table. He has kind eyes and he seems genuinely interested in my response, in me saying yes.

"Sure." I place my beer on a coaster and tap the tabletop with my hand. "Let's do it."

By it, I mean darts not sex. For now. But maybe I'll change my mind. Not like tonight, let's not get crazy. But maybe Josh will grow on me. Maybe we'll become friends. He's sort of funny and I do like him. Maybe the magical and elusive lust cupid will strike, you never know.