Play Fling (A Stupid Cupid Book) (5 page)

“Ouch.” Brooke couldn’t possibly know about
the break
-
in, could she? She hadn’t even been home yet to
find her front door unlocked. Had she? “I suppose I deserve that,
though.”

“Millie, it’s not about deserving or not. You
are who you are.” Brooke set her glass down. The lemon wedge
toppled to the table and stayed there. “If we can call each other
friends, then we should be able to see the other person for who
they really are and accept them regardless.”

Double ouch. “I’m so sorry, Brooke. Really, I
am.”

Brooke put her hands in the air as if to say,
“enough”. Were her hands shaking? Oh no. How mad was she? And if
she wasn’t mad about being stood up, or the break-in, then what
…?

“Would you ladies like another moment or are
you ready to order?”

Millie could have kissed the pimple-faced
waiter for his timing.

“I need a little more time,” Brooke said.

“Sure thing,” the waiter chirped. “Just wave
me down when you’re ready.”

Brooke nodded very slowly, her gaze making
Millie feel like a germ under a microscope. Her pulse tripled in
beat. Was it hot in here or was it the cold water making her
stomach dizzy?

“Wait,” Millie said, snatching the waiter’s
arm. “What are your specials tonight?”

He eyeballed her hand. She promptly removed
it.

“We don’t have any specials. Come summertime,
we’ll have a seasonal menu, but the owner doesn’t like
specials.”

“Oh.” She could feel Brooke’s stare. Crap.
“Alright. Thanks.”

Millie busied herself with the menu, ignoring
the silence inflating between them. Brooke sipped her water dry.
Her menu lay untouched next to the fallen lemon wedge.

Millie bit her inner cheek. “What’s good
here?”

“Why did you call Jason, Millie?”

“Jason?” It was Millie’s turn to drink water,
her mouth suddenly dry.

“Yes. He said you called him. When did you
call him, exactly?” Brooke wound the edge of her turtleneck with
her index finger, her gaze intent on Millie. “And, why did you call
him? Exactly?”

Man, her tone could cut. No wonder she didn’t
cuss. She didn’t f-ing need to.
Lies, don’t fail me now.
“I
called Jason this afternoon.”
While I broke
into
your condo and found your wedding photo front and center in your
entryway.
“He wasn’t supposed to tell you.”

Millie giggled nervously while her brain dug
in deep for excuses. Had she thought for a second Jason would go
against what she’d explicitly asked on her message for him
not
to do—i.e. tell Brooke—, she might have been
prepared.

Brooke straightened, her fingers folded.
“Well, he did. So, could you start explaining what is going on
before my mind takes me down any uglier scenarios than it already
has?”

Exes weren’t supposed to chat each other up
or be unwilling to keep a secret or two. Mille hadn’t even used the
word secret with Jason. She’d said surprise. Reuniting Jason and
Brooke was a long shot, Millie knew it, but it was all she had and
it would only work if Jason didn’t screw it up. Brooke blinked, her
eyebrows rose impossibly higher.

“I was going to ask him about you,” Millie
scrambled. AJ’s earlier words echoed in her head.
The truth?
No, no, no. Not the truth. “That is to say, I was going to ask him
about your birthday.”

“My birthday.”

“Yes.”

“Was over a month ago.”

Crap. The lie she’d prepped for Jason may as
well do. “Yes. And I didn’t really do anything for it and after
today and all the other times you’ve tolerated me like a saint, I
thought I could come up with a post birthday,
thanks-for-putting-up-with-me kind of thing for you.”

“I asked you not to do anything for my
birthday, remember?” she said, less edgy. “I stopped celebrating
them after my last one with Jason.”

Really? Interesting. So, did that mean Brooke
was so heartbroken that she couldn’t bring herself to celebrate
after Jason did such an amazing job on their last one together? Or
was it so awful that it led to their marriage’s demise? Maybe
Millie was getting somewhere. And a good job on the up-swing, if
she did say so herself.

Millie nodded. “I do remember you saying
that, but….”

“All set, ladies?” The waiter popped over,
his timing not so excellent this time.

Brooke ordered a Cobb Salad. And more
water.

“I’ll have a screwdriver,” Millie said. “And
the spaghetti.”

