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“So what are we doing?” she asked. “Going to see him? Beating the shit out of that piñata? Double-dating? What?”

Jason didn’t want to be with me. He didn’t want to see me.

But it didn’t change the fact that I wanted to see him.

I was almost angrier with myself about this than I was at him for breaking me in half. But I did. I wanted to see him.

Not up close. Not one-on-one. But in a crowd, where he wouldn’t know I was there?

When I’d seen him for the last time, I hadn’t known it was going to be the last time. It happened so fast and I was so in shock.

Maybe seeing him again, on my terms, would give me closure—even though I knew I was fooling myself. If anything, it would probably thrust me back to week one and I’d be over at Kristen’s bawling my eyes out by tonight, beating a piñata with a baseball bat.

But I had to go. If Zane’s letter hadn’t stirred up my shit, I would have held strong today. I would have dug in and tried to have fun with Adrian, had a few too many drinks with Kristen, and gotten through the night. But now all I wanted was to be where I knew Jason was. Barring me being so far away it was impossible to make it, I was going to end up there. It became true the second I’d read what Zane wrote.

I sniffled. “I want to see him.”

She shrugged. “Okay. The heart wants what the heart wants. Let’s go.” She marched out of the bathroom.

“What about Adrian?” I whispered, following her.

“He’ll be fine. I’ll tell Josh to take him to a strip club or something.” She walked up to the table and tapped her husband’s shoulder. “Give me the keys.”

He dug in his pocket and handed them to her. “What’s up?”

“Sloan doesn’t feel well. I’m taking her to a Jaxon Waters concert. You guys can get an Uber. I love you.” She gave him a swift peck on the cheek, hooked my arm in hers, and turned for the exit.

I waved lamely at Adrian as Kristen dragged me through the restaurant. “I had a really good time,” I called. “It was nice meeting you.”

He looked amused and gave me a wink.

We hopped in the car. “If we’re creeping on him we need to have disguises,” Kristen said, putting the car in reverse and backing out of the parking space. “There’s a party supply store a block down. We’ll go there first.”

Five minutes later she was handing me a pair of 1980s glasses from a Halloween clearance shelf.

I shook my head. “I am not wearing that.”

“His crew knows you, right?” she said, putting a hand on her hip. “You want someone recognizing you and telling him you’re there?”

I crossed my arms. “No…”

“Then you’re wearing this. You’re either blazing in like, ‘I’m here, bitches,’ or you’re going deep undercover. And if we’re undercover, we can’t sit in the front row. We’ll have to switch tickets with someone.”

I took a deep breath and let her slide the enormous glasses on my face.

“You need to hide your hair and your tattoos. Take my sweater,” she said, peeling it off and handing it to me.

I stared at it in my hand. “Is this crazy?”

She picked up a brown wig. “Maybe. But my job is to help you with your crazy. Make you the best, most magnificent crazy you can be.”

I snorted.

Kristen prepared me for the concert like I was a sacrifice delivering myself to an altar. I was fussed over and garbed.

I ended up wearing the hideous glasses and a beanie since we couldn’t get all my hair to stay under a wig—not to mention the wig made me look like a lunatic.

Kristen, on the other hand, did look like a lunatic.