“Yes, Jake, guys you know.That’s not my point. My point is that I have zero time for people who only wanted to fuck Ada once she wasn’t a social pariah.”
“I always wanted to fuck her!”
I close my eyes, summoning all my ‘tired-nurse-dealing-with-angry-mothers’ patience. “Please rephrase that before I’m forced against my will to make this bar the scene of another murder.”
“So you don’t believe me?”
I shake my head. “It’s not a matter of not believing you, I just don’t think this is a good idea. Ada’s been through a lot lately, and she’s not the same girl from school. You don’t evenknowher.”
“I do.”
“Pftt, how?”
“I listen to her music.”
“Everyone does, Jake! Ada. Mariah. Michael Bublé. The true Holy Trinity we celebrate each December.”
“I don’t just listen to her at Christmas. I do it all the time. Before games.”
My scepticism rises. That doesn’t even make sense. Ada plays classical flute, not hype tracks. I mean, I listen to her music all the time, too, but mostly when I’m drinking wine in the bath because it makes it feel more classy and less fucking sad.
“Cece,” Jake rasps. “What can I do?”
I throw my hands in the air. “I dunno, man. Prove you actually like her! Prove it to her,and prove it tome,because as far as I can tell, the only reason you’re here moping about Ada is that you ran into herby accidentfifteen years after graduation, while actively hanging out with people she hates.”
“Cee…”
“I mean it,if I find out you’re just sniffing around for the thrill of the chase, I’ll summon every ghost haunting this building and sic them on you. Anyway, I’ve gotta go. Bar to run.”
Jake’s brow furrows. “Right. Talk soon.”
“Cool.” I pat him on the chest and head back inside, leaving Pukekohe’s Golden Boy standing alone in the street.
Davis is still sitting in Ada’s playpen. The two of them have theirheads together, and they’re laughing. The intimacy of the scene makes my stomach plummet. I meant what I thought—Idon’tlike Davis. So why does it bother me that he and Ada seem to be getting along for once?
I pull out my phone, desperate for distraction. A few notifications light up the screen, but one makes my heart stop. Will Sharpe just followed me back.
A smile tugs at my lips. Suddenly, none of it matters: Ada and Davis plotting who-knows-what, Jake fuming outside my bar, my teetering finances. None of it. Because tonight Will Sharpe saw my name on social media and thought, ‘Cece Taylor? Yeah, I want to see more of her.’And that’s exactly the serotonin boost I needed right now.
“I can’t breathe,”I gasp, sucking in as much oxygen as I can with a crystal-beaded band constricting my ribs.
“You’re fine,” Mila, the sales attendant, insists, as she forces the zip up the final inch. “See? Perfect.”
I highly doubt that, but I can’t confirm, because ‘Kowhai & Silk’ is so upscale that they don’t have mirrors in the changing rooms. You need to prance outside to a dais to discover whether you look like a swamp hag.
I exhale, relieved I can at least respirate in the gold cocktail gown Ada picked out for me, insisting it would highlight the ‘glowy Autumn tones’ in my skin and newly salon cut and dyed hair. Even without seeing myself, I doubt it. I’m sure I look like a literal Oscar statue.
“Go show your friend,” Mila commands. “Right now!”
“Um, I’m not sure?—”
“You haven’t seen what you look like yet. Go stand on the dais.”
If the past ninety minutes in Kowhai & Silk have taught me anything it’s that arguing withMila is as pointless as steering Ada toward the discount rack. I exit the dressing room, moving carefully in the boutique’s beige demo heels.
“Here she comes,” Ada sings from her chaise lounge. “Miss New Zealand Universe…”
“That doesn’t even make sense,” I hiss, avoiding my reflection as I scramble onto the viewing platform. “Also, Mila’s definitely on steroids.”
