Chapter 21
Checking the hallway to ensure Daniel isn’t there, I quietly slip out of my hotel room and sprint down the walkway, trying my best to prevent the sound of my footsteps from echoing in the empty corridor. Every few steps, I glance over my shoulder to make sure he’s not following me.
I’m still wearing the outfit I picked for our romantic dinner—a frilly black miniskirt and a white cotton spaghetti strap top.
It’s perfect for a night of dancing.
And a first kiss that won’t happen.
I slow my frantic pace and gaze up at the sky. The moon is glowing, partially hidden behind some wispy clouds, casting a soft glow on their edges.
“Why did he contact me?” I ask my therapist in the sky. “He’s messing with me, right? He’s playing a sick, demented game.”
Does he know about Daniel? Is that his motivation? Matt doesn’t want me and he doesn’t want anyone else to want me either.
No. That makes no sense. He can’t possibly know.
I envision Daniel eating alone at the romantic dinner he arranged for us and my heart aches. “I’m a terrible person,” I mumble to myself.
Spotting the Sports Bar, I note it has the only thing I need.
Alcohol.
I push open the heavy wooden door and step inside. The scent of french fries, greasy burgers, and beer fill my nostrils as I enter. Dim lighting casts a warm glow across the room, revealing a practically empty space except for three other patrons. The only sound is the faint clattering of pool balls and the white-noise commentary of a baseball game playing on the giant flat screen TV.
I make my way to a table tucked away in the back corner, seeking solace in the solitude.
A petite server with dark hair tied back in a ponytail approaches, dressed in crisp white pants and a red polo pullover shirt. “Drink, se?orita?” she asks.
“Sí. A shot of tequila, por favor.” Liquor will handle what my heart can’t.
“Salt?”
“No. Just the booze,” I answer. “You know what—let’s save some time. Make it two shots.”
“Is someone joining you?”
“Nope.” I’m crappy company and being around other people is draining.
Her eyes show compassion as she nods. People who work at bars get it. They’re practically licensed therapists without the degree. “Be right back with your drinks.”
I pull out my phone and sigh, swiping the screen awake. My heart sinks again as I reread Matt’s messages. As if today wasn’t hard enough getting through without him, he has to make it worse by weaseling himself back in.
Tapping on a bookmarked social media account, I open the account I swore to myself I’d delete. But never did.
It’s her.
The girl who sleeps next to him.
Like I used to.
She’s average looking. Okay, better than average. The vile wench is attractive. Unfortunately. Dark brown eyes, long blond hair, over-plumped pouty lips. What does she have that I didn’t?
The answers are painfully obvious.
Too much lip filler.
A man-stealing, whore-stinking pussy.
And Matt, the ink-toner scented demon.
I bet she doesn’t know that he’s betraying her right now. That he’s reaching out to me—the girl who lost.
Getting back with Matt would be the ultimate payback. The thought fills me with a twisted sense of satisfaction.
Vindication.
And her heart would break like they broke mine.
Carelessly. Recklessly. Permanently.
I’ve played this scenario in my head a thousand times over the past few months. Victorious me, back in my old life. My wounded ego gaining the revenge it craves. I’d burn the mattress they slept on to the ground and toss her clothes along with the memories of her in the trash.
Be with him to spite her. The taste of revenge, deliciously sweet. And he’d spend the rest of his miserable life doing everything he can to keep me. I’d hold all the power.
She knew he had a fiancé and still agreed to be his side-piece. There’s a special corner in whore hell for bitches like her. She’s got eternity waiting for her. At least I have that.
Ugh. This is stupid. I have to stop blaming her. She may be the sluttiest slut of all slut-bitches on earth, but she’s not the one who made promises to me. He did. This is on him. All of it. It doesn’t matter if she knew he was taken. He’s the one who allowed himself to be took.
“Screw you, Matt. You two-timing, adulterous, sucker of souls,” I mutter under my breath.
“Rough day?”
Startled, I look up to a troubled Lily staring down at me with a distressed expression that mirrors my inner turmoil.
“You can say that,” I say, placing my phone face down on the table.
“Can I join you?”
The last thing I want is companionship. I purposely picked this far corner to avoid it. But I have this unexplainable protective, soft spot for this girl. And she looks like she’s got the weight of the world on her shoulders.
My daily quota of being a jackass to someone who didn’t deserve it has surely been exhausted. I don’t need any more bad karma.
“I should warn you.” Extending my arm out, I gesture to her to take a seat. “I’m not much company.”
“Neither am I,” she says as she sits. “I don’t know where else to go.”
“What’s wrong with your hotel room?”
“He might be there.”
“He?” I ask.
“Aiden.”
“Who?”
“Thor,” she clarifies.
“Did he do something to you?” My blood starts to boil. If that jerk laid a finger on her…
“There was an unspeakable event. Absolutely horrific.” Her chin dips down to her chest as her face reddens.
“Oh my God. Did that son-of-a-bitch hurt you?” My hand curls into a fist.
She frowns and shakes her head. “Oh no, no. Nothing like that.”
“Then what happened?”
“There was…”—she glances around nervously — “a coconut incident.”
“A coconut incident? What does that even mean?”
“I… I can’t.” She raises her hand, signaling for me to stop, and closes her eyes tightly. “It’s too horrible for words.”
“Your drinks.” The server interrupts, setting two shot glasses on the table. She turns to Lily. “Can I get you something?”
“She can have one of mine,” I say, sliding a shot glass toward her. “Would you mind bringing another two?”
“Ladies,” Coco comes out from nowhere and takes an uninvited seat at my table, her arm dramatically draped across her forehead, “I’m in despair.”
Can this day get any shittier?
I roll my eyes, then look up at the server. “Make that three.”
I swear, the universe is fucking with me today.
“Excuse me, Ms. Barkeep? We’re going to need an entire bottle, freshly opened. And something crunchy to snack on.” Coco lets out a dramatic sigh. She opens her purse and hands our server a hundred-dollar bill. “Oh, and please, no cheap house brands. We have top-shelf tastes with sophisticated palates.”
“Sí. Gracias.” The server’s eyes widen as she accepts the generous tip, tucking it into her pocket before swiftly heading back to the bar.
“Why are you despaired?” I don’t know why I’m humoring the human guillotine, but here I am.
“A certain someone of the male species has plagued me into a permanent state of retrograde. You know what, screw him,” she grumbles, then turns her attention to Lily. “Hun, your frizz has drastically improved. Well done. But your cheeks are flushed.”
“She’s the victim of a coconut incident,” I explain, like it’s a normal thing.
“Did one fall out of a tree and knock you in the head?” Coco asks. “Are you going to sue?”
Lily shakes her head. “I don’t want to discuss it.”
“You get some moldy fruit?” Coco follows up.
“She doesn’t want to talk about it,” I remind her.
“Your tequila.” The server returns, placing a tray with a bottle of tequila, some lime wedges, a large bowl of popcorn, and a filled shot glass.
“Muchas gracias.” Coco lifts the shot glass off the tray and holds it up in the air. “Ladies,” she says. “Let’s drink.”
In my wildest imagination, I never pictured my wedding day like this.
“I don’t do shots.” Lily shakes her head, waving us off.
“You do today.” I raise my shot glass with a pointed stare in her direction. She takes my not-so-subtle hint and raises her shot glass too. “Here’s to men,” I down my drink. “Fuck them.”