“What the fuck am I going to do now?”
4
Demi
“Demetria Grace Mitchell,” my best friend hollers from the other side of the hotel room. She’s just mad I look so hot in this dress. I’m just squeezing it down over my ass when she continues, “Where the fuck do you think you’re going?”
I kick my heel up and slip my bare foot into a bright red knock-off Jimmy Choo I bought from a very unsavory man downtown. He assured me they were authentic, but even I’m notthatnaive. These clearly say Kimmy Choo. I have no idea who Kimmy is, but I’m positive she doesn’tactuallymake designer shoes.
Once I’ve secured both feet in their new temporary home for the rest of the evening, I straighten and shoot her my best scowl and jab my index finger pointedly at her before not-so-calmly saying through gritted teeth, “Cecilia Jane Owens.”
Her self-assured–no… cocky–grin falls. “Jesus, you don’t have to be an asshole about it. I’m just worried about you.”
“Call me by my government name and you get the same in return,” I spit out. “You know I fucking hate it, CeCe. And you have nothing to worry about. I already told you that.”
I know she can’t help it. It’s in her nature to worry. My best friend, ladies and gentleman. It’s not her fault. Her brother has been ill since the day he was born and their parents have never coped well. She’s had to step up to help and with all that they’ve been through, I’d be a worry wart too. He’s sixteen now, so that personality trait isn’t going anywhere withouta lotof therapy, and honestly I don’t know what I would do if it did. She irritates the heck out of me on a regular basis, but I know it comes from a place of love.
“Demi,” she pleads. “You’ve only been single for a little over a month. I just don’t want you to do something stupid because you aren’t over your ex.”
“I can’t believe you just brought her up! We promised we weren’t going to talk aboutshe-who-shall-not-be-named.”
She raises her hands in defeat. “Hey. You know I love you. But you were heartbroken when she ended things and you kind of haven’t been yourself since.”
She’s not wrong.
The love of my life ended our relationship out of nowhere and I’m pretty sure my heartactuallysplit in two when she did it. I guess maybe she wasn’t the love of my life after all.Or maybe I just wasn’t hers.And then–very uncharacteristically–I packed up everything I owned, which was not much and moved to Chicago where I now reside with my best friend, in her guest room. She did me a solid by letting me stay with her, but all my shit sits piled in the corner, taunting me. I’m usually always doing something with my hands-sewing or some other random ass craft, but I can’t find it in me to do anything lately. I’m not even sure what I’m supposed to do with my life now.
I steel my face because the last thing I want to think about right now is my ex. “You convinced me to help you cater this wedding and then somehow I got roped in by the groom to fix the bride's dress. Which is fine, because Wrinley is super sweet and I wanted to help her, but watching those two exchange vows and be so fucking in love, ironically made me realize I haven’t everreallylived my life.” Well… except when I was withher. But, I don’t say that last part out loud. “So I’m going out. To do what? I have no fucking clue. What I do know… is that I need to do it.”
“Let me come with you.”
“CeCe, you are my ride or die and I love you. But I never do anything by myself. I’ll be fine. I promise. Besides, I have my phone. I’ll call you if I need anything.”
Her eyes well up with tears and Ialmostchange my mind, but before I do, she nods. “Okay, but where will you go?”
“Not sure yet, but since the plumbing doesn’t seem to be working correctly in this room, my first stop will be to pee in the lobby bathroom.”I really shouldn’t have had anything to drink at the wedding. I won’t be able to stop peeing now.I wrap my arms around my best friend and make sure to tell her, “Don’t wait up.”
By the time I make it downstairs, my legs are practically crossed and I'm internally cursing my tiny ass bladder. Shoving the door open, I rush to the stall, slide my lace thong down and sit. Grabbing my cell from my purse, I search for local clubs that are close to the hotel until I find one that looks interesting. I almost wish I could go to Gravity again, but it looks like they’re closedandCeCe paid for me last time, so I wouldn’t have the funds to cover it anyway.
My eyes catch on Velvet Vortex. When I click on the link, it takes me to the entry page for the main site, but all the info I need is right there in neon purple. They’re openandit’s ladies night, meaning no cover charge. Sounds intriguing. And it’s less than a mile from here.
Bingo.
I toss my phone back in my purse, finish my business and step out toward the sink so I can wash my hands. Mid-rinse, the door swings open and in walks… some random shithead that’s clearly had too much to drink, seeing as he just walked into the women’s room.
I freeze, convinced he won’t see me if I’m still, but my eyes clock him in the mirror. He’s a tall shithead. A fucking gorgeous one too, with his lean frame, adorned in nothing but a white t-shirt and grey sweatpants lingering low on his hips like it’s their sole purpose. I can’t fully see his eyes from here, but they look light. His dark blond, slightly wavy hair is tousled like he just woke up or just fucked some poor girl through a wall.
An unfamiliar tingle skitters down my spine.I bet those arms of his–stretching that boring t-shirt to the max–could do some real damage, in the best possible way.
Huh…This is… new.
I’ve been a lesbian as long as I can recall. Not once have I ever come across a member of the male species that made my mouth go a little dry at just the sight of him.
Surely, it’s because he’s simply a perfect specimen andnotbecause I’m actually attracted to him.
“You done eye-fucking me yet?” the man asks smugly.
Shit.
