Two. Fucking. Months.
Fresh tears pool in my eyes, and I force myself to take a deep breath, willing them away. “Calm down, Jor,” I mutter to myself. “Just because he’s getting married doesn’t mean anything. It doesn’t make you a failure. It doesn’t mean that his relationship is in a good place.”
It doesn’t mean you’re never going to find love.
The bartender, now a forgotten notion of hot muscle, slides both shots across the counter at me. I grab the one identical to the first and throw it back, reaching for the tequila when my phone buzzes in my hand again. It pulls my attention away from thedrink, and I look at it, Hailey’s name flashing across the top.
Hailey: I’m calling you in five minutes and if you don’t pick up, I’ll call Nate.
She would call my brother. My entire friend group knew what I went through with Paul by the time things were all said and done. The cheating, the lies, the horrifying way that I took him back time and again, especially at the end. Each time getting a new promise of him never doing it again; it meant nothing, it wasn’t really cheating—they were only sending pictures back and forth.
An ache in my chest threatens to open up and swallow me whole, the way I wish the pits of hell would open for Paul. I have ten minutes, fifteen at most, before everyone meets me in this bar to head to the club for the evening. I need to pull myself together. Need to play the part of the siren who put on this fire engine red dress. It was my favorite purchase for this trip, after all. One outfit of many that I knew would turn heads. I knew the red would draw attention, but the way it sparkles in the Vegas lights commands it. It hits me mid-thigh and hugs every curve I own, accentuating my favorite parts.
I’m a knockout.
Screw Paul. He has no idea what he’s missing. I don’t need him. Bring on a new man. Even if he’s just for the night. Attention is what I need, and attention is what I’m going to get.
Sucking in a deep breath, I type back to Hailey before she calls me or my brother. This week is about Nate and Savanna, and I’ll be damned if I let anything taint their wedding week. Especially me spiraling.
Me: Paul who? I’ve got my sights set on Vegas this week. Bring on all the dark-haired, muscle-bound men who can light fire to my panties.
She must have been staring at her phone, because her reply is instant.
Hailey: That’s weird considering all the firefighters we know.
Me: Are you saying Luke doesn’t light up your panties?
Hailey: …he disintegrates them.
Me: Point proven.
Hailey: Are you okay?
I sigh, running my free hand through my long tresses. Saying no would create cause for concern, knowing Hailey. My mind races as I think about what she would do with that information. Call Nate. Or Savanna, his fiancée—though, with all the preparations Savanna has been handling, I think Hailey would call my brother first. Then he’d worry about me, and he’d tell Savanna, and she’d worry about me.
Saying yes would be a lie. I’m not okay. I feel blindsided in the worst possible way. Maybe Paul was right all those years. Maybe I just wasn’t good enough for anyone else. Maybe there is something wrong with me.
No. Stop. Fuck Paul. He doesn’t deserve your attention, and youdon’t want his. You want someone worthy of your attention. Panties on fire.
“Miss?”
“Hmm?” I respond distractedly, then blink away my thoughts, looking up to find the bartender staring at me. He rattles off a total to me, and I give a shake of my head, realizing that he’s been standing there waiting for me to pay for my drinks. Offering him an apologetic smile, I open my clutch. “Right. Sorry.”
Before I can pull money out, however, a hand presses into the small of my back. Warmth from a body close enough to brush my arm seeps into my bare skin. I stiffen, my heart leaping into my throat. One face flashes in my mind.
Paul.
“I’ll have whatever the beautiful lady is having.”
A familiar voice slides down my spine, the slight rasp caressing my skin like a touch that is both barely there and all consuming. Scratching an itch I didn’t realize I had. Goosebumps slowly fade in the same way his voice does from my ears. I relax, taking a moment to appreciate the pressure of his hand against my back. It’s the most intimate touch I’ve had in months, and while I shouldn’t enjoy it, I’m looking for an escape from the intrusive thoughts of my ex.
What better way than with my brother’s devastatingly dreamy, totally off-limits best friend?
“The shot, not the drink,” Liam clarifies to the bartender before turning his signature half smile in my direction as he slips his credit card across the countertop. “If I had to wager a guess, I’d bet there’s tequila in that shot glass. I can’t think of a better way to start the night off.”
Back home, Nate and I own a bar, named 10-42, that Liam frequents enough that the barstool he claims should have his namepermanently etched in it. I’ve sat next to it more than a handful of times, drowning sorrows, or toasting celebrations, always with a shot of tequila.
“Your guess would be correct,” I tell him, my voice falling flat, even to my ears.
