Starter Wife (The Jilted Wives Club Book 1) by Bethany Lopez (readera ebook reader TXT) 📗

The coat had been a Christmas gift from my ex, Marcus, but I hadn’t been able to get rid of it like I had most everything else. It was too warm and pretty.

“About ten minutes,” Margo said with a chuckle.

“Oh, I didn’t realize.”

“Yea, I’m sure Margo wouldn’t have looked twice at me if she hadn’t mowed me down,” Summer added good-naturedly.

“She’s probably right. I was pretty intent on getting out of there as fast as possible and hopping in my car.”

“Funny, isn’t it. How we were all trying to get away from the group and now here we are heading out together. Three strangers with a common desire not to share our feelings with strangers,” I said with a wry laugh.

“I don’t mind sharing my feelings and I have a feeling we won’t be strangers for long,” Summer said as she opened the door to the restaurant and held it open for Margo and me.

It was like going into a portal. From the cool, quiet outside, to the loud and lively restaurant. The bar was full of smart-looking people in their suits and tailored jackets. The women had perfectly made-up faces and the men fresh haircuts.

It was the kind of crowd I’d loved when I was a young up-and-coming accountant. The kind I’d given up when I’d gotten married and stopped working so I could raise our family and keep house.

I ignored the pang of regret and followed behind Margo, who’d let the host know with a look that we were taking the last empty high-top table in the bar.

She obviously came in often and, really, you could tell she fit just by looking at her. With her long legs encased in perfectly straight slacks, high heels that would instantly leave me with a twisted ankle, and a well-cut blouse that was expensive without being flashy. This was obviously a restaurant full of her peers.

Summer, on the other hand, looked like a sunflower in the middle of a sea of black and navy weeds.

Unfazed by the fact she stuck out like a sore thumb, Summer hopped up on the bar stool and picked up the tapas menu as she looked around the room with a smile.

“Wow, lotta hotties here tonight.”

I nearly choked on my laughter as I tried to get on the stool with as much grace as I could muster.

“If you go for the type,” I said, glancing around. Because seriously, the men in this place were like carbon copies of each other.

“Just check with me before you go home with anyone,” Margo said, without an ounce of jest. “I’ll let you know if they’re worth your time or not.”

“Is that how it is?” I asked, infusing my tone with laughter so she’d know I wasn’t judging.

“Let’s just say I’ve been having a bit of rebound fun the last few months,” Margo replied with a smirk.

“Here you are, ladies, a little something to get you started.”

I glanced up as an attractive server placed a shot glass in front of each of us.

“What’s this?” I asked.

“A gift from the guys at the bar,” he replied, glancing behind him.

I followed his gaze to see three men watching us with matching grins, then turned back to Summer and Margo and lifted the glass in front of me.

“Let the games begin,” I joked, getting ready to take the shot.

“Wait!” Summer shouted, startling me so badly I almost spilled the contents. “We should make a toast … to the Jilted Wives Club.”

“Is that what we’re calling ourselves?” I asked, not sure if I liked the name, but willing to play along since it obviously made Summer happy.

“Yeah, how do you know we’re jilted wives?” Margo asked.

“Based on the group session we were all supposed to participate in, I made an educated guess.”

I looked at Margo and shrugged.

She rolled her eyes and said, “Fine … to the Jilted Wives Club.”

We all raised our glasses to each other, tapped them on the table, and did our shots.

The first meeting of the Jilted Wives Club had begun.

Two

Luca

“Your mother’s hoping you’ll be able to make it to dinner on Sunday.”

I glanced up from the slider I was currently slathering with sriracha aioli and shrugged.

“Not sure yet. Things are pretty crazy at the office.”

Campanella’s was packed, but my father and I often came here after work for a drink or a bite and had no problem grabbing a couple seats at the bar when necessary.

“And they always will be crazy, son, but you have to learn to balance work and family. It’s important. You haven’t been to a Sunday dinner in over a month.”

I knew he was right, and I also knew I didn’t want to suffer through another phone call with my mother where she went on and on about how disappointed she was when I missed another family dinner.

“I’ll be there,” I said definitively.

Once I made up my mind about something, that was it. I went after it with a single-minded focus and did whatever I needed to do to make it happen.

In this instance, it would be staying up late on Saturday to ensure I got everything done and was able to be at my mother’s table the next day. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to go. I loved my family and enjoyed spending time with them.

But when you were the son of one of your firm’s partners, you tended to either work your ass off to prove yourself or skated by on the family name. I fell into the former category. My father understood this, which is why this was the first time he was bringing up my absence at dinner.

“Perfect. I’ll let your mother know,” my dad said, before draining his bourbon and signaling the bartender for another round. His head turned toward a couple staff members from the firm who were talking loudly and raising their glasses to another table.

We both shifted to see who they were toasting and when my gaze landed on the table