1. Alice
1
ALICE
“Diamond, oh my!” Tammy yanks my finger into the light to more closely examine the engagement ring.
At this point, we might as well be throwing the bachelorette party for the two-carat diamond on my knuckle. God knows it’s been the center of attention ever since we all got to the club.
“It looks expensive.”
“Ridiculously expensive,” Rachel says. “I never would’ve thought diamond jewelry would be in an IT technician’s budget.”
“Me neither.” The diamond winks when it hits light from the spinning disco ball above. “But Levi works hard. Like, insanely. He’s in the office until late most days.”
I stare at the ring harder for a moment. Once at fifteen years old, I read a Vogue magazine in the waiting room at the dentist. It was an interview with an A-list Hollywood actress—some brunette diva with a perfect smile in a purple dress, and bold under the picture were these words: “Relationships aren’t like the movies. There’s always one imperfection. One thing not quite right.”
The diva is mistaken. Levi is perfect. His dark blue eyes disorient me every time I glimpse them, and his mousy-brown hair looks good from any angle. Back in college, we shared the same dorm block. He was one floor beneath me, and we met at a frat party two weeks into our first semester as freshmen, bonding over the fact that neither of us had a mother. Girls surrounded him like he was Henry Cavill or something, this oddity who everyone with a pussy wanted to fuck.
But he chose me.
I didn’t even speak to him.
Wasn’t even in the vicinity.
And a week from now, we’ll be married.
“It’s all very exciting.” Tammy takes a sip from her drink. “But a shame.”
Rachel slaps her on the arm. “What the fuck? She’s getting married. M-A-R-R-I?—”
“Not that,” says Tammy. “You always wanted your wedding to be abroad, didn’t you? On sand that wasn’t the desert. Remember in high school when we first met in math class? When we went off topic and ended up discussing our dream wedding locations? I said England ’cause I wanted a British husband—still do—and you said Saint Lucia. You said you wanted to handpick the most perfect hibiscus flower and wear it in your hair for the big day.”
“True.” I bite the corner of my lip, careful not to smudge the lipstick I spent ten minutes perfecting in the Uber over here. It’s been a while since I last hit the strip. “But Levi’s too swamped with work to take the time off.”
“What about for your honeymoon, at least?” says Rachel.
I look up at the spinning disco ball to string together a response. I fear another “too busy with work” answer will have them rolling their eyes and, in a week’s time, objecting to the wedding for the man being no fun.
But Levi and I are both twenty-two now, past the time for fun. We both have our careers to focus on. Levi with the IT agency, and me in the hospital. Climbing the healthcare hierarchy is a difficult task, but that nurse practitioner role won’t come to me any easier if I’m jetting off to paradise for weeks at a time.
“Right.” I shoot up from the booth. “I think we need another drink.”
“Stay right there.” Tammy pushes me back. “The bride isn’t buying tonight.”
Rachel takes off too, leaving me alone in the booth. The night is young, most of it still ahead of us. I’ve only had two drinks, so my head feels pretty stable, but come to think of it, there’s not one night that has ended in me getting shit-faced. It’s either Tammy or Rachel, sometimes both at the same time. Holding back not one, but two heads of hair as they vomit simultaneously into the toilet isn’t for the weak. It’s a sport. Should be played in the Olympics. It’s why, despite their requests, I will not be ruining my no-vomiting streak and “getting loose tonight.”
They have put me off alcohol for life.
Tammy is a wreck. The most beautiful, put-together wreck I’ve ever come across in my life. Every time we attended a party in college, getting shit-faced and sticking her tongue down a frat guy’s throat was her goal. She never failed. Never went home empty-handed, those red manicured nails always wrapped around the hand of some strange jock who looked like he owned nothing but jerseys. Luckily, I stayed over at Levi’s most nights because he had a room to himself, but oh my. The stories. Two weeks into freshman year, the girl had threesome ticked off the list. Next up was anal . She always had drama, stories to tell, and still does, even now at her job in the hair salon.
That girl makes me curious sometimes.
