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I really don’t want to get into all the details of this whole thing just yet. Not only is the sting of rejection a little too fresh, but there’s also a whole backstory with my therapist and her dating assignment that will undoubtedly cause some sort of a shit fit from my sister when she finds out I’ve been hiding my therapy appointments from her.
Thankfully, my house phone rings in a timely distraction, sending Belle into a whole other tirade. This one, however, is one I’m prepared to handle.
“What…what is that?”
I shake my head and shrug innocently as the phone continues to ring.
“Did you hook that thing back up?” Belle interrogates, jumping up from her seat.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I deny, just as my old-school answering machine picks up and starts to play my outgoing message.
“Hi, you’ve reached Sophie. I’m not here right now, or I am and I’m busy, but feel free to leave me a message and I’ll get back to you.” BEEEP.
“Oh my God, you dirty skank! I’m barely out of here, and you’ve already got that fucking thing hooked back up!” Belle yells.
I widen my eyes innocently as our sister Katelynn comes over the speaker. “Hey, hooker. Call me back. I’d call your cell, but my little shits are already tearing my house apart as we speak, so I don’t have the time. Byeeee.”
“Sophie!” Belle snips again. “I want an explanation.”
I shake my head with a laugh. “You don’t live here anymore, Belly. That means I can have whatever outdated technology I want, and you can’t stop me.”
“You’re helpless.”
I shrug. “I like it. So, sue me.”
“You know, maybe I will,” Belle says with narrowed eyes as she pours herself another cup of coffee. “John’s got this lawyer friend I could talk to.”
I snort.
Belle stalks back over to the table and sits down again, picking up her newspaper and opening it so dramatically it sends a crack through the air.
I shake my head behind the thin paper wall she’s formed and take another sip of the sacred bean juice.
“Oh my gosh,” Belle says suddenly, the change in her tone of voice catching my attention. Whatever it is, it seems unrelated to our tiff.
“What?”
“Isn’t this the guy who danced at my bachelorette party?”
Immediately, all the hair on my body stands on end and my vagina spasms. Isn’t what the guy? Is his underwear somewhere or something?
Frantic, I look around the room nonsensically, trying to find some sort of article that’s given away the fact that I slept with Jude last night. The notion is preposterous—this isn’t the kind of thing that’s easily deduced with hints like an episode of goddamn Blue’s Clues, but I’m nervous as all get-out.
“Look,” Belle finally says, seemingly ignoring my mental breakdown and shaking the paper. “Here. In the paper.”
“What?” I shriek, ripping the thin sheets from her hands and flipping them around to look.
Recognition hits me like a sock in the damn gut.
There, dead center and larger-than-life, Jude’s smiling face looks back at me, his full body shot showing him at ease and confident in a blue-gray suit with his hands tucked across his chest.
He looks drop-dead gorgeous and then some, and a sick twist in my stomach makes me feel a little like I’m going to throw up. Seeing him like this, the morning of his sneak-out after the hottest sex of my life?
This is a cruel one, even for a bitch like fate.
Agitated, I scour the article for pertinent information as quickly as I can.
Club Promoter Jude Winslow Brings Fresh Fun Back to Manhattan, the title reads.
After nearly a year of renovations on the old SoHo building, Jude Winslow says Club Craze is the next big thing in New York. “This is a place where people are going to line up to come,” Winslow said. “We’ve done some soft openings already, and the response has been amazing.”
This weekend, Winslow will close the club to the public again, welcoming the most elite private events specialists in the world for a marketing event. “The idea is to get some exclusive clientele interested in having their next big party here. It’s the perfect location, and I’m going to make sure they know about it,” Winslow explained.
I drop the paper and sink back down into my chair, a starkly stunned expression on my face.
Well, at least you know his last name now.
“That’s him, right?” Belle asks, before narrowing her eyes on me to survey me closely. “Why do you look as if you’ve seen a ghost?”
I shake my head a couple times, silently of course, since words completely escape me, and she eventually moves on.
The weird thing about being as closely bonded as we are, is that, sometimes, that means not reacting to the strange behavior that sets off red flags. We are each other’s safe havens of space and understanding.
