“Oh, I’m aware. What do you think I’ve been doing since I broke up with Brett in August?”
Huffing out a snort of dislike, she reaches down and grabs a bag of brand new underwear and socks. If there’s any item the shelter is always in need of, it’s underwear and socks for all ages and genders. “That boy was no good for you, anyway. I would say it’s his loss, but I don’t feel like that needs to be confirmed.”
“You never met him,” I counter, even though I know she’s right. Hell, even sex with Brett, my ex-boyfriend from college, was less than mediocre and I ended up having to finish myself off later once he fell asleep.
“Didn’t need to know him to know he didn’t deserve you.”
A warmth develops in my chest. Janet is like a surrogate mom to me, providing guidance and adult interaction since I started volunteering here at the age of sixteen. She’s watched and guided me as I’ve grown into a young woman and realized what I wanted for myself in my life, more so than either one of my parents, that’s for sure. “Aw, Janet. Don’t make me cry.”
She bats me away dramatically. “None of that today, Waverly. We’ve got too much to do before the holiday and the cold front coming in. Say, do you have any plans for the new year?” She hands me a few bags of women’s socks and I start organizing them into tubs.
“Well, Emma and I were thinking of going to Vegas. I want to be as far away as possible from southern California right now.”
“Need an escape?”
“Something like that.” I won’t waste time telling Janet that Brett has been texting me again, asking for a chance for us to talk, but we have nothing to talk about. Dating him was a mistake on my part that I’m desperate to keep in the past, despite him wanting to be present in my future.
“Just be careful. I know the saying is that what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas, but I’ve been around long enough to know that that’s not always the case.”
“Spoken from experience?” I ask, shooting her a playful look.
“I think for the sake of our working relationship, I will keep that story to myself.”
Giggling, I nudge her playfully. “Come on, Janet, you know we’re more than just volunteer and director.”
“Waverly, I love you like my own daughter, but not even she needs to know how crazy her mother was back in the day.”
“Damn. I want a crazy Vegas story to tell one day,” I tease while unpacking another package of socks. “But knowing my luck, the press will just eat it up.”
“Well, maybe this trip will give you one.”
* * *
New Year’s Eve
“Take another.” My best friend, Emma, slides a second shot of tequila in my direction while I’m still trying not to gag the previous one up.
“I need a minute, okay?” I shake my head and then reach for the glass of water the bartender gave me upon request.
“The goal tonight was to get shitfaced, was it not?”
“Yes. But I’d also like to be able to keep our very expensive dinner down as well,” I reply as the aftertaste of the Italian we ate at Al Forno lingers in my mouth still.
When Emma suggested we go to Las Vegas for New Year’s Eve to get out of Los Angeles, I reluctantly agreed, but obviously made reservations at the Morgan Hotel for us to stay at—one of the perks of being the sister to the CEO of the empire. And one of my brother’s best friends, Silas De Luca, owns the restaurant chain that resides on the main floor of the hotel, serving up authentic Italian cuisine that is to die for.
We each took down a glass of wine and pasta that could make a grown man weep before venturing out to Dynasty, the new club at The Venetian that seems to be all the rage tonight. Although, I’d imagine every club in Vegas looks like this with the holiday and all.
“Throwing up tonight is just a chance you’re going to have to take. Remember, we’re here to have fun and stay far away from that ex of yours.” She pushes the shot glass a few inches closer to my hands as she reaches for her own. Relenting to her peer pressure, I pick up the glass. We clink them together, and then toss back the top-shelf tequila that still burns going down, but in a much more pleasant way than the cheap stuff.
“I already know Brett is in San Diego this weekend, so we’re safe.”
Dating Brett Maxwell was one of the biggest mistakes of my life. The preppy soccer player that I met during my time at USC charmed his way into my good graces earlier this year, but then proved to be just as slimy as most twenty-something men his age. About four months ago, I caught him out in public with another woman, shoving his tongue down her throat in a booth of a restaurant, oblivious to the fact that he was around people who have eyes and camera phones.
After deciding whether to run away and ruminate in my sorrow or face the truth head-on, I decided on the latter and trekked right over to their table, where I threw his drink in his face and made sure he knew never to contact me again.
Turns out, Brett not only doesn’t understand the idea of exclusivity, but he’s hard of hearing as well because the man will not leave me alone. His relentless begging for me to give him another chance is getting old, especially when he’ll ‘accidentally’ run into me out in public. I don’t know if he installed a tracker on my phone, or just has impeccable luck, but I’m getting tired of dodging him. I have no intention of entertaining his advances anymore, and the sooner he realizes it, the better. I
