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"I probably shouldn't tell you this. It's not really my business, and it's definitely not going to make you feel better." She hesitates, twisting the strap of her oversized bag around one finger.

My pulse picks up. "Carla, just say it."

"Just know before I tell you this that he's the lowest kind of man there is and it's not your fault you slept with him."

My stomach clenches. "Spit it out."

She seethes, "He's engaged."

The words land like a physical blow, and for a second, I'm certain I misheard her. "What?"

"Engaged. Got engaged over Christmas, from what I heard this morning. Some girl named Phoebe, from California." She winces, watching my face like she's waiting for it to crack.

I slowly turn my head, mouth open.

She adds, "I didn't believe it! I told Troy he's lying, but he says Jagger got her a huge ring and she's living at the ranch!"

Still wrapped in his sheets with my hair smelling like his cologne, the inside of my chest cracks right down the middle. I shake my head more adamantly, and state, "He kissed me at midnight. He brought me back here. He said things—" I stop myself before I finish that thought out loud. Repeating half of what he whispered against my skin last night would be twisting the knife.

She softens her tone. "I know."

"He's engaged, and he brought me—a random girl he just met on New Year's Eve—to his…" I glance around the apartment and tears well in my eyes. I manage to get out, "I should call it what it is. This is his fuckpad, isn't it?"

"Sounds about right, unfortunately." Carla's voice turns gentle, making it worse.

I stare at the floor, blinking hard, trying to fight my emotions.

She puts her arm around me. "I'm sorry. I didn't know."

I nod. "Of course, you didn't know." My throat burns. I admit, "I feel like an idiot."

"You're not an idiot. You're a woman who got swept off her feet by a good dancer and no moral compass. There's a difference." She reaches out and tucks a piece of hair behind my ear, the same gesture Jagger used on me last night. It's almost funny how much that small kindness undoes me instead of comforting me.

She points out, "And honestly? You're lucky. Whatever this was, it ended before it could turn into a relationship that actually broke your heart instead of just bruising your pride."

I press the heel of my hand against my eyes, willing the sting there to settle. "This is humiliating."

"This is New Year's Day. Everyone made questionable decisions last night and regrets them. You're not special." She says it with enough dry affection that it actually gets a small, watery laugh out of me.

She hands me the duffle bag. "Get changed. You can't wear that dress across Texas."

"Thanks." I quickly put on the yoga pants and sweatshirt, and tennis shoes. Then I turn back toward the bed with some old habit kicking in that I don't even bother questioning. I yank the sheet straight over the mattress and pull up the bedspread

"What are you doing?" Carla accuses, staring at me like I've lost my mind.

Anger's got nowhere else to go this morning, so it pours itself into smoothing out wrinkles that aren't mine to fix, and punching a pillow back into shape like it personally wronged me. "Making the bed." I straighten the blanket with a hard snap, refusing to look at her, refusing to admit how much my hands are shaking while I do it.

"Absolutely not." She crosses the room and grabs the edge of the comforter right out of my grip, yanking it clean off the mattress so it lands in a heap on the floor. "You are not making that lying, cheating cowboy's bed after he snuck out on you early in the morning, probably to go fuck his fiancée the moment he got home!"

"I just—" My voice cracks, and I hate that some ridiculous, deep-rooted instinct in me still wants to leave the room as I found it. I reach for the other pillow.

"Lainey! What are you doing?" Carla grabs it out of my hand and tosses it on the floor.

I wince. "I don't know. Habit, I guess."

"Well, break it. Today." She kicks the fallen comforter farther out of the way. "Let him deal with his own mess for once. Lord knows he's used to leaving one behind for somebody else to clean up."

That gets a short, surprised laugh out of me. It's the first one since I woke up, and it loosens the tightness behind my ribs even as my eyes sting all over again. "Fine. His bed. His problem."