Seriously? What the hell was I thinking? We were in New Freaking York, the city that never sleeps. Deep down, I wanted to get out. Explore. Party my ass off. Meet someone who’d appreciate me. Be a book heroine and succumb to instalove, then smear my sexy hero all over Lucas Stone’s annoyingly handsome face.
“Ladies,” I said as I leaned against the granite-topped bar, arms folded across my chest, “we should totally head to that club you said everyone’s raving about.”
Chloe’s gaze snapped to mine, neon-colored brochure in hand floating to the floor like a paper airplane. “Let’s do it.”
Sage’s eyes widened, ears perked up like a chihuahua’s, mouth fanned out in a grin as shit-eating as they come. “What changed your mind?”
“Well, I’m sick and tired of feeling like a goddamn poop emoji over someone who’ll never be mine.”
Both stared at me for a few beats, seemingly assessing my words, my mood, waiting to see if I would break down and cry or just go batshit and start throwing things.
“Wanna know something funny about that poop emoji?” Chloe tittered, sitting on the couch with her legs crossed yoga-style. “For the longest time, I thought that dark-brown swirly mound of cuteness was a chocolate frozen yogurt emoji. Stupid me texted a parade of poop emojis to a hottie who wanted to know my favorite dessert. I seriously wondered why he never texted me back.”
We all laughed for a good sixty seconds before Sage got to her feet, skipping over to the bar, embracing me in a quick hug. “You deserve better, sweetie. Sure, there are times AJ can be an ass, but at least I know he’smyass. You need an ass who’s all yours.”
Nodding, I still had to nourish curiosity churning in my belly. “AJ hasn’t mentioned anything to you about Lucas? Like, maybe that he’d read my confessions, or the fact we got close enough to kiss the other night?” I grabbed a bottle of water from the mini fridge, twisting the cap off before taking a sip.
“Girl, when I’m with AJ, there is absolutely no time to sit around and chat about other people’s business—not when we’re too busy fucking like a pair of manic bunnies.”
I nearly spit my mouthful of water out. “It’ll take a few drinks to rid my angelic mind free of visions of you and AJ going at it like a couple of horny rabbits.”
“Same here,” Chloe babbled, hands shielding her peepers as though AJ and Sage were in 3D hot-and-heavy right before her very eyes. “And don’t forget to do a squat or two, Miss Shags Like a Bunny. Your dirty little mouth saidfuckingandass.”
About an hourlater the three of us stood outside, wearing black, fashionably skimpy dresses and matching stilettos, ready and waiting in a line at Inkwell, a chic dance club and lounge other interviewees we ate lunch with earlier seemed wild about. Hip-hop music thumped, and everyone queued up behind the velvet ropes reminded me of those New York elites I’d read about in magazines.
I snapped a three-bestie selfie—our hair and makeup courtesy of Sage who watched a goin’-to-the-club beauty tutorial on YouTube—eager to upload it to UCChat when the line suddenly advanced. Tucking my cell into my sequined clutch, I beamed, euphoria gushing through me as we were ushered in.
Once inside, my eyes flicked to a starlit dance floor, rainbow-like rays bouncing from ceiling to floor. Stairs led upward to a lounge where two bars and plenty of tables, with cozy booths matching the club’s velvet walls, were spread out. It would have been difficult to miss drop-dead-hot cocktail servers garbed in tuxedo-style corsets, sashaying about, trays of beers and sparkling drinks tactfully balanced on one hand as though they could carry out such skilled maneuvers while sleeping. Inkwell—packed with gorgeous men and women dancing, lounging, sipping drinks—definitely boomed, and as we stood at the entrance, taking everything in, I quickly surmised why other interns were nuts about it.
“Let’s grab a booth.” Sage snaked her way through a sea of party people, eventually leading me and Chloe up a mini flight of stairs to the lounge, the white dots that adorned her little black dress glowing under fluorescent lights.
Finding a wraparound booth off to the corner, the three of us eased in, clutches on our laps as we each picked up a drink menu from the marble-topped table.
“Stay away from Cosmos,” Chloe teased, dishing me a cheeky side-eye. “No repeat episodes of real-life confessions.”
“Hmm, the only real confession left to spill is how completelyoverLucas Stone I truly am. AndJust Friendswould be its title because friend-boxed is what we’re destined to be.” I perused the menu, a plastic smile pulling at my lips.
Was I over Lucas?
Uh, that would be a big ass, no.
Though being way over him became this girl’s mission, even if it meant cutting off circulation to my stupid heart.
Chasing away thoughts of Mr. Stone, I allowed myself to enjoy the moment with my bitches, music thrumming, vibrating through our booth. We probably looked similar to a set of bobbleheads as we sat there, grooving to sounds of kicked-up beats swirling around us.
“Hi, there. I’m Mindy.” A chirpy-voiced cocktail server with dark lipstick stood in front of our booth, pen and pad in hand. “I’ll be taking care of you dolls. Whatcha drinkin’ tonight?”
Sage and Chloe took a final peek at their menus, then ordered Lemon Drops.
“And for you, hon?” Mindy eyed me, faux lashes fanning her face when she blinked. “Want the same?”
“Shirley Temple, please.” I ignored the explosion of giggles erupting from Sage and Chloe’s devious mouths.
“Sure thing, babe.” Mindy scribbled on her pad. “Be right back with those.”
Sage leaned back, arms crossed over her chest, lips pursed as if she’d just sucked a dozen limes. “Shirley Temple?”
“Mmhmm.” I toyed with a loose strand of hair. “There’s no way I’m walking intoHot Shothung over tomorrow morning. I check in at seven-thirty.”
