Happy Valentine's Day! Here's a fun excerpt from Part One of Some Lucky Woman. The novella is FREE for Newsletter Subscribers!

Excerpt from UNLUCKY IN LOVE

In my search of free hobbies, since my budget didn’t allow for paid fun, I’d discovered that there were several nightclubs that offered free line-dancing lessons. I’d also found a free self-defense class, but figured I’d do that after I learned how to dance since I was certain that balance was important. Sadly, I wasn’t what most people would define as graceful. I was also aching to learn how to use the kayak that neither Dick nor Eric had used more than a handful of times, but since it was large and bulky, I figured I’d better wait until I found a dolly on Craig’s List. That way I could transport it from the truck to the water without throwing out my back.
    As it turned out, tonight was ladies’ night at the local country western bar. I had no desire to hang out and drink all night, but according to the ad on Google, they offered free line-dancing classes from seven-thirty until nine o’clock. And everyone in the ad was nice looking and having a nice time, so clearly it was the place to be. Everyone knew that advertisements never lied. According to the calendar, Thursdays were Improver-to-Intermediate night, and I was pretty sure I could fake it. After all, I’d been to umpteen weddings in my life, and nothing — including my two-left-footed ex — had ever kept me from jumping up and trying to do the Boot Scootin’ Boogie and the Cha Cha Slide.
    I fished through my closet for the pair of cowboy boots I’d bought back in college. In the process, I stumbled on the one pair of jeans I’d saved too. I hadn’t worn them since I found out I was pregnant. I pulled them down from the top shelf, hoping they’d still fit.
    No such luck. I guess only the shoes and T-shirts I’d owned since college still fit. But I didn’t have too far to go, so instead of tossing them, I hung them up on the door of the closet. They’d be my inspiration.
    I slipped on my most recently purchased jeans, dabbed on extra mascara, and pulled my mop of hair up into a clip. Even though I knew I looked better with my hair long and flowing, I didn’t think that sweating profusely on the back of my neck would look attractive.
    Besides, learning to dance wasn’t about meeting a man, it was about doing something I wanted to do. If I started thinking about the men around me, I wouldn’t be able to have as much fun dancing.
    When I walked into the country bar, I immediately imagined I was at a down-home shindig set inside the town’s largest barn.
    Of course, it was a rectangular steel building on the outside with plenty of exposed steel beams and rafters on the inside, but the walls and bar area were lined with naturally stained pine and the massive dance floor was filled with dancers of all ages and sizes. From the college girls in their short-shorts, tank tops, and cowboy boots to grannies in large smocks over polyester pants.
    As I suspected, there weren’t a lot of men, which elicited a sigh of relief from me. I really just wanted to learn how to dance. Once I learned how to dance, if I liked it, then I’d consider meeting a man who liked to dance. After all, what if I hated dancing in a bar as opposed to a wedding where I knew everyone? What if I realized that dancing was sweaty and tiring, but then I suddenly met Mr. Wonderful, who just so happened to love dancing so much that he wanted to go out every weekend.
    Jana, my friend, I thought to myself, you really should start seeking professional help because really … you might just be going insane. I gave my psyche a good chiding for picking on the practical side of myself for thinking ahead for once and then allowed my fun-loving self to trot over to the dance floor. Way in the back of the dance floor so that no one could single me out.
    I passed a few men who were entirely too young for me, and then a few who looked like they might be gold prospectors, but thankfully, all of them just smiled and concentrated on their own hops and claps.
    After just a few dances, I felt at home on the dance floor. I’d never been great, but I enjoyed dancing. When I was in college, I never missed a chance to dance.
    An hour later, the instructor informed the wannabe dancers about the specials if they chose to stay after the dance lessons. She smiled widely when only a few people cheered. “Oh, you want to hear about tomorrow’s special?”
    A few more dancers cheered at that announcement, encouraging her, it seemed.
    “Who hates Valentine’s Day?” the woman screeched in response.
    The floor came alive with stomping and hooting. Even I couldn’t help but applaud for that question. I’d almost forgotten about the lovers’ holiday. And why shouldn’t I? If I dwelled on the fact that tomorrow was Valentine’s Day, I might start feeling sorry for myself, and that’s the last thing I needed. For the first time in more than fifteen years, I had no one to bring me candy and flowers. Meh! Chocolate was fattening and flowers just made a mess of my counter top and then died anyway.
    “That’s more like it,” the announcer continued in her drawl. “Tomorrow night we’re havin’ an Anti-Valentine’s Party. Don’t forget to wear blue if you’re single.”

