6. Birdie

Confession: I learned how to dance from Britney Spears music videos.

There are always those girls at the club. You know the ones. They're beautiful, but even more so, they're effortlessly sexy. When they hit the dance floor, the music takes over and somehow their body moves in a way that makes people look.

Me? I am not one of those people.

No, I could be wearing a corset and fishnet leggings and have all the sex appeal of a potato.

That was kind of how my body was shaped anyway. While Mara's curves came in all the right places, with an ample chest and wide hips, my weight was in my stomach. Right in the middle. One time a student told me I was shaped like an Easter egg. And well, they weren't wrong.

Mara closed her eyes and ran her fingers through her hair, absolutely screaming sex with her dance moves.

I, on the other hand, had learned to dance from Britney Spears music videos (#FreeBritney). So I did the best I knew how and hoped no one was looking. I was getting too old for this anyway.

Wasn't there some type of club for fuddy-duddies looking for rebound sex? That's where I needed to go.

At the end of the song, my hair was sticking to the back of my neck and I had beads of sweat on my forehead. It was hot and humid, and I had never felt more unattractive in my life.

"I need to use the bathroom," I told Mara, which was really just code for "I need to cry in a bathroom stall while contemplating my existence."

As I walked toward the bathroom, I put my hand under my thick mane of curly dirty-blond hair so my neck would have a chance at drying off.

I ducked into the bathroom and dove into an empty stall, locking the door behind me. The entire place reeked of perfume and vomit, which just made my impending mental breakdown seem that much more fitting.

I leaned over my legs, wondering how on earth I'd gotten here.

I was nearly thirty. I had a graduate degree. I'd worked at an amazing school for three years. Many of my students were already attending Ivy League universities.

But because Dax dumped me for someone else, I felt like the little shreds of toilet paper on the floor. Dirty and destined for the trash can.

Dax and I were engaged. Even though we hadn't set a date yet, marriage was on the horizon. But here I was, looking for a rebound instead. I rubbed my temples. What a mess.

My phone began ringing from its place in my purse, and I pulled it out, groaning at the sight of my mother's name on the screen. Instead of answering, I hit reject and resumed rubbing my temples, trying to breathe evenly.

My phone rang again. Frustration rising in my chest, I grabbed it and answered. "What, Mother?"

"That's not how you greet the woman who raised you," my mother said in a cold, emotionless voice she'd perfected over the years.

"I wasn't aware I was talking to my nanny," I said.

"You think you're so funny."

I let out a sigh. "I'm hanging up."

"That's interesting, because I heard the wedding's off and that you were getting evicted. I thought you might like some assistance."

Damn Mrs. Cronckle.

I don't know how, but I knew the gossip had started with her.

"I'm fine," I said. "I'm staying with Mara."

My mother's signature disappointed sigh came through the phone. "I don't understand why you insist on being difficult. You know Rex is open to a marriage between the two of you. He would take care of you. And if you're not interested in him, I could introduce you to Walter and—"

I rolled my eyes toward the ceiling. "I don't need anyone to take care of me." (Although this dress and my landlord's threat of eviction could make a strong case for the opposing side.)

"We raised you better than this," Mother said. "Always the best schools, one-on-one music and tennis lessons. We traveled on private jets and used proper etiquette at the dinner table. And you throw that away for what? To work with snot-nosed children as a teacher?"

"Not that you care, Mother, but I'm a guidance counselor. I help high school students make decisions that will impact the rest of their lives. I'm there for them, because there wasn't always someone there for me."

"Now hold on one minute—"

"I'd love to stay on and chat about what a disappointment I am to the Melrose family name, but I've got better things to do." Or people, for that matter.

I hung up and turned my phone to silent. Talking to my mother always made me so angry. They'd cut me off for my decision to go to college instead of simply learning how to manage a household and marrying well. Without their support to get me by, I'd worked extra jobs, I'd side hustled, I'd graduated summa cum laude. I could get over Dax, just like I got over my parents' lack of support.

Fueled by rage (and rum and Coke), I left the stall, washed my hands, and walked toward the dance floor, determined to have the rebound Mara thought I could have.

That was until I ran into a guy, who spilled his drink all over my dress.

I looked down at the beer covering my slutty Vegas dress, then up into the face of the most attractive man I'd ever laid eyes on.