Now, how could she dig more deeply into this
birthday thing? Or this breakup-divorce-wedding-photo thing? Both,
anyone? She turned her attention back to Brooke, noting her
eyebrows were far less arched. Good. “So, why is it that you don’t
cele—?”

“With meat sauce, marinara, or
meatballs?”

Millie clenched her jaw. “Marinara.”

“With garlic toast, garlic bread, breadstick
or dinner roll?”

Millie’s gaze swung to the waiter.
“Breadstick.” She glared at him, willing herself not to hiss.
“Thank you.”

His grin faltered. Good. Maybe he could run
along now?

“I’ll be back to refill your waters. Unless
you need anything else?”

She ticked her head, no.

Brooke smiled.

The waiter backed away.

Now, where was she? Oh, yes. Brooke’s
birthday. Calling Jason. In truth, had Jason actually answered or
called her back, she didn’t know what she’d have said beyond the
first lie. She hadn’t had a lot of time to complete the scheme yet.
Surprise was a general enough term and she’d planned on winging a
party idea. Now he probably would never call her. On to another
blind stab.

“I love birthdays,” Millie said. “Every one.
The bigger the better. Why did you stop celebrating them?”

Not the smoothest transition, but hey.

Brooke shrugged. “Lots of reasons. Getting
older, being divorced, you know.”

“No. I don’t. I mean, I always thought of
birthdays as an excuse to get dolled up, make men drool, dance all
night and try to guess which gift was a re-gift.” Vegas. The
Bahamas. As Kiki, the possibilities had been limitless. Themes,
location, A-list exclusivity. Her chest tightened. Man, her life
had been fun. “Don’t you ever want to be pampered like a goddess
for one day out of the year? Every year?”

“No. Not me.” Chuckling, Brooke scrunched her
chin up. “Simple dinner party is more my style. But, it doesn’t
matter now. Maybe next year. Besides, it’s not that I tolerate you.
You’re my friend. I hate it when people try to make things up to
me, you know?” She finger quoted the air. “Why can’t people just be
considerate? Because you can never make up for a wrong. For
anything.”

“Yeah.” Slice. She couldn’t believe how bad
that hurt. Millie looked down and rubbed her nose, trying to get
the sting out of her eyes. “I guess you’re right.”

“Oh, no, Millie,” Brooke said, reaching
across the table. “That came out wrong. I didn’t mean you, so much
as generally speaking. Everyone. Like Jason. He would do that sort
of thing all the time.”

“Oh, I know.” Millie nodded, waved her hand
through the air. That might be the first negative thing she’d ever
heard Brooke say about her ex. “Still, I will be a better friend.
You deserve a friend you can count on.”

“I can count on you,” Brooke said. “In lots
of ways.”

If they didn’t get off this subject now,
Millie might cry. “Have you ever had a Hollywood style birthday,
Brooke? You know, glamour to the hilt, a like-it’s-1999 kind of
party?”

“No, I don’t think I know anyone who’s had
that kind of birthday,” she said as their dinners arrived. “Sounds
like something from a tabloid, but no one I know.”

Millie snorted, then downed half her
screwdriver. But, her call to Jason might not be a waste after all.
Yes, he’d told Brooke about it, but she hadn’t actually told the
man anything. Yet. Instead of trying to milk information from him,
maybe she could enlist his help, unwitting help, of course. Hmmm.
Glamour.

Millie eyed Brooke. Limp hair, scant make-up,
a clear need for a wax and facial. A day at a spa could do Brooke
wonders. A new wardrobe and she’d be a whole new woman. What if
Jason saw her looking amazing?

Then what?

Dinner. Nice, but not too fancy. Could be
rather romantic and, if executed properly, Millie could create the
circumstances she needed to finally match Brooke Munkle, in one
fell swoop.

The idea took hold and consumed her
attention. For the first time since being assigned to Brooke, she
saw hope. She ate and plotted and only half heard Brooke’s lengthy
story. Something about class, her paper, some romance novels? Nor
could she later recap for AJ what they’d discussed for the rest of
the meal. She was simply too excited. A breakthrough!

Chapter Four

“Hello?” Brooke groggily answered her cell
phone, wondering what time it was.

“Brooke! It’s Millie. Listen I’m sorry to
wake you, but I couldn’t wait.”

Brooke sat up. Sampson meowed his
disapproval, but didn’t move from his favorite spot on her legs. It
was still dark out. The clock read six. “Couldn’t wait? For
what?”

