Rishi winces. “Too soon for jokes?”
“I hope they both choke on his trust fund.”
“That’s more like it,” he says, nodding approvingly. “I was worried you’d be in full ‘Nick fromNew Girl’ mode, writing sad poetry and humming Adele into your bourbon.”
I scoff and take a long sip. “Already did that. Moved on to rage.”
“Good.” His hand slaps my back. “Rage we can work with.”
The bartender delivers Rishi’s beer, he snatches it up and takes a sip.
“She didn’t even try to explain. Just…sat there.”
“She’s not worth the aneurysm,” Rishi says. “She’s a coward. And he’s a parasite. What’s your play now?”
“I don’t know. Burn their lives to the ground?”
“Healthy.”
I laugh, but it’s hollow. “I gave her everything. Every unguarded piece of me. And she torched it.”
“You’re better off,” Rishi replies, still trying his best to uplift me. “Seriously. Chloe always looked like she practiced crying in the mirror. And Jackson? He’s just gross.”
“How did I miss it? I’m a strategist. Iseepeople.”
“Yeah, well, strategists make shit poker players. You loved her. That was the tell.”
My jaw clenches. “She made me believe I mattered. That I was... safe. And the whole time she was screwing Jackson.”
Rishi’s gaze sharpens. “No. She was screwing her own future. You? You’re going to be fine. You’re Nolan fucking Rhodes. You get back up.”
“Easier said than done, my friend.” I down the rest of my drink and toss a hundred on the bar. “Let’s get out of here before I put my fist through the jukebox.”
“Nowthat’sthe energy I came for,” Rishi says, standing.
We step out into the night, the city slapping me in the face with its clean summer air and neon charm.
“Where are we off to?” Rishi asks, keeping pace beside me. He’s got that casual swagger, the kind that says:I could be at the office winning an account right now, but instead I’m making sure you don’t spiral into a country song.
“I don’t know.”
Rishi cracks his neck. “Wanna go to my place and get blackout drunk? Or do we go fullFight Cluband find a bar with peanuts and bloodstains?”
“Pretty sure that was the bar we just left.”
He grins. “Okay, plan B: strip club. Breakups were practically invented to fund those places.”
I give him a look. “I’m not that guy.”
“Every guy’s that guy for about thirty-six hours after something like this. There’s healing in glitter and shame, my dude.”
I shake my head, but I hesitate, and Rishi notices.
“Ah, there it is. Youaretempted.”
“Only because it’s been a while,” I confess.
He blows out a breath. “Understood. Still, credit for the restraint. That’s personal growth.”