Dax didn't have anything on him. Hell, Liam Hemsworth, the Australian god who used to hang on my wall and got covered in lipstick, didn't compare.

My mouth opened and closed like a fish as I took in this stranger. Holy Paul Rudd lookalike with fifty shades of gray in his dark brown hair.

"I'm so sorry," he said, touching my forearm. "I should have been more careful."

I would have spoken, you know, like a normal human being, if his hand hadn't been on my arm.

"You must be so frustrated."

Yeah, sexually.

Taking my silence for irritation, he apologized again and said, "Let me help you get cleaned up."

I nodded, still too tongue-tied to speak.

But instead of leading me back to the bathroom, he took me behind closed doors to the kitchen area, which was devoid of cooks at such a late hour.

"Are we allowed to be back here?" I asked. Then I nearly hit myself. Here I was, in the presence of what had to be silver fox royalty, and I was asking him about the rules? How much more childish could I look? Thank god I hadn't worn Mara's disco ball earrings like she'd wanted me to.

"Yeah, I know the owner," he said.

Of course he did. Older people always knew people. Specifically, people who came in handy when a beer got spilled all over your dress.

We approached the sink, and he reached across me to the stack of rags on a shelf. As he did, I caught a whiff of his cologne, and my eyes practically rolled into the back of my head. Why did he smell so good?

Dax refused cologne, opting instead for essential oils, but my god, he never smelled like this. I finally understood what all the heroines in Mara's romance novels meant when they said their breasts perked up for a man. Because holy moly did the girls have a mind of their own right now.

With the wet rag in his large hand, he looked me over, an assessing air to his gaze.

I bit my lip, worried what he would think of me, and my body.

"This dress is ruined. Maybe we should get you out of it," he said, his husky voice sending need pooling in my core.

"Wh-what?" I managed. I didn't know getting a rebound would be this easy.

He cracked his lips into an endearingly apologetic grin. "I might have an extra uniform back here."

He passed me and walked toward a closet in the back of the kitchen. As he bent into the closet, reaching for a box, I was acutely aware of the muscles of his back, of the way his shoulder muscles strained against his shirt.

God, I needed to get a grip. Wasn't I always telling kids to stop objectifying each other? Hadn't I been engaged that morning?

He reached deeper into the closet, and I forgot that thought altogether.

My lips parted. Now I really needed to get a grip. On him.

He came out with a black shirt. "It's four XL. Maybe you can wear it as a dress? It won't be as sexy as that one, but..." He shrugged and handed it to me.

My breath quickened. Had he just called me sexy? Silently, I thanked the stars that Mara had found the Vegas dress. It was already bringing me good luck.

"After you change, can I get you a drink, you know, to apologize?" he asked.

I smiled, giddy at the thought of spending more time with him. Hopefully time where I wouldn't be gaping and staring like an awestruck teenage girl. "That would be nice."

He nodded. "Meet me at the bar." He gave me a once over and a rueful smile. "It'll be a shame to see that dress go."

The kitchen door shut behind him and I danced, fanning myself with my hands. Omigoshomigoshomigosh.

Could this silver fox be my rebound?

Oh shit.

He couldn't be a rebound, right? Someone hot is not supposed to be the one you bounce back with. He's supposed to be the one you get with after the bounce back and then live happily ever after. Right?

Shit.

I got out my phone and dialed Mara, praying she would hear her phone over the music pounding outside.

"B!" she said. "Where have you been?"

"I just met a super-hot guy!" I cried. "He wants to get me a drink. But he's hot, Mar, like smoking hot. This isn't good."

"WHAT? Why not?"

"He's too hot!" I whined. "Like my-fragile-fucking-heart-will-never-get-over-him hot."

"Girl," Mara chided. "Enough with this nonsense. Get out of wherever you're hiding and have sex with the guy! And then tell me every detail after."

The wink in her voice made me smile. "Just in case I get murdered, I'm turning on the location on my phone."

"Smart. But hopefully the only thing getting murdered tonight will be any thoughts of Dax."

"I hope so too," I said. "I'll see you in the morning. I hope."

I hung up and shimmied out of the sequin dress. I held it in front of me, taking in all the memories we'd made together. Then I changed into the T-shirt and dropped the dress on the floor like I hoped the T-shirt would be in the morning.