“I can see you forgot about our project,” he said with a chuckle. “Don’t let me be the only one following your schedule.”

Victoria slumped in her seat as she watched him walk to the door. “I know the schedule,” she said. She forced herself not to check her calendar for their next fun meeting. She’d do that once he left. “Thank you for coming to this meeting. I hope your next one is just as eventful.”

John chuckled as he opened the door. “I can guarantee you, honey, it won’t.”

When he quietly closed the door behind him, Victoria waited two minutes before she shot her fist in the air for a victory punch. First day of Sordid Affair was a resounding success. Short but thrilling. Victoria wanted to get out of her chair and follow up with an end-zone dance, but thought it more prudent to check herself over first. The mirror she kept in her office showed what she felt: a dewy glow in her cheeks, smudged lipstick, and a partially unbuttoned blouse. She couldn’t shake the goofy grin or the tremor in her thighs, as she refastened her top.

A little midday dessert wasn’t half-bad.

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fourteen

John hadn’t realized how quickly Becca would work at creating her gang of twelve-year-old feminists. But Becca was her mother’s daughter, and the gang was formed in swift order. When John picked her up from school on Friday, she declared that their patron saint, Alanis Morissette, had decreed that women need a space to themselves to create art and take control of their destinies. Of course, that meant his home would have to be available for such a space. John was also required to find these creative women snacks and drinks. Because who can create on an empty stomach?

The last girl to arrive to Becca’s Saturday night sleepover was McKenna. The freckle-faced girl showed up with her mother, who was hesitant to let her daughter cross the threshold.

“Becca!” McKenna screeched, running past him and into the living room where festivities were already in progress. The collective was complete and John girded his loins for the rest of the night.

McKenna’s mother, Mrs. Townsend, hovered at the door, looking from him to the group of girls who were digging into a gluten-free cheese pizza. “And you’re Becca’s...uncle?” she asked, looking him up and down.

“I am,” he said, holding out his hand. John watched as she stole a peak at his tattooed arm and tentatively reached out to give him a weak shake. “Becca’s living with me while her mother’s in Sweden.”

Mrs. Townsend pulled her hand back and crossed her arms over her chest. “McKenna needs to take her allergy medication before she goes to bed.”

“That can be arranged.”

“McKenna doesn’t eat dairy,” she countered.