She was right. I handed the phone back to Vanya, tossed back the rest of my purple cocktail, and handed Vanya the empty glass. And then I pulled out my own phone and tapped open my text messages.
When Vanya saw I’d texted him twice with no response, she sucked her teeth.
“Burn notice,” she repeated, and then made an approving noise as I opened up his contact info and then tappedBlock This Caller. I pulled up one of his social media accounts and blocked him, and then another and blocked him there. On and on until the only place left was his Instagram, where I had to see him canoodling with Blake once again before I could block him there too.
And now he wouldn’t be able to call, text, or DM—and even better, I could pretend that Angel Fletcher, my lowkey crush for two years (and highkey obsession for a month) had never existed.
Just a hypothermic hallucination while freezing my nips off in Christmas Notch. Just a hazy dream brought on by too much Grinch Punch at my favorite Christmas-themed strip club, The North Pole.
Angel Fletcher thought he could ghost me? Well, I could ghost him better.
Boo, bitch.
Chapter One
Seven Months Later
A backyard barbecue was deeply off-brand for me, and I made sure Bee Hobbes, my friend and the star ofDuke the Halls, knew so when she invited me to her new Los Feliz digs.
“Pretty please,” she’d begged over FaceTime. “I need someone to hang out with Sunny while I’m playing hostess.”
Sunny was another adult film star in Uncle Ray-Ray’s stable, and since I’d been doing costumes for Teddy Ray Fletcher and his band of performers for years, I’d known her as long as I’d known Bee. Which was why I knew the truth. “You just want me to keep Sunny and Jack from getting into a fracas at your barbeque.”
Bee made a face, her full mouth screwing up into a pout as her septum piercing glinted on the screen. “I can’t babysit them while I’m also refilling punch bowls, you know? I need a wingperson.”
I’d pinched the bridge of my nose. “Can’t your floppy-haired boyfriend do it?” Nolan Shaw was the former boy band member who’d inexplicably captured Bee’s heart while they were filmingDuke the Halls, despite him being a human disaster who’d single-handedly (or,fine, mostlyinadvertently) ruined my favorite ice skater’s career. But I guessed Bee had a soft spot for tattooed boys who looked good in tight pants, because now they were a disgustingly smitten couple and did things like acquire houses together and then throw meat-themed housewarming parties for said houses.
“Luca!” Bee had exclaimed. “Just be there! Or,” she’d added in the voice of a threat, “I won’t tell youa secret. A very special secret that Sunny and I learned.”
“What secret?” I’d demanded. People didn’t hide secrets from me; I hid secrets fromthem.
“Come and you’ll find out,” she’d sang, and then had hung up.
... which was why I was now at a barbeque in Los Feliz, even though I could have been doing any number of more interesting things, like taking a bath or catching up on my favorite true crime podcasts.
But no, I was here to babysit Sunny Palmer when she was the one who’d made an archnemesis of Jack Hart in the first place by sleeping with his stepmom at his wedding. Which I understood, because Rebecca definitely hadmommyenergy, if you got my drift, but still. Sometimes you had to soak in your own dishwater, and in this case, the dishwater was having a very flexible porn star as an eternal enemy.
Summoning up the sense of loyal, unruffled duty that I was sure I was famous for, I stepped out onto the patio overlooking the pool in Bee’s new backyard and looked around for my curvy, tattooed charge.
Movement near the edge of the pool caught my eye. A lanky form in a vintage cardigan and jeans. Hair shaved close on the sides and left long on top. Big, wire-framed glasses, and before the person ducked their head, I saw thick brows, a long nose, and a very, very kissable mouth.
I froze, my heart liquefying into a toxic sludge in my chest. I couldn’t seem to inhale properly, my chest stuck in exhale-mode, as sparks danced at the edge of my vision.
Angel.
He was back from Europe.
Angel was back from Europe, and no one had told me.
“Breathe,” said someone from next to me, and I turned to see Bee approaching, her face creased in worry. “Breathe, baby.”
“Angel is here,” I whispered. “You didn’t tell me Angel would be here!”
“I didn’t know!” Bee said and held up both hands. “I mean, I suspected there might be a teeny, tiny chance he’d come because the invite was pretty open, but—”
I glared at her.
“Okay, look,” Bee said, changing tack. “You told me that you were completely, one hundred percent over Angel. In fact, let the record show you’ve made a point to announce you’reso very over himat least once a week. Is that the truth or not? Am I going to have to start hosting two parties for every milestone in my life now? Do I need to have a shadow cabinet friend group and then a real friend group?”
