As if I’m going to respond to him telling me to “answer the fucking phone.”
I press and hold the power button, and the screen goes black.
Good riddance, asshole.
CHAPTER 19
LOREN
Rat Bag
Call me now.
Somehow,I managed to keep it together until the end of the day, but the moment I get back to my apartment, madness descends, and I spend the next hour deep diving into Rebecca’s socials and kicking myself for not stalking her sooner. At least then I could’ve found out the news in private.
Okay. Time to regroup.
If I stay in this apartment, this disaster is going to consume me.
I need to get out of here.
I need Meg.
Thankfully, she answers on the first ring. “How are you?”
Terrible. Shitty. Angry. Sad. Spiraling. “I want to go out.” Scratch that. “Ineedto go out.”
“Tell me when and where, babe.”
“Meet me here in an hour.”
“See you in sixty.”
We hang up, and I head into mold-central for a quick shower to wash the stress sweat from my skin. Then I change into a silky green dress that I was saving for a special occasion.
Being cheated on seems like as good a reason as any to wear the outfit. It’s not as if I’ll be celebrating anything worthwhile any time soon.
Hidden beneath is my favorite bra of all time. My secret weapon.
Meg arrives right as I’m putting the finishing touches on my mascara. “Damn, girl. Your boobs look fantastic.”
“Thank you.” I always feel like a superhero in this bra. It’s like a hero cape for my boobs. “Meg, meet sex bra.” My best-kept secret that has seen too little action of late.
“That thing is doing wonders for your rack. You are getting some tonight.”
After what happened this morning, “getting some” is the last thing on my mind. “Oh, no. I want every single man who sees me in this to suffer in agony when they realize they’ll never get a glimpse of what’s under here.” I don’t care if Harry Styles himself waltzes into the bar. This girl is off-limits.
Agreeing that going back into the city sounds like a particular brand of torture neither of us want to endure, we decide to find a bar close by.
Meg offers to drive and then we’ll catch a ride share home, which is smart because neither of us plan to be anywhere near sober enough to get behind the wheel.
The place where we end up doesn’t look like much from the outside, with Christmas lights still dangling from the gutters and neon signs in all the windows, but the inside is packed. Unlike the bars and restaurants on Broadway, there isn’t one pair of cowboy boots in sight.
As we make our way to the bar, the crowd seems to part like the Red Sea, and I discover a familiar face behind the taps.
“Holy shit.” I grab Meg’s arm, dragging her closer. “I know him.”
Her head swings, and her lips kick up. “Which one?”
