“I’m not…” I huffed, crossing my arms, then uncrossing them, realizing how defensive I must look. “I don’t have a crush on John. You’re gross for even suggesting it.”
“OH, LOVE. No, it’s too late.” Otis pressed a fist against his mouth.
“Shut up.”
I wanted to tell him he was seeing things that weren’t there. But at that moment, Madame Fatal came stalking down the stage. The beautiful drag queen with the killer cut crease and a breastplate rivaling Jessica Rabbit walked past, throwing Otis a wink.
“No,” I pointed at him. “Every time you date a drag queen, I have to knit together your broken heart with Buffy reruns and so much ice cream that we both have to detox for a month. And Idon’t currently have enough money for fancy juice.” I pushed the drink away. “Or this thing, for that matter.”
Otis grabbed my hands across the table. “Alright, sweet summer child, let’s both vow not to get our hearts broken, okay?” He squeezed my fingers before pushing the drink back to me. “I’m sure Claire will let you put it on her tab,” he winked at me.
The Four Non-Blonds’ “What’s Going On” blared out of the speakers before someone—my guess was the bachelorette party that entered halfway through the night—shot a golden confetti cannon over our table. Claire, the bartender I’d briefly dated before the Tobias disaster, brought over a tray with shots in a color that definitely promised a hangover.
“The ladies are giving out free drinks.” She nodded at the bride-to-be, who was now dancing atop the pool table, her tiara hanging dangerously low over her brow.
Claire was simply beautiful. Scully-red hair, but instead of a clean bob, long waves tumbled down her back, creating a stunning contrast to her gray eyes and freckled nose. She was a woman who knew what she wanted, and what she wanted was to be a cottage-core lesbian living with three cats and a goat in a mushroom-covered forest while reading witchy books—and having lazy afternoon sex under a canopy of trees. We had a whirlwind romance that ended when she met her current girlfriend, and I met Tobias. Tobias the golden retriever. Good looks, well-mannered, and Dad had...loved him. Tobias had been the All-American dream. Perfect for someone...not me. I was thorny and difficult. Even before the accident happened.
I held my hand against my stomach, where a piece of car window had sliced my gut in half. Even now, after all this time, I could still feel it sting when I moved too fast.
What had John thought when he’d glimpsed the scar at the hot tub? Did he find it ugly? Did he wonder how it happened?
I shook my head. Screw him. Who cared?
“You okay, hun?” Claire brushed a hand over my shoulder. I stood on unsteady legs, took two shots at once, grabbed her face, and kissed her. Deeply.
The room around us cheered.
“Never been better.”
The room was tilting. My mouth felt like something had died inside it. The smell of tequila lingered on my top, giving me flashbacks of green shot glasses slammed on sticky tables, the burn of alcohol mingling with stolen puffs of cigarettes.
I maneuvered myself onto all fours, grabbing my sheets like they were lifelines in a storm.
Next to me, someone groaned. The someone, completely wrapped in a blanket, was Otis. I lifted the corner.
“Turn the light off,” Otis whined. He was fully dressed, including the shiny new Valentino sneakers he had shown off to every single person last night.
More memories flooded back—Madame Fatal in murder heels and a Cher wig, a confetti cannon exploding sometime between pink cocktail number four and slurring my address to the cab driver. Me fighting for Otis’s phone as he threatened to confess his love in a drunk text around 3 a.m. Claire asking me to go home with her.
I had declined.
She had a girlfriend, and if my mushy brain remembered correctly, they were poly, but that didn’t make it okay to kiss my ex because I was trying to ban a certain someone from haunting my thoughts. Another memory crashed into my mind with the force of a freight train—a bathroom selfie that would give mymom a heart attack, with Otis’s face covered in red lipstick and my cleavage smeared with glitter.
I patted the covers, trying to find my phone.
My head pounded so hard I was sure Otis could hear it. I kicked him. He yelped and pulled the cover over his head. “What?”
“Otis, move your skinny ass. Where’s my phone?”
He grumbled something inaudible.
I shoved him, and he tumbled out of the bed with a curse. “I’m giving this Airbnb a one-star rating,” he muttered as he tugged on my blanket, rolled himself into a burrito, and went back to sleep. On the floor.
I found my phone inside my boot as I heaved myself out of bed and into the kitchen. Even though it was only two steps, it felt like I was running a marathon. Definitely had to quit my occasional smoking habit.
A little buzz ran through my thumb as the device unlocked. I decided it was a three-shot espresso kind of morning. With blurry eyes, I glanced at the screen. The strangled noise of a small dying animal escaped me.
“What was that? Did you step on a rat?” Otis peeked over the edge of the bed.
