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Distractedly shoving more popcorn into my mouth, I scroll through the donor list.
A kernel goes down the wrong pipe when I gasp out loud mid-chew. Now, I’m coughing and choking and thrashing about on the couch as I squint at my screen in disbelief.
“You’ve got to be kidding me.” I bark up a lung, my eyes hooking on one specific name listed prominently on the donor list. With a curled up fist, I rub away the tears blurring my eyes.
Luke. Oh my god. It’s Luke.
Of all the charities in the country, my ex has to stick his nose into this one?! Since when is Luke even a charitable person?!And given the dollar amount next to his name, it’s safe to assume that he is definitely going to be attending this gala in person.
“Ah, hell.” Still coughing and trying not to die, I empty my wine glass in one big gulp to clear my windpipe.
My excitement over the gala quickly deflates as my mind immediately starts to gallivant. My stomach lurches at the mere thought of the new girlfriend who will probably be decorating my ex’s arm.
I’ve seen photos of this girl Luke recently started dating—an unfortunate consequence of sharing mutual friends with my ex. That woman is literally a beauty pageant winner. Perfect hair, perfect teeth, banging body.
Against my better judgment, I open her Instagram profile—like I’ve done five thousand times in the past—and read through the 12,732 comments going on and on about how stunning she looks in her designer yoga gear and her revealing two-piece swimsuits.
Meanwhile, I’m sitting alone on my couch, coughing up a lung while wearing holey pajamas and eating popcorn out of my boobs.Oh, god.
I know I shouldn’t compare myself to someone I’ve never met. Logical Nadia knows this. But one look at that bombshell, and it’s hard not to feel wholly inadequate.
She’s the perfect trophy for Luke, which is what he always wanted in a woman.Shut up. Look pretty. And support my every move.
As the TV announcers return from the commercial break, I make up my mind. I can’t show up to this charity event alone, looking sad and pitiful.
I truly love attending this gala. It’s one of my favorite charitable events to support. But this year, I can’t go.
I’m not going.
7
HARRY
Ipark my car in the shadowy alleyway and creep around the building. Looking up and down the street, I cover my eyes with my sunglasses and tug the hood of my sweatshirt over my head. Then I pull open the door and duck inside the small, cluttered shop. My heart jolts at the sound of a bell chiming above my head as I make my stealthy entrance.
Through a thick haze of burning incense, a tall, willowy girl looks up from whatever herbal concoction she’s brewing at the table near the back.
“Well, if it isn’t my favorite VIP customer!” She grins at me.
“Hey Ziggy,” I say, tucking my sunglasses into my pocket before lowering my hood and raking my fingers through my ruffled up hair.
She sets down her wooden spoon and comes in my direction, her forehead all scrunched up. “How have you been doing? No offense but your football game has been terrible lately. Have you been wearing the aventurine amulet I made you?”
Oops! “I think I misplaced it at some point when I was on the road.”
Ziggy’s not listening to my excuses, though. Her perceptive eyes are sweeping me up and down then her eyebrows are slashing suspiciously. There’s a heavy pause. “Wait—you’re not here to talk about football, are you?”
“No, I—”
She holds up a hand with urgency. “Follow me.”
Aw, man. Not the secret room.The secret room is always bad news.
Ziggy is around my age. Maybe a year or two older. Yet she’s wise in this mystical way that both fascinates and freaks me out at the same time. I’ve been having consultations with her for years and she gives pretty solid spiritual guidance, usually about the best moves to make in my career. But I’ve always kept our meetings ‘on the low’ because my brothers would give me so much shit if they ever found out.
She guides me down a short hallway to the back of the metaphysical shop and dramatically sweeps open a heavy velvet curtain. We enter a small, dark, candlelit nook and she closes the curtain, sealing us inside.
The hairs on the back of my neck stand as I lower my ass into a creaky wooden chair. The vibe in this room is creepy as fuck. I always expect a mouse to run across my foot or a skeleton to fall out of a closet whenever Ziggy brings me in here.
