“Crukugs was less than forthcoming,” growled Lero.
Joel’s response was a cynical chuckle. “He’s a man of few words.” He leaned forward, his arms folded on the table. “Don’t worry, I’ve been fully briefed and I can answer all your questions.”
Chapter 4
Nayli and Kora
The evening of her wedding that didn’t happen, Aelanna sat in her local bar waiting for her friends, Kora and Nayli.
The Queens bar had seen better days but that night it was an emotional support bar. The huge, muscled bartender, who looked as if he belonged to a dockside hurling crates about rather than cocktails, gave her a surly side-eye. Unkinder people would call himfat, Aelanna thought sourly.
“WhatcanIgetcha?” he asked.
“A Manhattan, please. Can you bring it over?”
He didn’t give her the courtesy of an answer, so she assumed it was ayesand went to sit down. The fairy lights overhead flickered as she strolled, choosing a booth. She was looking for one with the least amount of rips in the vinyl, the least saggy benches, but the bar was warm, dim, and anonymous. Perfect for broken hearts. She had texted her friends on the way home and entered the bar, a drowned rat.
Steaming gently, Aelanna set her purse and bouquet on the booth table and sat down.
Kora arrived first, sliding into the booth with the smooth confidence of someone who’d grown up dodging tourists in Brooklyn. Her black hair was pulled into a messy bun, her eyeliner was sharp enough to cut, and she carried herself like she’d fight anyone who looked at Aelanna wrong.
“Okay,” Kora said, dropping her bag with a thud before she sat. “Who am I punching?”
Aelanna blinked. “No one.”
“Wrong answer,” Kora said. “Try again.”
Before Aelanna could respond, Nayli swept in — literally glided, like a swan. Her yellow-blond hair was immaculate, her coat was designer, and she somehow made the sticky bar floor look like a runway.
She took one look at Aelanna and gasped. “Oh, sweetheart. You look like a drowned Victorian waif.”
“She looks fine,” Kora huffed.
“She looks tragic,” Nayli insisted, sliding into the booth beside Aelanna and immediately producing a compact. “Tilt your face. No, the other way. God, your mascara is trying to run away.”
Aelanna pushed the mirror to the side. “I’m fine.”
“You’re not fine,” Kora said. “You got jilted. At the courthouse. In Queens. That’s like… double jilted.”
“Triple,” Nayli corrected. “It was raining.”
Kora pointed at her. “Triple. Good catch.”
Aelanna had been so choked up, she hadn’t even taken the subway; she had walked home in the rain. It took her over an hour. She groaned and dropped her head onto the table. “Can we not?”
“No,” both friends chorused.
The bartender sauntered over with Aelanna’s Manhattan. “WhatcanIgetcha?” he asked the new arrivals. It seemed his vocabulary was severely limited.
Nayli peered at the Manhattan. “One of those, please. The cherry is cheerful.”
Kora glanced up at him. “I’ll have a Pina Colada with pineapple. Double shot of white rum.”
“Darling, it’s a bit early to double down on the alcohol. What happened to pacing ourselves?” Nayli objected.
Kora was not swayed. “It’s an emergency situation. Alcohol helps you erase memories. Besides, yellow is also cheerful, and red and yellow is positively peachy.” She leaned back and twisted her body outward. “I’ll take a cherry with that,” she yelled to the bartender's back, returning to the bar.
When the drinks arrived, Kora raised her stemmed cocktail glass. “To better men.” She tipped her head back and took a large gulp.
