Page 1 of The Irresistible Distraction

1

LIKE EDMUND HILLARY CONQUERED MOUNT EVEREST

“Gonna need to go home early.”

I look up from the cash register. It’s almost three, and it’s not unusual for Maggie to want to go home early, but⁠—

“You okay?”

“Don’t worry, I’m not going into labor.” Maggie gives me a lopsided smile and then shakes her head. “Not everything is related to my sex injury.”

“Most people say pregnancy.”

Maggie rubs her belly and gives a dramatic sigh. At thirty-seven weeks, she could (and maybe should?) already be resting. But she agreed to work an extra two weeks so that Walter, my only other server, could preemptively have time off.

Maggie leans in, lowering her voice to a loud whisper. “If it wasn’t an injury, California wouldn’t offer disability insurance.”

I look around, but I don’t think anyone else heard. There are only three people left: a handsome tourist and the Shepards, an old retired couple who always linger over their late lunch/early dinner in the run-down corner booth that’s more duct tape than vinyl at this point.

“Sure. I can close up on my own.”

Maggie comes a little closer and takes the two unsold cookies. “I’ll be taking these as payment, considering I’m only leaving to give you alone time with the Sexy Tourist.”

She raises her eyebrows, and against my better judgment, my eyes follow her gaze.

With thirteen thousand people, Lake Arrowhead isn’t big enough to be considered a city or town. Instead, it’s an unincorporated community where we all went to elementary, middle, and high school together. Thus, it’s a pretty safe bet the stranger sitting across from the register is, in fact, a tourist.

We both watched when he came in and folded himself into the rickety center booth I’ve yet to finish repairing. He’s well over six feet tall, with the type of chiseled features most men (and women) only dream of: strong clean jawline, long-lashed blue-green eyes, and tousled dark-brown curls that fade into an undercut. He looks Latino, or mixed, with the slightly darker skin that doesn’t come from tanning beds and a formfitting cotton shirt that does little to hide the musculature underneath.

I turn my head in an effort to not stare. “He can hear you.”

“He’s got AirPods on.” Maggie waves her hand dismissively. “I saw him bopping to a song.”

“Still.”

“My only request—made in my physically and emotionally delicate state—is for you to have some vicarious sex.”

I squeeze my eyes shut. “That’s not how intercourse works. If I had the sex, you’d be the one living vicariously.”

“Did you really just say ‘the sex’?” Maggie gives me her crazy eyes while I motion for her to breathe. “I cannot with you sometimes. Okay, this is me, taking a deep breath. I’m super calm while explaining to you that after years pining for a reconciliation that’s never happening, this is the perfect time for revenge sex.” She squeezes my hand, and it’s clear we’re both thinking about my ex-husband’s soon-to-be engagement. The talk he had with our son, before telling me. The text messages I’ve been studiously ignoring, because I’m not ready to hear, much less discuss, his news.

“I haven’t been pining. I’ve dated⁠—”

“For five months. You let me babysit, after copious begging, which is why I remember that was seven years ago. My goldfish brain has already forgotten his name.”

“Liar. You called him Tyler 2.0, which you thought was cute⁠—”

“I changed my mind; we can’t both be married to studs named Tyler. Look, if you won’t do it for yourself, do it for me. My vagina is about to be obliterated by my sexual⁠—”

“Pregnancy.”

“I may never have the sex again. From here on it’s all diarrhea diapers and Fast and Furious erotica. Which means that as my best friend, you’re going to have to Step. It. Up.”

I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. “Maybe make new friends.”

Maggie leans forward and gives me a hug. “You know I love you. You know I’d throw myself in front of at least a mountain bike for you.”

“Wow.”