Chapter 25
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
VIVIAN
I pop a vitamin B and guzzle a carton of coconut water. One of the bridesmaids swore this is the best way to prevent a hangover in advance of drinking.
Sure, I could turn away the champagne, or kindly decline the cosmopolitan, and I do after the second glass. But I’m human, and desperate for something to take the edge off.
I swear, having to smile at David, having to laugh at his infantile jokes, having to sympathize with his man-child whining in public—Yes, dear, it’s a tragedy. There’s nothing to watch on Netflix except 1,800 shows and 4,000 films.
The performance makes me want to climb a ladder and fall from it again.
That’s how I broke my arm years ago. I was on a ladder in my studio, seeking a higher vantage point for a boudoir group shot. It was of two married gay men and their two boyfriends. They were having so much fun, and I was caught up in it, loving their laughs and energy.
But then I slipped and fell, suffering a painful fracture of my humerus. It hurt so badly, I threw up.
Yeah, I’d sign up for three more of those instead of another night of playing the fake happy wife.
Thankfully, there’s a ringtone on my phone that usually validates the bullshit I’ve endured. I answer, “Hey, sweetie.”
“Where the hell are you?” Harlow sounds worried.
I didn’t tell her about this charade because she doesn’t know about David’s bribe, and this is why. She’d kill him for me, and lose everything for herself, and I won’t let that happen.
“I’m in Palm Springs at Deborah’s wedding, and I—”
“You’re what, where, and why?” She protests, “Viv, you’re divorced. Tell that juvenile jerk-off to go fuck himself with his video-game controller.”
Ouch. The image.
“Trust me, I do. But his sister was always kind to me, and it’s not her fault her sibling is Satan’s sperm sack. I’m here taking some photos for her. That’s it.”
I cringe, hating to half lie to Harlow, but it’s worth it. I’m almost free.
“Please tell me you’re going to tell his family what a cheating piece of shit he is.”
I stare out of my villa window. The sun is setting. I’m running late for a cocktail competition. Oh darn.
“They already have an idea, remember? They cut him off after he defaulted on the car loan they cosigned for his Hummer.”
“Well, if his parents have sense, why doesn’t he?”
“Because they didn’t have the sense to raise him without an epic case of entitlement until he was twenty-five, by then the damage was done.”
“Ah, yes.” She huffs sarcastically. “Rich white boy disease: more destructive than climate change.” She sighs. “When are you coming home?”
“The wedding is the day after tomorrow. They’re flying me home the next day.”
“Humph. At least they have a private jet with staff, so you won’t have to sit beside him.”
“It’s a perk.” I wedge on my sandals. “Because I sure as hell won’t put on his oxygen mask if we’re going down. The last thing I’d like him to see is the fuck-off-and-die in my eyes.”
“Atta girl.” She laughs. “Speaking of fucking and heaven, how is your other best friend, the colossal clit thriller?”
I blush, tingling right where she referenced because it’s all I want to remember: the sight of Jace’s sexy face between my thighs. I clasp them together, fighting the sensation.
Now is not the time. I have a party to endure. And if I tell her what’s happened with Jace so far, I fear she’ll hear all the things I can’t tell her.
“He’s sweet as usual.”
“Sweet? Girl, put down the camera and open your eyes. That man is sweet on you.”
Girl, if you only knew how sweet Jace’s ice cream was.
“We’re friends.”
“And we are ready for more.” She speaks what I truly feel.
“I get it. A year ago, you weren’t ready.
You needed to heal, and you have. And you didn’t do that rebound thing with him, though lawd Jesus, who’d blame you?
I’d cling to him like Velcro. But no, you’ve waited.
You’ve let him become your best friend—next to me, of course—and Viv, it’s time. He’s been waiting for you.”
Waiting for me.
She echoes Delphine and my heart.
Yesterday was the exception. All the pent-up need between us. All the nightly orgasmic phone sex. All the things we’ve confessed that we want to do together.
Jace couldn’t take it. He ambushed me like a lion, and I’m not complaining. I came harder than I ever have before.
But that final line?
I know he’s waiting for me to cross it. He’d never push me. He’s so used to waiting, respecting, and caging his animal; I hold the key.
“I know it’s time.” My confession is safe with Harlow. “I’m more than ready. I’m hurting without him. It’s just… How do you tell your best friend that you’re in love with him?”
“Oh, sweetie.” She sighs—our shared language. “I love that you love again.”
“I’m so in love with him, and…” I gush, grinning. “Dear god, I want that man to fuck me so dirty, we’d make a brothel look like a convent. We’d make my neighbors light a cigarette. We’d—”
“Okay, okay, I’m fanning myself for you.” She laughs. “I hear ya; that man is so fine, you wouldn’t kick him out of the bed unless he was better on the floor. Clearly, you need to tell him how you feel and get laid. Use that big, tender heart of yours and tell him you’ve been his all along.”
“Is it that obvious?”
“That you two are in love? Yeah, you’re about as subtle as an erection in spandex.”
Oh shit. I wonder if we were that obvious to David. That night when he almost busted me with Jace at Delta’s, I wonder if he could sense what we can’t deny.
I wrap up my call with Harlow, promising her a lunch date when I return.
