Page 2 of Texting the Wrong Bikers

I arch a brow. “My terrible taste in men?”

“Well, yes. But more specifically?” She points at me. “You need to have sex.”

I nearly inhale wine. “Jesus Christ!” I sputter.

“I’m serious.” She sits up a little straighter now, locking into this idea in typical Dani fashion. If I don’t quickly steer her off course, she’ll become fixated, like a dog with a bone.

“I’m recently divorced.” Weak, but I can’t think of a better excuse after this many wines.

“And?” Dani looks unimpressed. Unsurprisingly, since I was just saying how long it’s been.

“And I have a child. Not many men are interested in single moms, not to mention how I would even find the time to date?”

“So do like… half the women on Tinder. They still get laid,” she replies deadpan.

I snort despite myself.

Dani sits forward, her long raven hair shimmering as it escapes the clip she’s twisted it up in. She somehow manages to look glamorous sitting cross-legged in yoga pants and an old t-shirt.

“It’s been too long,” she says.

I take another sip of wine, studying the frayed edge of the couch as if I only just noticed it.

Dani isn’t one to give up easily. “How long?” I hesitate. Dani narrows her kohl-rimmed eyes. “Sadie.”

“Three years,” I mumble, taking a bigger gulp this time.

Her jaw drops and she exclaims, “Three?”

“Lower your voice!” My eyes dart to Owen’s bedroom door, even though I know he’s dead to the world, soothed by the rain.

“Oh. My. God.”

“It wasn’t exactly an active marriage toward the end.” I adjust to sit upright, folding my legs underneath me, mimicking her.

“Sadie.” Dani’s pity makes unbidden tears spring to the corner of my eyes.

I stare down into my wine glass. “We had sex once after Owen turned one.”

Dani blinks slowly, waiting. Dani has been good to me since the divorce, coming back into my life like a breath of fresh air after so long apart. My other married friends distanced themselves, as if infidelity and divorce were catching. Dani hasn’t pressed me for details before, and I know she won’t judge me for telling her this, so I find myself admitting things I haven’t fully admitted to myself yet.

“Honestly?” I laugh weakly. “It felt more like a goodbye pity fuck than actual sex.”

The silence afterward feels heavier than I expected. It isn’t awkward, just sad. Dani reaches over and squeezes my knee. “Honey.”

I shrug, suddenly unable to meet her eyes. “It’s fine.”

“No, it’s not.” Her voice softens. “You’re twenty-nine years old, you’re hot, and you’ve spent years acting like your life ended because some emotionally constipated realtor decided to develop a midlife crisis.” I laugh helplessly. “You need to get back in the saddle.”

“Please never say that again.” I glance up, meeting her eyes, and there’s a devious glint in them, the kind of look that used to let me know we were in for a wild night out back in our college days.

“Fine. You need dick.”

“Dani!”

“What?” She gestures wildly with her wine glass, bangles clinking against it. “I’m trying to heal you.” I’m still laughing when she suddenly points at me dramatically. “The gym guy!”

My stomach tightens instantly. “No. No, no, no.” I hold up my hands, shaking my head.