“Ummm, why? Did you suddenly stop enjoying orgasms?”
“I enjoy them too much,that’sthe problem. They seduced me with their devil dicks, and at first it was great, but now there’s all these feelings.”
“Ugh.” She fakes a gag. “Feelings ruin everything.”
“I know. That’s why I stopped responding. Klaus wanted more, Nick wanted nothing serious, and I…” I wince, somewhat ashamed of my answer despite the fact I know Alma would never judge. “…wanted both of them.”
My work wife screeches us to a halt, brown eyes wide behind her mask. “Girl…Damn.”
“I know.”
“No chance of a negotiated throuple?” she asks, teasingly but also genuinely curious.
“Zero. Klaus is too jealous, and Nick has no interest in a relationship. Walking away was the only option that didn’t blow up their weird step-family dynamic.”
“Former step-family,” she corrects. “Nick’s divorce was finalized years ago.”
“Yes, but he still refers to Klaus as his son. That’s more than enough to make everything ten times messier.”
Alma nods and lets out a long whistle. “You really did have one hell of a year.”
“I did.” I squeeze her arm. “And now I’m moving on. Clean break.”
My phone, warm against my skin, feels like a dare. A challenge.A reminder.Inhaling deeply, I square my shoulders and fall into step beside my work wife.
No repeats.
No regrets.
I’ll see this resolution through if it’s the last thing I ever do.
TWO
The moment Almaand I step back into the ballroom, sensory overload hits me like a confetti cannon to the face all over again. There’s gold, black, and white everywhere; draped from the ceiling, twinkling along the walls, floating above the crowd in giant glossy balloons that bump lazily against one another. A massive disco ball. A plethora of masks… It’s like someone at Van Corp took the words Masked at Midnight and asked a designer with zero concept of restraint to put it together.
“Christ,” Alma says, looking around with a dramatic sigh. “Did I mention earlier that whoever planned this decor was either a genius or had a deep emotional wound to fill?”
“Why not both?” I chuckle, my eyes catching on a mirrored centerpiece that reflects my mask back at me in a dozen little fractured angles.
Fitting considering the fractured nature of the disaster that is my current love life.
Alma tugs my arm, as if somehow reading my mind. “Nope, no lingering. We’re getting food. You’re not allowed to be sad on an empty stomach. It’s dangerous.”
“I’m not sad,” I protest. “I’m resolved.”
“Resolved people still need protein,” she insists, guiding me toward the buffet like she’s my personal security detail. “And alcohol, and a lot of carbs.”
The buffet is obscene in the best possible way. Gold-rimmed platters, piles of tiny fancy finger foods, pastries shaped like stars, something involving smoked salmon that looks far too pretty to touch, and a massive ice sculpture of an old-timey clock that looks like it’s silently judging me. I grab a plate, and Alma immediately starts putting things on it—like I’m a child who can’t be trusted to feed myself.
“Eat.Hydrate.”She puts a champagne flute in my other hand. “And flirt with anyone who isn’t named Klaus or Nick.”
I snort. “Great, so ninety-eight percent of the party?”
“Precisely. There’s plenty of options.”
I laugh, and it’s a genuine, easy breezy kind of laugh. The room glitters, people chatter, the DJ transitions into “Red Wine Supernova”. Taking a sip of the champagne, I allow myself to simply enjoy the moment.
It’s gonna be fine.Tonight will be the start of something new and healthy. Something not rooted in complicated penis politics that was never supposed to be complicated in the first?—
