The following weekend, I find myself in an Airbnb on the beach to celebrate my future sister-in-law. There’s a group of about ten girls, including me, Liv, and Carson. This has already solidified the reason I only have two friends—I hate women.
“Let’s do shots!” Malibu Bitchy Number One yells and I roll my eyes. If I have to listen to all these bitches turn into whiny, spineless sloshes, I’ll go all Fighter Flynn on their asses.
Reaching into my back pocket, I pull out my phone to text Liam. I wish I were with him right now, but I don’t tell him that. I avoid feelings at every turn, and instead, go for the sexual approach.
Flynn: I wish I were taking your cock right now instead of dealing with a bunch of former sorority debutants.
“Is that your boyfriend?” My sister comes up behind me and I’m glad I closed out of the texts before she could read it over my shoulder.
I glance over to her—the vision of a perfect sister and daughter. Dark hair, light blue eyes, soft features. With everything life has put her through, you’d think she’d have aged forty years. Instead, she’s vibrant and gorgeous, petite despite having a kid, and insanely happy, thanks to her recent nuptials.
“He’s just a guy,” I tell her. I don’t know why I always get so defensive with her, or any of my family for that matter. It’s my default setting.
“We’re adults now, sis. You can tell me things.”
I don’t need to make this into another therapy session; I’ve had enough of those already. I vow to try, really try, to make an effort with her tonight. I walk to the counter and pour us each a shot. “Let’s celebrate our new sister.” One you’ll actually get along with, I think, but don’t add. I’d bet she’s thinking the same thing, anyway.
We down the tequila and my older sister makes a face as if I gave her poison. I pour us each one more shot and I’m sure Carson is already in the neighborhood of drunk. Since she had her daughter at twenty, she never got a chance to party. Maybe if she had we’d have more in common.
Glancing at her, I clock her rosy cheeks. She faces me and takes my hands in hers. “I don’t know if it’s this new boyfriend or the therapy or what, but you seem different. Happier. More open, maybe? I don’t want you to take this the wrong way, okay? Besides, anything you tell me now will be forgotten by morning, but I love you Flynnie and I just want you to be happy. It’s all we’ve ever wanted for you.” She kisses my cheek and I form a tight smile. It’s the best I can offer.
Once everyone is wasted, we drag Liv to a strip club, much to her dismay and my utter amusement. Watching the prude interact with half-naked men is bound to be entertaining. We grab a table and order a round of drinks. We place Olivia front and center to give the strippers a clue about who to focus on. Her face is already redder than a pubescent boy with a face full of acne scars.
The lights dim and the music starts. A large group of too-old yet thirsty women to our left holler with excitement. The stench of horny chicks and a few gays fill the space and all I can think is how I’m in my fucking element.
I down a shot, though I’m already drunk and ready to be surrounded by hot, half-naked men. Fuck. Yes.
Still, I won’t lie to myself. I wish I were with one naked man in particular. Liam. Just thinking his name causes my body to have a physiological reaction. My breathing turns rapid, both my palms and panties get damp. God, what is it about him?
Nothing a little phone sex can’t cure.
“I’m running to the bathroom,” I tell Carson.
“The show’s starting.” She’s appalled I’m going to willingly skip out on male strippers, but she’s too drunk to question me further.
Instead of heading to the restroom to wait in line surrounded by a bunch of drunk chicks, I head toward the entrance. I pause by the coat check. Because it’s mid-summer, it’s empty, which gives me ample privacy.
He didn’t respond to my last text, so I shoot off one more before I resort to dialing his number.
Flynn: Are you up?
God, I sound like a creepy ass fuckboy looking to score.
It’s not quite midnight yet. There’s no way he’s asleep, but he still doesn’t respond.
Instead of waiting any longer, I give him a call. The anticipation of hearing his sultry voice has my panties growing wetter by the second.
“Hello?” The voice that answers is not one I was expecting. I recognize it, but I can’t place it.
“Oh, hi. Sorry. I must’ve pressed the wrong number. I’m looking for Liam.” My heart starts palpitating out of control. I pull my phone from my ear and note that clear as day, the screen reads Liam. So why is a woman answering his phone? And why does that piss me off so much? Like a territorial lioness ready to attack.
“He’s in the shower. Can I take a message?” My stomach drops at the tidbit of information.
“Tell him Flynn called.”
“Flynn, huh? This is Miranda, but I’ll be sure to pass along the message.” Her sneer rings loud and clear through the line. She’s high and mighty as if she caught us in the act, but she still can’t prove shit. I could be in the middle of a crisis and calling my therapist for help. How the hell would she know?
Before I can retort, the line goes dead.
My sodden brain takes too long to put the pieces together, but
