Gena laughed, covering her gorgeous smile with one hand. “I’m sorry. What is she going to call you, then?”
“Sophie,” I said firmly. “And we call Neil afi. It’s Icelandic.”
The server came and asked for our drink orders. We both ordered seltzer water with lime.
“So, you’re working today, too?” I asked once the server had left.
Gena nodded. “I work at an art gallery, now. In Soho.”
“An art gallery, huh?” When we’d first met, she’d been an interior decorator. I supposed it wasn’t that much of a career leap. “How did that happen?”
“In a roundabout way. About three years ago, I went to a show there, scouting out a painting for one of my clients. I got to know the gallery owner a little bit, and about a year and a half later, Ian had a show there with his drawings. Then, like four months ago, I ran into the owner, again, and we were talking about the divorce and how I was looking to change careers. He offered me a job.” She shrugged. “Not the most interesting story, but I’m happy with how it turned out.”
“Wow, good for you.” I was kind of jealous. Not that I didn’t love my job—who could complain about running their own magazine about their very favorite subject?—but making a whole new start must have been exciting.
Then, her expression went kind of stiff and she said, “Look, let’s just get something out of the way, right now. Because I know that you’re probably thinking that I asked you here specifically for this. And I didn’t, but it feels like the elephant in the room. How’s Ian?”
Ugh. I was such an a-hole. Here I was envying her chance at a fresh start when it meant that her marriage had fallen apart. I didn’t want that kind of freedom. I didn’t want a fresh start, at all. I just wanted to not be in the middle of my life as it was at the moment.
“I didn’t think you asked me here for that,” I said, and her shoulders visibly relaxed. “What do you want to hear? Because I could tell you that he’s really happy, or I could lie to you to make you feel better.”
She laughed. “No, I want to know the truth. He’s happy? Is he seeing anybody?”
“Yup.” I leaned back as the server placed our drinks on the table, and Gena asked if we could have just another minute to look over the menu. But it was such a lie. We weren’t going to look over the menu. We were going to obnoxiously chat forever and ever. I continued, “He’s actually seeing somebody I set him up with. I hope that doesn’t bother you.”
“Not at all.” She took a sip from her glass. “Sophie, our split was so nasty. But I feel so much better about it, now. We weren’t good for each other. I’m glad he found someone who is good for him.”
“I heard he cheated on you,” I said. “I hope that’s not overstepping my bounds—”
She waved her hand. “No, he didn’t cheat on me. I left him. I think he made that story up just to, I don’t know. To win or something? I wish he wouldn’t tell people that.”
“Are you kidding?” I’d had Penny moping around the office for weeks for nothing? “That actually broke them up for a little while.”
“You’re kidding.” She made an exasperated noise. “Well, I hope things are going better, now.”
They were going a lot better, but I definitely wasn’t going to go into gooey detail for her. Whether she left him or vice versa, she probably didn’t want to know that her ex-husband was deliriously happy with someone else. A girl had her pride.
“They are. He’s doing really well, Gena. But what about you?” I planted my elbows on the tabletop and leaned forward, my chin on my hands. “Tell me all your stories of the swinging single life. Give me all the dirty details?”
“I think you get enough dirty details at home,” she chided.
Oh, I wish.
“There’s really nothing to report, unfortunately. It’s crazy how much dating has changed.” She shook her head in dismay. “What is the minimum age I can get away with on Tindr? Be honest.”
“Please, there are plenty of guys who are out there looking for a cougar,” I teased.
Her jaw dropped. “Excuse me, grandma.”
“Ouch.” I giggled and reached for my menu. “Okay, let’s get serious here. That guy’s going to be back any second, looking for us to order.”
She pulled down her reading glasses to look over the menu. Minimum age on Tindr. Pff. Gena was in her late thirties and built like a classic Hollywood starlet. With a much bigger bust line, and cleavage that drew my eye to the open neck of her shirt…
I quickly glanced down, thanking God that she hadn’t noticed me practically drooling over her tits.
God, even my mental phrasing was trying to get my panties wet.
This was why lunch was such a bad idea, I realized. After sleeping with her once, I still fantasized about Gena all the time. And now that fantasies were basically the only sexual activity I was engaging in, it was impossible to not remember how her skin had felt under my fingers, and how soft and hot her pussy had been under my mouth.