“Oh, God, don’t do that.”
“How about we go out to a cute bar or something? Put on real pants?”
The concerted efforts Mia was making to get her heartbroken friend out of the house were valid. Cierra looked at her computer — progress was visible. She had revamped her resume, written a cover letter, and even updated her personal website, which showcased her experience and professional shots of some of her best recipes. Plus, she had made a spreadsheet of all the restaurants she was going to reach out to in the coming week.
“I’m down. Let me see what’s good around here.” Unsurprisingly, Cierra had the pulse of what was worth going to and any new place worth knowing about. There were perks to working in the restaurant industry. Off-menu access and industry nights . . . there was no VIP club that could top a dive bar on a Tuesday. It was exclusive in a way that money couldn’t buy, which made it so much more satisfying.
“All right, there’s a new tiki-themed bar that opened last week in NoHo. Snacks, hot servers, pineapple wallpaper. What do you think?”
Mia blinked at Cierra with an incredulous half-open smile.
“What?” Cierra asked.
“It’s just, I don’t remember the last time you said ‘yes’ so quickly to going out on a weeknight. I feel like I’m talking to the old Cee.” Mia got up from the couch, adjusting her pants. “If I had known this, I would have hired someone to kill Harry years ago.”
Cierra laughed, keenly aware that Mia was exactly the type of person who was too rich to go to prison for murder. Harry was more of a two-beers-max, weekends-only kind of guy, which Cierra didn’t mind — the rigid routine was part of what she’d liked about him. Stability. They never had any crazy, terriblenights out. They never had any great ones either. Their nights out were always, without fail, seventy-five percent fun.
“Wait, Cierra, do you know what this means?”
“That we’re gonna have piña coladas?”
“Nope, this will be our first time this decade going out together as single women.” Mia was moving her shoulders and eyebrows in a disjointed pattern that Cierra could tell was meant to be coy.
“We aren’t going out. We’re grabbing a drink. On a Tuesday. It’s not even dinnertime. Also, it’s been three days.”
“Whatever you say,” Mia rang out in her singsong voice. Cierra was glad she didn’t have a job to go to early the next day, because she already knew they were going to have a long night ahead of them.
Unfortunately, the new tiki bar had succumbed to one of the worst fates imaginable: It had gone viral on TikTok. Its bright tropical colors and killer interior design were social media catnip, so within the week, it had become a watering hole for hordes of half-dressed college students. Even the guys were in teeny tanks. Cierra, who still considered herself to be a youngish adult, felt like she and Mia had accidentally stumbled into an alternate universe, where everyone wore bright-colored stickers on their face and either looked like an anime character or was full goth with clothes five times too big. There was simply no in-between. It was disorienting, to say the least.
“Uh, Cee, I know you’d never lead me astray, but I think this might not be our scene, babe.” A tall hunk wearing a crop top brushed past Mia, sending a red flush across her cheeks. “Actually, let’s stay for one drink and then we can try somewhere else.”
Mia looked with fascination at a twenty-something’s perfect under-ass curve peeking out from a miniskirt.
“Oh, okay, I have an idea,” Mia said with a mischievous grin. “I’m gonna get us each a drink and a shot, and the last person to finish has to wear one of those miniskirts to game night.”
“Mia, you are out of your mind if you think I’m doing that.” Besides, there was a good chance she’d be skipping out this month. Harry’s friend, James, the same person Harry had stayed with when he left with his pre-packed duffle bag, hosted the game night. Although their friends had merged over the years, and she hadn’t been technically uninvited, game night felt like Harry’s post-breakup territory.
“Then you better drink fast, bitch!” Mia exclaimed. A bartender with half black, half red hair and a piercing between their brows came up to Cierra’s deranged friend. “Two Painkillers and two shots of tequila, please,” Mia asked proudly.
The bartender looked at the two women with an unimpressed smirk. “You got it.”
“Hey,” Mia said to Cierra, pulling out her phone’s camera, looking for the optimal bar wall backdrop, “mind taking a few pics for me? ”
“Yeah, of course.”
With assured confidence, Mia leaned against the bar and began turning her head this way and that — making subtle shifts to achieve the ideal candid-not-candid pose. Her life of excess and striking looks had garnered her thousands of followers over the years. Not that she ever tried to capitalize on it — she did it for the love of the game.
“How do these look?” Cierra asked, handing her phone over.
“Perfect. Do you want one?”
“I’m fine.”
“Come on! You’re gonna need new photos soon if you want to set up a profile.”
“A profile?”
“Like for a dating app. So people know you have a life.”