Then I text Jace:
Off to a cocktail competition
Then I won’t have to fake a headache and leave
Pillowtalk when I’m back?
Big guy
Yes
Be careful. Use your necklace. Send a signal if you need me
I’ll be waiting for you
And BTW
…
I chew my lip, excited. Now that we’re saying things we never said before, the sexual tension is so tight between us… Jace’s words pluck me like a cello string, sending me into a moaning mess.
Big guy
Tonight, if I tell you to ride your sweet pussy over your pillow and fuck it like it’s me, would you be a good girl?
See? I start trembling, anticipating, feeling the pulse between my legs.
Yes. I’ll make a creamy mess on my sheets for you
Daddy
Goddamn smokeshow
One day you’re going to choke on how much I want you right now
And I’ll proudly swallow every drop
This is what I mean. After a year of nothing but deep friendship and chaste chats, we’re diving deep into kinky talk and teasing each other into a frenzy.
But the time has come to end the torture.
I turn the key.
And when we get home
I press send, leaving him hanging because my hands start trembling. My heart is racing. I want Jace so much I’m almost afraid to feel it, to even text it.
Something this perfect can’t be real, can it?
My pause makes him worry.
Big guy
What?
You’re killing me baby
But ok
I’ll fucking die for you Vivian
I grab a breath.
Don’t die for me
And don’t go slow anymore
When we get home you have my permission
To fuck me Jace
I tuck my phone into my camera bag. I can’t look at his reply. I’ll save it for after I escape tonight’s event, and we can talk about it.
I mean it; I don’t want him to wait any longer.
I’m ready.
“I mean, who the fuck was he to fire me?” David fists the neck of a beer bottle, pointing at himself: the little god in yellow shoes.
“I told him my energy was off. I didn’t care that there was a whole film crew waiting for me.
I needed a break. I told him we could shoot the commercial another day, and then the Boomer fucking fired me. ”
“Yeah.” I nod to the guys gathered around. “A break from work before we work: it should be a human right.”
David scoffs at my sarcasm. “Like that fucker could find someone better than me. I have a hundred thousand followers.”
I tsk. “Yeah, finding blond surfers at the beach is tough. You sure showed him.”
It’s another client, another job David has lost. If his “energy” detects any effort required, he melts like a snowflake.
I sip my glass of wine to shut up now.
I hate him so much I can’t hide it anymore. I’m in the final act of this performance, ready to end this shit show.
Looking away, I cast my stare over the shimmering pool, over the people gathered under the stars.
David’s sister is having fun at the pool bar. She and her groom have hired a famous mixologist to help with their cocktail competition.
I recognize the expert bartender from Elysium, the sex club. Jace’s mom’s sex club, and that makes me hide a smirk behind my glass.
If David only knew what I know about Jace, he’d never threaten me again. The promise of being the queen to an ex-Bratva king, who’s in a band of vigilante brothers, doesn’t frighten me. It thrills me.
I focus on my future and the stunning bartender. She’s got a vintage blonde bombshell look. Messy, teased bun. Long curtain bangs. Smoky eyeliner. Sloped nose over nude lips.
God, I’d love to do a session with her and her inked body. She’s showing it off in a retro white corset top over black cigarette pants.
Luna: that’s her name.
She and her identical twin, Lucy, are an attraction at Elysium. They spin bottles with flair. Lucy’s known for her focus on clients, while Luna’s famous for her smoking-gun cocktails.
“Excuse me.” I smile at David and his boys. “I need to take some pictures for Deborah.”
David can’t whine about that, though I’m sure he’ll try. Turning, I leave him with his mouth hanging open.
Grabbing my camera from my bag on a lounger, I work my way through the crowd around the marble pool bar.
“Okay, so the rule is you sip and vote,” David’s sister directs her guests.
“I invented a cocktail, and Harrison invented one. And whoever wins will have our cocktail featured at our reception.” Deborah raises her glass.
“All thanks to the talented guidance of Luna Labella, our guest mixologist tonight. Let’s give her a hand. ”
The crowd politely claps. A few buzzing men whistle.
In a whirl, I try to capture with my lens, Luna spinning a tumbler before mixing a pink concoction and filling a tray of martini glasses.
One batch after another. Then she tosses up a clean tumbler, catching it before grabbing two bottles with nozzles like they’re guns, creating a blue mix for a different tray of glasses.
Once all are full, the guests gather around, including David, who’s hovering way too close to me.
He whines in my ear. “Were you trying to make me look like an asshole in front of my boys?”
“No. You can do that all on your own.”
“Sugar pie, what happened to us?” He touches my arm softly. “Why do you hate me so much?”
“You’re kidding me, right?” I elbow him to give me and my camera some space.
I take shots of the guests, toasting their drinks. A couple of the bride and groom. Then, I focus on Luna, hustling quickly behind the bar, pouring more rounds.
A raucous debate begins over whose cocktail is the best. More sloshing glasses are passed. More jokes are made about cocktails minus the tails or minus the cocks.
I’m not paying attention to who shoves a martini glass into my hand. But it’s hot outside, and I’m thirsty in this crowd. I’m sweating as I guzzle the fizzy grapefruit cocktail like it’s water.
And don’t remember the rest of the night.