What the hell would it be like to swap lives with her?
She stands at the bar flicking her long, black hair. It looks like silk. Her mom is Malaysian, her father Polish, so I think that’s what makes her one of a kind.
Rachel, like me, is the only child to two American parents.
Except she’s not like me.
Neither of her parents were randomly killed by the Bratva twelve years ago.
They stand at the bar together, Rachel and Tammy. My favorite duo. The only friends I need.
Ping!
A message.
I slip my phone from my bag, feeling a smirk crawl onto my face. Levi and I agreed no texting tonight. I should switch the phone off, speak to him tomorrow, but my hands can’t help themselves.
Besides, it’s not Levi.
Just some random number who?—
Ping!
Another message…
With an image attached.
I bring the screen closer to my eyes.
(702) 002-8932: I hate to be the one to break it to you Alice, but you deserve the truth. Here. See the photo evidence. Your boyfriend has been cheating on you for at least the last couple months.
It’s a hoax. A prank one of his IT colleagues has pulled.
Except it’s not.
I scroll further down the message thread, and my heart leaps out through my throat. The sounds of laughter, clinking glasses…it all dies. My drumming pulse replaces the Rihanna song I’ve been swaying to.
It’s photoshopped.
It has to be.
I full-size the image, and there it is—Levi locking lips with a woman that isn’t me.
They’re in the dark somewhere, a basement perhaps, and a wall takes up most of the photo. A discreet shot, it looks like. One neither of them are aware of. And how would they be, when their lips are mashed together like that? He’s wedged against a wall, and her legs are wrapped around his waist. One hand holds her hip, and the other her?—
I look away.
Tit.
They’re big. Much bigger than mine. Double Ds, if I were to hazard a guess.
I can’t peel my eyes away. It’s him. I know it’s him. I know nobody else with a square-shaped mole on their left cheek, and combined with the long tufts of mousy-brown hair, there’s no denying it’s him.
And for fuck’s sake, he even looks good cheating on me.
I hit call and give the unknown number a ring, but it cuts out straight away.
A cold sweat breaks out and runs down my neck. My palms clammy, the phone slips from my hands.
Someone picks it up for me. Red manicured nails.
“Maybe you’ve had too much to drink already,” Tammy says, handing it back to me. She falters. “Damn. Your hands are freezing.” She grabs my arm to assess that too. “Jesus, Ali.” Her eyes reach mine, and that’s when they widen. “Christ. What’s wrong?”
“Levi has been cheating on me,” I spit out. “At least I think.”
Drink spills over the tops of the two glasses Rachel holds in her hands. “Are you fucking messing with us?”
“I hope .” I spin the phone around, and their faces illuminate from the screen. “Look.”
They widen their eyes in unison. Share a concerned glance with one another. Rachel’s eyes look more pitiful than Tammy’s. Tammy is… well. Tammy.
“Give me that.” She snatches the device and roots through my contact list for Levi. “What does he think he’s playing at? Is this supposed to be some fucking joke? I don’t care how good he is with photoshop. How dare he. Maybe it’s a prank, but even if it is, you’re calling it off. You can’t marry an asshole like that.”
I take the phone from Tammy. “Let me call him.”
One ring…
Two…
I fiddle with the diamond on my finger.
The thought of taking it off worsens the pain in my stomach.
“Alice?” The receiver crackles from his breath. He’s running. Clearly not seated behind his desk like he said he’d be doing all night. “Can you hear me?”
“Loud and fucking clear.”
Tammy sticks her thumb up.
My tone passes her test.
“What’s her name, then?”
“What?”
“Your new girlfriend.”
“Alice, I’m?—”
“I don’t want the bullshit. Just tell me straight.” My pulse rattles in my neck. “You’ve been seeing another woman. Yes or no?”
“Not seeing, as of right now, but yes. I was.”
Was…
So he’s not anymore.
