Mark: Di Giovanni, huh? That’s much more sexy than Davis. You should use it. It suits you better. Italian, it is. See you at five.

He really was a nice guy. Moving things from friendship to more wouldn’t be that difficult. We had a lot in common—both divorced, kids around the same age, and decided on a late-in-life career change to teaching. But I just didn’t see him in that light. Not that I’d actually put any effort into trying, even though I was pretty certain he saw me that way. As was Eve.

My phone buzzed as I poured my morning coffee. Unknown caller. Hmm…the third one since last night. I swiped ignore and thumbed off a text to Eve.

Valentina: Did you really give that waiter my number last night?

She responded by the time I’d finished my first dose of caffeine.

Eve: No. But I might have accidentally given your phone number to someone else.

Valentina: Accidentally? How do you accidentally give a phone number to someone?

Eve: Promise you won’t be mad.

I hit Call rather than texting again. “What did you do?”

“Let’s start out with what I didn’t do.”

“Okay…”

“I didn’t give your number to that waiter.”

“You already told me that.”

“I know. But I could have, and I want to make sure you know I would never give out your phone number on purpose.”

For Eve to sound worried about telling me something, I knew it wasn’t small. “What did you do?”

“I accidentally put your phone number on Match.com.”

“You WHAT?”

“I didn’t mean to make it public. I thought it was private, but the setting was wrong. Green means go. Red means stop. Who the hell makes a website where the red button means yes?”

“What are you talking about? I don’t even have a Match.com account.”

“Umm…you do now.”

My stomach sank. “Please tell me you didn’t.”

“I didn’t.” She paused, and for a second I felt a little relief. Then she continued. “I didn’t…mean to.”

“What did you do?”

“I signed you up for a Match.com account last night when I got home. I set it all up, but didn’t intend for it to be public. At least not right away. I thought if I set it up and made it easy for you, you might be willing to give it a shot. I was going to talk to you about it at the barbeque.”

“You intended for it to be private. Meaning it isn’t private?”

“That’s not the worst part.”

“What could be worse?”

“Since I thought it was set to private. I set up the account with a joke status to show you.”

Oh God.

I ran to my laptop and flipped it open. “What does it say?”

“Relax. It’s down now. I took it down within an hour. But not before it got a lot of attention. I realized what had happened when the email I set up to use with the account started pinging every two minutes.”

“What did it say?” I screeched.

“It said, Thirty-seven-year-old, divorced mother of one seeks casual fuck to get primed for dating again.”

“Please tell me you’re joking!”

“I wish I was.”

***

A week later, my phone seemed to have calmed down. One night, sitting on the couch with a glass of wine, I even summoned the courage to look at the page Eve had set up for me.

Something you’ve always wanted to do: Go to Italy.

Favorite color: Hot pink. Not cotton candy or strawberry ice cream pink. Fuchsia. The bolder the better.

I sipped my wine and smiled. That was totally something I would say. Eve had done a good job being me.

Favorite quote: Una cena senza vino e come un giorno senza sole.

My smile widened. She had actually spelled it right. A meal without wine is a day without sunshine. It was my father’s favorite quote. When he passed, I had two wooden signs custom made—one for my kitchen and one for my mother’s.

Physical description: Five foot five, slim waist with curves north and south. Olive skin, long, dark, curly hair that I obsessively straighten, even though my curls kick ass, and blue eyes that are my only genetic gift from my mom. My best friend said to tell you, “You’ll look twice. I promise.”

Age: Twenty-nine (plus eight, but who’s counting).

Who I’m looking for: Mr. Right, of course.

My ideal match is: Between the ages of twenty-eight and thirty-eight. Tall. Smart. Funny. Loves to travel. Can dance (because I can’t). Takes the scenic route when driving. Has a distinguished palate. Is not named Ryan. Has a fun nickname. (Nicknames of Cunnilingus King go to the top of the pile.) She had posted a few pictures of me. Each one was captioned. The first was a shot of me in a bikini cannonballing off the diving board into Eve’s inground pool. My hair was flying in the air, knees tucked, and I held my nose. You couldn’t see my full face, but from the profile, you could tell I was smiling and laughing. The picture was funny. It wasn’t one I would have picked, but it had a lot of personality, and I liked it. Underneath it, she’d captioned: Not afraid to fly.

The second picture was taken at Ryan’s high school graduation. I was wearing a black and white floral sundress with a halter top that made my boobs look bigger than they are. I had on a wide-brimmed, white sun hat. It had been windy that day, so I was holding the rim of the hat down, and it covered almost all of my face—except my lips. The only thing you could see was bright red lipstick on an ear-to-ear smile. The caption on that one read: This is me being a proud mom.

The last shot was a picture of Eve and me in high school. It must have been taken in 9th or 10th grade, seeing as I wasn’t pregnant yet. We had our arms around each other and wore matching outfits. Underneath that one she had written: Same best friend for more than twenty years.

After editing out some of the crazy Eve had imparted into my profile, I left it set to private. I walked to the fridge and poured myself a third glass of wine. As I shut the door, a magnet tumbled to the floor. The piece of paper it had been holding floated through the air and landed at my feet. I picked it up and read a little. Eve had made the list during one of our movie nights a few weeks ago. The title was written in bold strokes and underlined: Val’s My Turn List. The first few entries were in her handwriting. They started innocently enough…

Become a teacher

Visit Rome

Plant a giant garden with only flowers

Take dance lessons

Go to prom

Learn to surf

Go to a music festival

Leave my Christmas tree up until March

Get a pug

These were all things I’d wanted to do, but Ryan had been against—going back to school, traveling to Europe, planting a garden for no reason other than to smell flowers, getting a dog. We’d had a garden in our yard, but my ex-husband had filled it with vegetables. He’d thought planting flowers where no one could see them was a waste. And the tree—I loved having my Christmas tree up. There’s just something about coming down the stairs in the morning when it’s still dark, and the tree lighting up the living room. But Ryan hated decorations—he called them clutter and always insisted our tree come down on December 26th. If it were my choice, I’d keep it up year-round. I’d also wanted a dog, a pug, to be specific. But Ryan claimed they made him sneeze, even though we had plenty of friends with dogs, and he seemed fine at their houses.

Over the years of my marriage, I’d let my wants take a backseat to everything else. And that had been the point of the list Eve had started for me—it was my choice now. My turn.

While the first nine or so items on the list were harmless, things had become much more interesting as the evening went on—and we finished the second bottle of wine.

Wear sexy lingerie under my clothes for no reason

Date seven men in seven nights

Have sex in a public place where I might get caught

One-night stand—no names exchanged

Anal sex

Threesome had been crossed out after Eve and I debated the merits for a while.

I folded the piece of paper and tucked it into my purse. This was the last thing I wanted my son to find when he finally came home this summer. Taking my filled wine glass back to the couch with my laptop, I sat staring at the screen for a while. Match.com. I sipped and flipped through the photos Eve had posted. You really couldn’t see my face in any of them—no one would have to know if I just went online and checked things out. And I suppose if half of the things on my My Turn list were going to get done, I’d need to start with a date.

I wasn’t sure if it was the reminder from the list of all the things I hadn’t done, or maybe the wine. Or maybe…just maybe, it was time. But I did something I never thought I would do…I hit public on my profile.

Screw it. It’s my turn.

Chapter 2

* * *

Ford

My assistant had a mighty fine ass.