“I have a little surprise for you. What are
you doing tonight?”

The vibrancy in Millie’s voice whispered
untold promise. Enough promise that Brooke’s date with a paperback
Scottish brute paled in comparison.

“Nothing, yet. What’s up?” If she wasn’t
awake before, she was now.

“Nope. Can’t tell.” Millie’s glee bounced
through the line and into Brooke’s belly. “Let’s just say I found a
way to make up for no-showing on you last week.”

Brooke’s belly sank as though to say, “Oh
yeah, that.” But it had been six days. Six days and not even a
phone call. Brooke would do just about anything if it meant they
were talking again. Angry at her or not, life without Millie in it
sucked.

“How long will it take you to drive from
class to the mall tonight?”

“Ten minutes or so.”

“Perfect. Just don’t wear heels.”

Heels? Did she ever wear heels? Brooke chewed
a nail, contemplating her phone after they hung up. That giddy
voice, her secretive tone. What was Millie up to? A movie? Nah.
Dancing? Not likely. She was up to something good, though. A little
treasure of some sort and Brooke was a sucker for a surprise. Her
life needed some mystery.

Brooke couldn’t get focused to save her life
and the day crawled by.

As class finally neared its end, one tiny
part of her began to panic. What if Millie tried something extreme?
Matching tattoos? Or worse, something desperate? How sorry was her
friend? Brooke felt a sudden frenzy in her tummy. Not that she
could think of any extreme or desperate example. After all, what
was extreme when it came to Millie? Turn Brooke into a mail order
bride?

No. She was just being silly. Millie was
spontaneous and flashy. Her surprise would be fun, Brooke
reaffirmed, and her anticipation buzzed back to life. Tonight would
be better than any romance novel. Anything would sparkle up
Brooke’s typical Friday night, though. Sampson might be a good,
albeit hairy, listener but spontaneous, he was not.

“Promise me one thing,” Millie had said on
their third call that afternoon. “You will let me do this. I need
to do this and I need you to just sit back, relax and put up with
my surprise. All right?”

After the six day Millie drought, Brooke
might have agreed to chubby nudist speed dating just to have her
friend back. Sure, she’d been angry. Yes, she had put her foot
down, so to speak, but six days? Come on.

Clearly, if a few days absence bothered
Brooke this much, she had grown too dependent on Millie. Who could
blame her, though? Her family, parents included, didn’t approve of
her divorce. Her sister, busy with two young kids, hardly called.
Plus, when she’d left Jason after fifteen years of marriage, she’d
also lost all her friends.

Shope’s voice droned in the background of her
thoughts. “…D-day marked the bloodiest….”

At first, to be fair, no one had claimed a
side. Not family, not friends. Probably praying the separation
wouldn’t progress into the big “D” word. Who could blame their need
for denial? She didn’t. How could she? She’d thought she was living
a fairytale, too. For years. Until King Charming stopped bedding
his queen. Even then, she kept hoping.

When her own D-day had approached, the
genders took sides. Wives for Brooke, an occasional husband thrown
in for good measure. They phoned in offers of help, shoulders to
cry on, ears to bend. But, when she took the offers—and man, did
she—every one of them inevitably asked, what went wrong? She still
didn’t have an answer. There wasn’t another woman. No secret
gambling. No abuse or lies. She hadn’t met anyone new. Brooke
couldn’t say what went wrong and, one by one, her supporters snuck
out of camp.

Sympathetic pats evolved into hesitating eye
contact and changing subjects. Phone calls dwindled, went
unreturned. Along with the house, the mini-van, most of his income,
and all of their assets, Jason Munkle won sole custody of their
friends.

Debbie Johnson-Hines, dame of wives poker
night, summed it up. “I don’t know what you did to lose Jason,
honey, and I suppose it’s none of my business, but whatever it was
couldn’t
have been a small thing. You have to understand,
they’re uncomfortable around you. They aren’t sure who you are
anymore.”

Brooke still wished she’d smacked the
collagen right off the woman’s lips. She couldn’t, though. It just
wasn’t in her. She’d mustered a gasp. Brooke never had the nerve
for violence. Besides, she’d been too stunned to do more than
leave, stuttering a goodbye. Sure, everyone began thinking the
worst. She’d heard the whispers.
Selfish, superior,
frigid
.