I look up from the floor, phone clutched in my hand, and observe Tammy’s still-very-concerned face. The concern isn’t for the situation. It’s for me. Because she knows me. She knows what I’m like. She’s an independent woman undistracted by feelings, and I’m a woman who doesn’t have the balls to cut someone off.
He fucked somebody else.
But at some point he made the conscious decision to stop.
Isn’t that what counts? That it’s in the past? Character development and all?
Tammy’s stare deepens, her dark brown eyebrows knitting closer until finally she hisses, “Alice! Give me the phone.”
I shove away. “No. He’s not done yet.”
“Speaking isn’t a luxury he gets with you anymore. A wedding isn’t a lux?—”
“ Shhh !”
“I’m sorry, Alice, truly,” continues Levi, “for what I’ve done. And I’m sorry for what I’m about to say next.”
Tammy rolls her eyes and flops her posture. She’s had enough.
Rachel, the psychoanalyst she is, listens.
“The wedding is off.”
My heart drops.
Tammy swings back around.
“You don’t deserve me,” Levi says. “I’m sorry. I can’t do this.”
The call ends.
Cue the hyperventilating. My breath catches in my throat.
I stand. Walk around in a circle to knock some sense back into my head, but I struggle to walk even one step without shaking. It’s like I’m underwater. The air feels different. Heavier. For four years, Levi has been my breath. My lungs.
Now what am I supposed to do?
Cry apparently, and like a baby. Tears blur my vision. The disco ball spins faster, so much more than before, and it dizzies me. Induces a wave of nausea that I manage to swallow down before my vomit coats the polished floor. That’ll get us kicked out.
But we’re close to that anyway, the way my crying is going.
Crying isn’t the right definition anymore. What exits my mouth is more of a roar. To others in the club, I could be some sort of shape-shifter fighting to keep my human form, but to Levi, I’m nothing. Not even a speck.
Not even worth a visit.
He didn’t even have the respect to drop the news in person.
To tell me that he was fucking some long-legged whore with a chest more desirable than the ones sported by Victoria’s Secret models.
Do I laugh? Cry some more? Rip the disco ball from the ceiling and launch it out into the desert? My brain doesn’t know what it wants to do. Kill? Drive to Levi and stick a knife in his chest?
The wedding is off.
And not a cent of it was insured.
“Why would we need to do that?” he asked a year ago when we started planning. “It’s not like we’re going to fall out of love with each other.”
“Come on.” Softly, Rachel takes my hand. “Let’s go outside.”
“She can go outside when the club closes.” Tammy breaks our hands apart. “You have one task tonight.” She looks me square in the eyes, and I swear for the tiniest second, something in them flashes red. “Revenge. Let’s get a tequila shot down you.”
A hiss from Rachel. “No. That’s not a good idea. She needs sleep.” She pauses. “Or melatonin at least, to help her sleep.”
Rachel’s advice appeals more, although melatonin won’t do shit. I need something stronger. I can slip some morphine when I’m next on shift in the ICU.
But for now, perhaps Tammy is right. Another drink won’t hurt.
But god, the state of me. I’ve cried off my mascara. My bachelorette party can’t continue, especially since I’m in a white silk dress the same shade as the wedding getup I’m supposed to be wearing a week from today.
Sniffling, I propose an idea. “Let’s go back to Rachel’s, change and redo our makeup, and maybe on our way, stop by the liquor store to pregame for round two.”
“That would be a shame.”
Did one of my friends just have a voice drop? I flick my eyes between them both. Their mouths are both shut. Strange. They’re not even looking at me.
Something behind my shoulder has caught their attention.
But before I can spin around, two hands settle there—on my shoulder blades—and begin massaging them. It feels good. Somebody certainly knows what they’re doing.
Excitement growing in Rachel’s and Tammy’s eyes, I break from the stranger’s grasp and do a one-eighty to put a face to my mysterious masseur.
Three gorgeous silver foxes.
The masseur, standing closest to me, takes a step back and smiles. Thick locks of ashy hair sit in curls atop his head but oh my, it’s his eyes that grab my attention the most. They’re stark blue. A shade I’ve never seen before, this rich indigo color that reminds me of a California ocean under a sky full of stars. A smile extends on his face as he stares at me, revealing a perfect set of white, straight teeth.
