She wasn’t ready. It’d been five years without a word. Five years like she was nothing. Abby had gotten the letter and never wrote back. She’d broken Kate, and she knew it. Now she walked over like it was nothing.
“How’s it going, Hutch?” Abby asked.
Kate lost it at the four simple words and Abby’s beautiful face stopping across from her. During the brief lapse in which rage and intoxication paralyzed her judgment, Kate threw her drink in Abby’s face.
While Abby expected some sort of consequence for her actions after the national championship, she never predicted it would be vodka dripping down her face at a Las Vegas club. Kate glared straight through her, clutching the empty glass. She shuddered on the receiving end of it. An unnatural haze over the person Abby spilled tears for and drank to forget.
“That’s it!” the bartender shouted. “She’s out of here!”
“I think it just slipped out of her hand.” Jill patted the man’s forearm.
He jerked away and snarled. “No, she’s been causing problems all night!”
“Her?” Abby’s eyes widened.
She knew Kate had changed. When she spotted her on the dance floor, batting off an admirer, she exuded more confidence and beauty than Abby remembered. She froze and gawked, thankful for Jill and T.K. knocking her back to reality with their hugs. But of all the changes, including Kate’s new spite, Abby doubted her a troublemaker.
“I’m getting security,” the bartender said.
“Don’t bother.” Kate scowled. “I’m leaving.”
“No, no, we’ll all leave then.” Mick belligerently swayed between them, a hand on each of their shoulders. “Isn’t this nice?”
“We’re not leaving. I’ve already paid for bottle service.” T.K. turned to Abby and lowered her voice. “And a stripper.”
Abby sighed. “Mick, you can’t leave your own bachelorette.”
“What about Hutch?” Jill asked.
“I’m fine.” Kate waved her off.
“You have thirty seconds to get out of here!” the bartender shouted.
“I’ll make sure she gets back,” Abby said.
Kate hit her with a stare that could cut ice. “I don’t need your help.”
“Well, I have to go back to the hotel and change thanks to you,” Abby said as Jill dabbed her face with cocktail napkins.
“Fine.” Kate bumped past her.
Abby gritted her teeth and debated staying behind. Her outfit would dry itself out, but she had waited five years for this. Five years for a few seconds and she was already gone. “Fuck,” she whispered.
“You gonna get her or what?” Jill asked.
“I’ll be right back.”
“Go Cruz Missile!” Mick yelled.
Abby sprinted to catch up with Kate on the strip, ducking by feathered showgirls and an Elvis impersonator. The blurring lights, the noise, the cigarette smoke, and crowds reminded her of Tokyo. She eyed Kate’s backside in that tight black dress and trailed it like a magnet.
“Can you slow down?” Abby shouted after her.
She didn’t turn around or stop. “No!”
Abby huffed. Of course their reunion required a chase. One thing hadn’t changed—Kate was still faster than her, even inebriated and traipsing on heels. She almost reached her, dodging handbillers pushing flyers for escort services, when a pair of men whistled at Kate.
One of them stumbled and reached. “Don’t you know legs like that are a crime?”
