Necking?Good Lord.
“Oh.” Alex winces. “I don’t have to wear it. I don’t even like the smell, to be honest. I dated a girl once who got it for me and kept it around for when I wanted to feel put together.”
“It’s really not that big of—oh,fuck.”
I swivel on my bar stool, facing forward and putting a hand over the side of my face to block it from the front door.
Based on social media, I already knew Jack and Jill were in New York this weekend for the Jets game on Sunday, but seriously? Out of all the bars in all the neighborhoods, they had to walk into this one?
Panic blooms in my chest, pumping college memories and boyfriend insecurity and alcohol-induced blood thinning through my veins at hyperspeed. Freddy catches my eye, back from the other end of the bar, and then he peeks behind me like he’s some kind of mind reader.
To be fair, I’m not acting very subtle.
“You hiding from that couple that just walked in?”
“Yes,” I groan quietly.
“Who is it?” Alex asks. He starts to turn, but I grab the loose cotton of his sleeve and yank him still. He lets out a tiny grunt. “Ow.Rug burn.”
“That your ex?” Freddy guesses.
“My ex’s best friend and his fiancée.”
Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,fuck.Okay, it could be worse.
It could be Lance.
“Who’s the other couple with them?” Freddy asks.
My stomach drops out of my asshole.
“The…” I gulp. “The couple… Describe them.”
“The girl is wearing seven pounds of St. Tropez fake tan, and the guy she’s with is a short king.”
“Oh my fuck, it’s him.”
Of course it’s him. In college, the four of us—Jack, Jill, me, and Lance—spent uncountable weekends together, and looking back,it’s probably a red flag Lance and I didn’t hang out one-on-one very often. But he’s got the worst FOMO of anyone I’ve ever met, and frankly, he and Jack are more codependent than Timothée Chalamet and Saoirse Ronan.
Freddy tsks. “That’s rough, kiddo. I hate to break this to you, but your hair is, like, incredibly distinctive.”
And it’s down today. Thick, wavy, and golden brown with dyed strawberry highlights, perpetually trying to run away.
“I bet Alex would kiss you.”
“What?”Alex and I say together.
Freddy holds up his palms. “I don’t know, just trying to help! If it weremyex, I’d want to look desirable, that’s all.”
Freddy… has a point?
I mean, they’regoingto see me, it’s a freaking guarantee. Chaos theory, et cetera. As soon as Jill spots me with her expertly shadowed Charlotte Tilbury hawk eyes, she’s not going toconsiderwalking out of this bar until we chat, reunite, clear the air. Jill is polite like that. She 100 percent was the star pupil during seventh-grade cotillion, and of course, she justhadto go inviting me to her wedding. Like,Please, watch your ex-boyfriend stand beside my groom at the altar while you sit in the pew alone!
I can practically hear Jack and Lance recounting this whole experience later. It’ll go down in one of two ways:
So, she hangs out with coworkers on the weekend.
Or. OR—
