“Huh? Step ten?” I asked.
“Getting under someone else,” he said casually.
“Wait! What?” I said, shocked.
“Didn’t you read that far? That’s our step ten in getting over our exes.” He looked so cool about that.
“Well, I’m not doing that!” I said quickly.
“But we have green ribbons.” Alex held his finger up.
“Exactly. What was rule one? No relationships.” I held my finger up too.
“There’s a big difference between sex and relationships,” Alex said.
“Said no woman ever!” I quickly added, because, let’s face it, women who can truly separate love and sex are few and far between.
“We made a promise, though. We have to get through the list,” Alex insisted.
“I made a promise before I knew I was meant to be having sex with some random person.” I wagged my finger at him.
“But don’t you want to get over that . . . BLOODY BASTARD!!” Alex suddenly broke eye contact with me and screamed. People in the bar looked in our direction and I jumped in my seat, suddenly caught off guard by how emphatic he was being.
“I mean, sure Matt was a bastard . . . But—”
Alex cut me off quickly. “No, not Matt. Look!” He pointed at the TV screen behind the bar and Julian and I swiveled our heads. It was the show I’d seen at the airport,Big Band Battle, and the same band was playing from last time. The same cheesy singer was gyrating across the stage to an adoring female crowd, sweat beads glistening on his forehead.
“That’s Six Feet Over It,” I said, pointing up at the screen. I immediately heard a massive groan emanating from next to me, and when I turned, Alex had lowered his head and was now resting it on the bar counter.
“Not you too . . . please. Not you too,” he moaned into the bar, almost inaudibly.
I looked up at the TV screen again and felt my brain doing some kind of mental aerobics until I finally got it. “NO!” I gasped loudly. “That’s not . . .? It can’t be . . .? She left you forhim?”
Alex’s head was still down, nose and forehead to the bar, but he managed to nod it.
“WHAT!?” I shouted and then coughed a little as I choked on a peanut. “But he’s so, so, so . . . lame,” I offered. It was the first and only word I could think of in that moment. I was also reeling from the shock from this revelation.
“And their music is terrible,” Julian added quickly.
“And his hair! No one highlights their tips anymore, unless your last name is Jovi. Or is itBonJovi? I don’t know.”
“And look at what he’s wearing.” Julian pointed. “No self-respecting man wears pants that tight.”
“Or leathery,” I added. I shot Julian a concerned look and he nodded at me. No words were spoken, but we both understood what we needed to do!
“It’s like if Meatloaf and Billy Idol had a baby.” Julian was on a roll now.
“And it was raised by Kiss,” I exclaimed.
“Besides, there’s no way they’re going to win this competition,” Julian said.
“Exactly. They’ve probably bribed the judges to even get this far.” I banged my hand down on the bar counter for added effect. “Seriously, you are way, way hotter than him, and more talented—you’re a surgeon, for God’s sake, and what does he do? Gyrate his pelvis on stage!”
“It’s obscene!” Julian started pouring shots and lining them up on the counter with slices of lemons. This was an alcohol emergency.
“But he’s cool. He’s a rock star,” Alex moaned again.
“He’s a bad one.” I put my hand on Alex’s back and started rubbing it in circles. I had to admit that having the man that seduced your fiancée on TV wasn’t exactly helpful when trying to get over her.
