Patrice Wilton

REPLACING BARNIE

PROLOGUE

I’d been sleeping with Barnie for more than a year, off and on. He wasn’t much for talking, but so what? He was reliable, faithful, and good in bed. I knew exactly where he was most of the time; he didn’t look at my girlfriends, didn’t have a mother, never argued, didn’t expect me to cook and clean, and performed at my command. What more could a girl ask?

More importantly, I was sure he’d never hurt me, and perhaps that was why I chose to spend my nights with him. But I learned the hard way; nothing is ever perfect. The damn thing malfunctioned, went into overdrive and I could barely sit down for a week. Cheap Asian product - I bought it through e-Bay too.

There you have it. It was fun while it lasted, but as in any good relationship that sadly ends, it takes awhile to move on. I’m proud to say that I have done so. Yes, I replaced my old toy Barnie, and now I have something warm and wonderful beside me in bed. This required a great deal of courage and lack of negativity on my part. I had to learn to trust, and to open my heart, and not to be afraid. And it’s still a whole lot scary.

CHAPTER ONE

"Lydia, you are the best damned divorce attorney in Miami - no, the state of Florida, maybe the country," Terri slurred, sloshing champagne. "I should remarry just so I can get another divorce." The Candy Bar was crowded so she shouted to make herself heard. "Hey, anybody want to get married this weekend? I’m free, free, free. . ."

She was waving her full glass around, and laughing as people ducked from the spillage. I cringed with embarrassment and tried to take the glass out of her hand, but no way was she letting go.

"Thanks, Terri, but you only got what you deserved," I said quietly, hoping my serious tone of voice would be enough to subdue her, without having to wrestle her to the ground.

She had ordered the magnum of Dom before I showed up, and I wondered how much of it she had consumed. A little too much, I was thinking. I signaled to Candy, bartender extraordinaire and sole owner of this happening South Beach bar, and whispered in her ear. "We need some food, ice water, and two cups of coffee."

"You’ve got it." Candy nodded, then hustled off to the kitchen. I turned to Terri. "You need to take a breather between men. You’ve already had two husbands since I’ve known you."

"Spoil sport." She gulped her drink. "I just so happen to like men."

"I know you do, and so do I. The difference is that I don’t marry every guy who gets my hormones hopping."

Her laugh was infectious. "Oh, poor you. The wedding is the best part. How often do you get to wear the most beautiful gown in the room, and be the center of attention for the entire evening? And later open all those lovely gifts! Why, what girl in her right head wouldn’t want to get married?"

I shrugged. "Me?"

"Then you’re just plumb dumb." Terri looked around and nodded toward a guy sitting at the end of the bar, staring morosely into his beer. "Now, if he’s not a candidate for husband number three, I don’t know who is."

I checked him out, and he was seriously hot, with a hard, muscular body, and a face I could easily get used to. I laughed and fanned myself. "Please don’t tell me I’m menopausal, but I just got a hot flash."

She eyed me curiously as I gulped a sip of champagne. "Your face is flushed."

"Too many bodies, not enough air. So," I said looking at the guy, "getting back to him. I’d skip the damn wedding, and fast forward to the honeymoon." I lowered my voice, "And then I’d give him the ride of my life."

The lights in the bar flickered, and the candles on the tables grew dim. I thought they were having a power outage, until I heard Candy laugh and clap her hands. "Magic’s in the air," she told her customers.

The guy looked up and it was like being caught in headlights. Our eyes locked, and I couldn’t break contact, while my body temperature continued to soar. I don’t know how long we would have continued to stare at one another if Terri hadn’t shot up out of her seat.

I watched Terri grab the magnum and teeter off to the end of the bar. Here was a woman who’d had two husbands, neither of them loveable, and was willing to take a chance on a third, while I would rather jump off a cliff than step down the aisle. I preferred my battery-operated friend to getting my heart broken. After all, I was batting two for two.

Terri bumped the guy’s arm and said too loudly, "Hey, my friend and I are celebrating. Wanna join us?"

He shook his head no. "Oh, come on," Terri gushed, "at least one drink." He looked over at me and I made an apologetic face. He grinned and I found myself grinning back. The guy was seriously cute and looked like he needed some cheering up.

"That’s better." I heard Terri say. "I thought your face was permanently frozen in a sour mash. You’d be a real lady killer if you smiled a bit more."

She grabbed one of the girls behind the bar. "Hey, give this guy a champagne flute. He’s joining us for a drink."

He started to say something, then stopped. Terri was leaning all over him with her impressive and very expensive breasts pressed against his shoulder. He looked at them, and then at me, raising an eyebrow as if we were sharing a common joke. I saluted him with my sparkling, golden flute, and he saluted me back with his flat beer.

Terri linked arms with him and dragged him back to where we were sitting. "Lydia, this is . . . this is . . . I don’t know." She giggled, "You look like that guy in Message In A Bottle. Washisname?"

"Kevin Costner?" I said helpfully.

"Yeah. That’s the one." She burped, and put down her drink. "’Scuse me." She covered her mouth as if to take back the burp. "I think I’m getting a little tipsy."

I gave her a quick smile and an affirmative nod. "Don’t worry. Help has arrived."