I’d ruined a wedding. I’d opposed a marriage. Jesus Christ, I was going to hell. My skin was too fair for that climate. I’d chosen New York for a reason.
My thoughts swam in my head, lacking any coherent direction.
They were probably still getting married right now. And yet, I didn’t regret it. I’d done my civil duty. I’d warned her off. What she did from this point onward was on her.
I fished my phone out of my purse and stared at the screen.
Who do you call, Layla Schmidt, when the world’s just come crumbling down on your head and someone needs to pick up the pieces?
Maddie, of course. My best friend in the entire world. But she’d insist on picking me up, and her pregnancy sickness was through the roof. No, it was too late. And she was so tired that she wasn’t even reaching for remotes these days.
Calling my parents was always an option. They lived in Jersey now. But I honestly couldn’t think of anything more depressing than running back to Mommy and Daddy to lick my twelve-year-old wounds that had just reopened.
That left me with one option.
I opened my text message box with Grant Gerwig. The last time we’d texted was a month ago. Him telling me I forgot my hoodie at his place. Me never replying because ... well, that’s how we were.Casual.Uncommitted. Free to come and go as we pleased (all puns intended).
Layla: Hey.
The message immediately appeared to have been read. One of the things I loved about Grant was that we both had very little life outside our jobs and best friends, so we always had time for each other.
Grant: Hi.
Layla: What are you doing?
Grant: Not much. You?
God, in text messages, he was drier than my mouth after a full night of sleeping congested. So different from how he was in person.
Layla: I just opposed a marriage in the middle of a 350-guest wedding ceremony and made a ru
The elevator pinged and the door opened. I stepped inside, grateful to find it empty. While it closed, I contemplated changing my mind about telling Grant the entire story, but I decided to go for it. He was surprisingly nonjudgmental for a tall, high-earning, porn star–fucking bachelor who also happened to be a doctor.
Layla: I just opposed a marriage in the middle of a 350-guest wedding ceremony and made a run for it.
Grant: You did not.
Layla: Did too.
Grant: Pic or it didn’t happen.
I clicked on the camera app, flipped the screen, and took a selfie in the fancy hotel elevator, doing a kissy face with my updo and fancy pink dress. Then applied three different filters.Thenclicked send.
Grant: Is this a TikTok challenge? I swear to God, Gen Z is so fucked. I’m glad I’m not reproducing.
Layla: The groom was my mythological ex.
Layla: My mythologicalJackassex. I consider warning the bride a public service, even though I think the wedding is still on.
Grant: Do I need to post bail?
The fact that Iknewhe would made me less agitated with my own existence. He was so down to earth for someone so dazzling. I grinned, my thumbs flying over the screen.
Layla: I’m clearly not in a police station.
Grant:Yet. Night’s still young, and I know you.
He knew why I’d contacted him. It was why Ialwayscontacted him. To have wild, hot sex. But he wanted me to say it. Toexplicitlyproposition him. He didn’t care that I’d just had the worst night of my life. For him, it was a transaction like any other. An orgasm transaction, but still.
