Izzy: You did not ruin our honeymoon. He’s doing that all himself for being a whiney little bitch.
Izzy: And if that was your plan… not a bad one at all. Get it girl.
I’m too tired to smile, but her message does take some of the stress out of this.
Waverly: OH MY GOD! PLEASE DON’T HATE ME.
Waverly: Do you hate me? He’s hot and I didn’t think he was like a REAL person.
Waverly: Like I knew he was real but like not… this isn’t making any sense.
I don’t have it in me to ease Waverly’s ego right now. She’s kinda low on my priority list.
My phone rings and it’s Lena’s ringtone. Might as well get it over with.
“What the hell?” she screeches.
“Don’t yell, it will ruin your vocal cords,” I say, and rest my forehead against the steering wheel.
“You’re back with the man who stole my straight boyfriend.” I’ve listened to this shit for years, and I finally break.
“CJ was never straight. Three conversations with him, and I knew he was bisexual.”
“Then why has he only been with women since they broke up?”
“Because he was in a relationship with Grae. You can’t come back from that, I’m living proof.” She huffs like an angry bear until she starts her breathing exercises. The irony? Grae was the one who taught her those when we were kids. I lower my voice and whisper, “Are you mad because I’m with him, or that I didn’t tell you?”
“I had to find out through Lance—who should be fucking his wife, but that’s on him.” I can hear her drinking a glass of water because she slams it down. She sounds more resigned. “Well, what did he do?”
What did he do? How did I fall back into this trap?
“He instantly apologized, it was so heartfelt and honest. I believed him.”
“Oh,” she whispers, shocked. “Is that all?”
“Then he went down on me, and I think I went blind for a few seconds,” I add.
“Nice.” Her voice lightens as she asks, “Was he hot?”
Sharp suit, styled hair and those eyes that look at me like I’m the only person in the world. “Hell yes.”
“Yeah, he always is,” she admits.
“What’s your excuse for telling Uri about Grae and me?” Two can play the guilt game, and she curses under her breath.
“I was in a mood.”
“Cool. You definitely traumatized the poor, gay Russian.”
“Sorry. I’ll make it up to him somehow.”
I pull my head off the steering wheel and check the mirror. There's a fresh red crescent across my forehead. I lean against the headrest and stare up at the ceiling. Well, this is going as well as can be expected. But this is Lena, which means…
“Hey, is your security staff in the room?”
Silence.
“I don’t know, I’m in the bathroom. Hold up.” The door creaks open. “Darren—are you crying?”
