But not even a particularly well-made Negroni, with artfully blended gin, Campari and vermouth, made her relax and she found herself faking enthusiasm as Ayce waxed lyrical about the perfect concrete angles for skateboarding. Unfortunately, he thought her fake smiles indicated interest in his every word and tried sticking his tongue down her throat before she’d even finished her drink.
Turned out Ayce wasn’t so ace, and with a tried and tested ‘I’m popping to the ladies’ excuse, she all but ran up the stairs and exited the bar, grateful for the slap of chilly Melbourne air.
She should be used to this by now. Not every date she’d been on in the last six months—and there’d been many—had worked out. One out of three guys was a douchebag: the forty-year-old boilermaker who thought playing local cricket equated with being the chosen one and had tried to have sex with her in the middle of the pitch at midnight, the thirty-eight-year-old marketing whiz who’d pitched her all the reasons she should sleep with him, the forty-five-year-old landscape gardener who wanted to get his rocks off and wasn’t referring to the boulders in the back of his ute.
But for every bad date she had some special ones too, nice guys out for fun like she was. Being married to a man who’d never really appreciated her for twenty-nine years ensured she only dated younger men interested in a casual flirtation or hook-up. Maybe her marriage to Bert would’ve been different if they’d had kids, and while he hadn’t made her feel second-best for not being able to conceive, apart from the occasional unthinking remark, her feelings of inadequacy filtered into their marriage in small ways until they eroded any genuine love.
Not that she ever let on. Then again, Bert wouldn’t have noticed if she’d danced naked through the lounge room. A man of simple tastes, he’d liked to come home after a hard day’s work repairing boats, put his feet up in his recliner, have two beers and watch the news.
She never minded running his small business: doing the accounts, issuing invoices, banking. But she never quite shook the feeling of being undervalued, and they’d ended up being best buddies rather than husband and wife before he died of a heart attack.
‘Move, lady.’ Someone nudged Heidi in the back and she realised she’d been standing at the top of the stairs, rehashing memories of her staid marriage.
‘Sorry.’ She moved aside to let a bunch of girls barely out of their teens pass, noticing that one of them was dressed almost identically to her: skin-tight black jeans, silky leopard-print cami, and a sparkly ebony choker.
The girl must’ve noticed too because she paused, flicked an assessing glance over her and snickered. Embarrassment heated Heidi’s cheeks, and when she glimpsed pity mixed with scorn in the girl’s eyes, she willed her feet to move in the direction of the carpark where she’d left her car.
Wearing trendy clothes the antithesis of the comfortable jeans and T-shirts she’d spent most of her life in empowered her. She felt good in tight clothes that showed off a lithe body she maintained with long daily jogs. But at that moment, she’d never felt more like mutton dressed up as lamb.
Annoyed at the prickle of tears and the heaviness in her chest as she drove from the city to South Melbourne, she cranked up a playlist to drown out her traitorous thoughts.Are you happy dating extensively? Is sleeping around giving you the validation you yearn for? Do you secretly crave a real relationship and think this is the way to find it?
Scowling at her inner voice, she turned up the volume, only for an old eighties hit that was one of Bert’s favourites to come on as a poignant reminder that no matter how bored she may have been in her marriage, she’d ultimately loved her husband and missed the security he’d provided. Not security in a monetary sense, but that feeling she got when climbing into bed each night to find him snoring loudly and the comfort of knowing he was there.
That was the kicker in her campaign to assert her newfound independence. In trying to prove she didn’t need a steady relationship, that she was just fine playing the field, she still had to sleep alone most nights and it was growing old, fast.
As she pulled up outside Leo’s house, she caught sight of Rayne and her boyfriend sitting in the living room drinking wine. Her best friend twisted her long hair into a rope over one shoulder, an action Heidi had seen many times since they were kids, something her friend did when totally at ease. Rayne must have said something funny because Leo threw his head back and laughed, and in that moment Heidi knew she was kidding herself.
She didn’t want to date a variety of younger men to validate the new choices she made. She wanted what her friend had. A good, dependable man to come home to at night. A man who worshipped her. A man to make her feel alive in a way she never had.
Not that she begrudged Rayne her happiness. Her best friend had suffered horrific physical, psychological and emotional abuse at the hands of her ex-husband, and if anything good had come out of Heidi’s spreading-her-wings campaign, it was unwittingly reuniting Rayne with her first love, Leo, via Happy.
Perhaps she needed to start dating older men. She’d avoided ticking that box on the app because she hadn’t wanted the commitment that many older guys expected. But was she selling herself short and missing out?
Only one way to find out.
But first she had to get through an evening feeling like the third wheel she was. Not that Rayne or Leo would intentionally make her feel that way, but it was always the same around couples. Their shared glances, their in-jokes, the way they leaned towards each other, like they existed in a bubble that excluded all else. She wasn’t jealous of Rayne per se, but she never felt more alone than she did around a happy couple.
As she knocked on the door, she mentally rehearsed what to say about why she’d returned early tonight, amusing anecdotes about her date and wearing the same outfit as a girl thirty years her junior. She’d make light of it but Rayne had known her a long time and would see straight through her false bravado.
Then again, that’s what friends were for. If she’d been more self-aware, she would’ve seen through Rayne’s front and been there at a time her friend needed her most.
When Leo opened the door, his genuine smile set her at ease. ‘Hey, Heidi, come in and join us. We’re having a drink.’
‘Love to,’ she said, following him into the lounge room.
When Rayne caught sight of her, the barest arch of her right eyebrow was the only indication of her surprise as she instantly scooted over and patted the cushion next to her. ‘Come sit and tell us all about your exciting evening.’
‘I might leave you lovely ladies to it,’ Leo said. ‘I’ll grab you a wine glass, Heidi, and maybe a cheese platter?’
While Heidi would’ve loved nothing better than to natter with her friend, she knew if they were left on their own and Rayne started interrogating her, she’d blurt the whole sorry truth of how unsettled she was feeling. She’d much rather have the buffer of Leo present so she could ham it up rather than reveal snippets of her disappointing evening. But Rayne knew how much she loved cheese and would be more suspicious if she declined.
‘I’ll never say no to a cheese platter,’ Heidi said, ‘or a drop of that aged merlot, but I’d love for you to stay.’ She forced a little chuckle. ‘Any friend of Rayne’s is a friend of mine.’
He grinned. ‘I’m partial to a good charcuterie board too and have it on good authority from the beautiful woman next to you that I make a mean one, so I’ll be back soon.’
As soon as Leo headed to the kitchen, Rayne pinned her with a narrow-eyed stare. ‘What happened? Are you okay?’
‘I’m fine.’ Heidi waved away her concern. ‘But let’s just say Ayce didn’t live up to his name.’