​    Blue … Other than blue jeans, I didn’t own anything that was blue. I racked my brain for something that Angela owned. Ooh … that silky tank top she’d worn for New Year’s Eve a couple of years ago … that would work. I pulled on a pair of jeans and just a basic T-shirt, then texted her I was coming over.
    Before leaving the house, I downloaded the Uber app I’d seen advertised at the bar since the bar offered a twenty-dollar credit. Not that I planned to drink much — drinking at a bar definitely wasn’t in my budget — but I figured why take the chance? I wasn’t opposed to accepting a paid-for drink if a man was so inclined. It was Valentine’s Day after all.
    Angela chuckled as she sifted through her closet.
    “Why are you laughing, Ang?” I bit out. “Do you think it’s too dressy?”
    “No, not at all,” Angela grunted as she nearly got down on her knees. “It’s perfect. Hang on …” She rummaged through the shoe boxes on the floor.
    “Angela, you’re going to hurt yourself. I have shoes —”
    “No, you don’t,” she cut me off, “you have boots.” She exited the closet with the top draped over her shoulder and a shoebox in her hands. She threw the box on the bed and then handed me the ruffly and sequined silk blouse. It really was quite beautiful.
    I slipped the top over my head, noticing that it fell lower than I thought it would. I liked the pockets of these jeans and had wanted to show them off.
    Angela leaned back, shaking her head. “Now, get rid of those boots and jeans.”
    “But … what will I wear with the top?”
    My cousin rolled her eyes. “It’s not a top, Jana; it’s a dress. You never actually saw me wearing it since you and Dick went to that party at the country club he’d wanted to go to.”
    I darted my eyes to hers to confirm that she was serious, then stared down at the tiny patch of fabric between me and my legs. “You’re kidding me. My butt will hang out in this.”
    Angela walked around me, inspecting my backside. “First of all, your butt doesn’t hang — thank God — and no, it won’t.”
    I walked to her full-length mirror and then turned around, doing my best to see my rear. I pulled at the hem, checking the length. “I couldn’t possibly.”
    “You can, and you will. I’m not letting you wear my dress over jeans.” She opened the box and handed me a pair of black four-inch ankle-breakers.
    I pulled the straps over the backs of my heels and examined myself in the mirror.
    Angela popped her head over my shoulder. “You should wear cobalt blue more often, Jana. It looks good on you.”
    “Dick hated blue,” I murmured.
    “Dick was a fool,” Angela said in response.
    I huffed out a breath through my nose as I tried to hold back the tears. Not once had Angela said anything like, I never liked Dick or You’re better off without him. She’d just kept her opinions to herself and had been a shoulder for me these last few months. Even now, she didn’t call him names, she’d just pointed out the obvious: Dick was a fool. And he knew it too, at least I assume he knew it since he’d tried repeatedly to come home. But I just couldn’t do it. No matter how hard I tried, I just couldn’t get the idea of him having sex with another woman out of my mind. And I knew that I never would be able to.
    I lifted my head, attempting to dry my eyes. “Thank you, Angela.” I wrapped my arms around her. “I love you, cuz.”
    “I love you too.” She pulled back. “Now, go have fun, but be careful. Call me if you decide to drink.”
    I smiled. “I downloaded something called Uber. It’s supposed to be pretty easy. If I use it, I’ll call you to go pick up my truck with me tomorrow.”
    Angela flashed a half smile. “I know what Uber is. My husband uses it a lot when he’s out of town on business. Says it’s easier to use than most taxi companies — and cheaper.”
    I rested my hands on my hips. “How is it you always know about this stuff before I do?”
    “Because I’m almost a decade younger than you. My generation grew up with all these new gadgets as you old-timers call them.”
    “Oh, right.” I twirled and inspected my reflection in the mirror again. “Are you sure?”
    “You look hot! Go have fun. Don’t think about meeting anyone, just dance and enjoy yourself.”
    Every time I tugged at the hem of my dress, the famous words of Richard Gere from the movie Pretty Woman flashed in my head: Stop fidgeting. He’d been right, of course. Nothing detracted from what a woman was wearing — or trying to wear — than when she continued to yank on it … because she knew it was too short or too low cut.
    In the case of the dress I was wearing, it was both. Whenever I hitched up the dress to cover my cleavage, I immediately had to check that my rear was still covered. Regardless, I heeded Angela’s command. As soon as I heard a familiar song, I headed to the dance floor. By the second chorus, I had most of the steps down and had all but forgotten the length and cut of my dress. After all, what did I care? I was single. It’s not like I had anyone who would be offended. Actually, even if I were still married, it wouldn’t have mattered. Dick had always asked me to dress sexily, especially when we were going out.
    Since I was no J-Lo, though, I constantly tripped over my own feet and stepped on a few others. Thankfully, most people laughed it off. Those who were wearing cowboy boots, that is.
    By the third dance, I was laughing myself silly, but I was in love … with dancing. I’d been so concentrated on my feet that I didn’t have a chance to see if there was anyone cute around me. I was also parched, though. I quickly remembered why I could eat and drink anything I wanted when I was in college … dancing burned calories — and dehydrated me. I was dying of thirst.
    I headed to the bar, hoping they didn’t charge a buck for a plastic cup of water.
    As soon as I sat down, I felt a tap on my shoulder.
    “Hey …” a male voice shouted in my ear.
    I swung around on the barstool, hoping it wasn’t someone I knew. Nope! The man standing in front of me was a lot younger than I was, so more than likely we didn’t run in the same circles.
    “Yeah?” I asked, not sure what he wanted. Had I taken his seat?
    “Wanna dance?”
    “Oh, thank you,” I said, immediately flattered, “but I just sat down. I need to drink something before I die of thirst. Maybe in a little bit.”
    The man turned to leave, but then waved a hand at me as though he were telling me no. “A hundred dollars? No thanks!”
    “What did you say?” I shouted over the din, even though I was a hundred percent sure I’d heard him correctly.
    The man sat down at a table with several other young men, and they all laughed hysterically at their friend’s rude comment.
    As much as I wanted to walk over to the man — boy — and slap him up the backside of his head, I remembered all those barroom brawls my father had to break up, and how he’d always complained that if people just wouldn’t pay any mind to belligerent morons, there’d be a lot less fights.
    I decided against the water. I wouldn’t stop coming back to the club to dance. I definitely loved to dance. But I really wasn’t into the bar scene. I’d wait until I could come back with a date or continue to restrict my dancing to weddings and New Year’s Eve parties.

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If you've already read Unlucky In Love, find the next two parts of the story in Some Lucky Woman at your favorite book retailer!

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