Correction— three sets of white, straight teeth.
The men smile in unison, gazes directed solely toward me. They’re not smug grins either. More of a somber, gritted, are-you-okay? kind of look that pricks another couple tears out of my eyes.
“What happened?” Indigo eyes is back at my shoulders again, stroking a hand down the length of my arm.
A shiver follows it.
He has a warm touch.
Tammy volunteers as a speaker for the group. “It’s her bachelorette party. She was supposed to be getting married next week, but it turns out the scumbag has been lying to her face and fucking other women.” Her eyes drop to mine, and she flicks them in the men’s direction like she wants me to get even closer.
Already they’re standing close. Any closer and they’ll be able to hear my thumping heart. They’re all good-looking. Like…crazy attractive. The length of Route 66 couldn’t even measure the distance of how far they’re out of my league. The man on Indigo’s left is a living breathing Vogue model, and if the words tall , silver , and handsome were to be put on the next issue, he’d be the image on the front page. Middle-part curtains is a look I never would’ve thought would suit a man of his age, but he pulls it off as well as Cillian Murphy. Perhaps even better.
And then there’s the one on the right. He’s just as tall, hair—even though there’s less of it—just as silver, but he’s broader. His smile isn’t as prominent as the other two, but it’s there in his eyes, the dark brown color of them reflecting glittery light from the disco ball as it turns, seeming to do so even faster than before. Don’t even get me started on the tattoos. He’s like a walking sketchbook.
Three men all suited and booted in motorcycle gear. I sniff a laugh.
This has Tammy written all over it.
“I’m not in the mood.” I turn to Tammy and say, “As charming as the strippers are, I don’t think I can entertain them tonight.”
Tammy furls her brow.
“Some other night perhaps,” I continue, “when I’m feeling up to it. If we can reschedule…?” I move my eyes between my two very-confused-looking girlfriends, and the three men who seem more amused by my words. “Do you do bachelorette parties exclusively, or…?”
“We’re not strippers,” the broad-shouldered one says.
“No.” A laugh explodes out of Indigo-eyes. “But I’ll take the compliment.”
I feel my face heat up, pulse thick in my throat again.
So they really are motorcyclists? The black leather jackets, pants, and boots are real? Not costumes? I scan my eyes up and down, accidentally catching body parts I shouldn’t. Leather pants cause a lot of restriction in…certain areas.
Thighs…
Bulges…
“Wipe your tears, sweetheart,” Indigo-eyes says. Carefully, he wipes them away with the pad of his finger. The smell of gasoline enters my nose, the sweet-pungent scent making me wanna sniff more of it in. “He’s an asshole.”
“Besides,” the tall, silver, and handsome one says. “Check you out. Crying over some good-for-nothing boy when you’re out here blessing our eyes like a modern-day Aphrodite.” He touches my chin. “Don’t waste your tears on him, sweetheart.”
“Yeah,” says Broad-shoulders. “Let’s fix you up with a drink. What’s your name?”
“Ali…Alice.”
“Okay then, Alice. We’re sitting just over there.” He points across the dance floor to a VIP booth that boasts impressive cream-leathered seating and three bottles of champagne. Looks like they’ve had quite the night already. “We’ll be right back.” Already, the two others are rushing to the bar. “Make yourself comfortable.”
I watch them walk away.
Three juicy asses sway in tight leather. They look like trouble. Smell like trouble. Oddly, it’s refreshing. After being around Levi’s rancid Ralph Lauren cologne that smells like expensive BO, the strong aroma of gasoline makes a nice change. The men are much older than him too. Indigo, I would hazard a guess at early-to-mid forties with the gray roots. The other two slightly younger. Thirties, perhaps? Mid-to-late? Signs of aging are obvious, especially under their eyes and on their foreheads. But I don’t see old. All I see is experience.
And that makes something unfamiliar burn between my legs.