And honestly, I’m not sad about it. I mean, at first, his betrayal stung, and I spent a few days wallowing on the couch in mine and Emma’s high-rise condo. But once I was done with my pity party, I realized I was better off without him. I definitely didn’t see myself marrying him and didn’t feel that our relationship had any substance that would allude to longevity. I honestly think that the fact that I wasted time on him and then was made to look like a fool is what pissed me off the most.
“I just wish that douchebag would get the hint,” Emma says on a sigh as I nod in agreement.
“I know. Maybe me dating someone else would be enough to put the nail in the coffin.”
“Oh, my gosh!” Emma shrieks, buzzing with excitement. She bounces in her seat before explaining her outburst. “I know! We can have boyfriend auditions! Have single, attractive men try out to play the part just to get him to leave you alone. I can see the social media post now,” she says, splaying her hand across the air. “Boyfriend auditions. Bring your last four weeks of pay stubs and your best pair of grey sweatpants.”
I laugh, knowing how Emma and I joke about how grey sweatpants are like lingerie for men. But seriously? What is it about that article of clothing that makes you want to strip a man in front of you and put his dick in your mouth?
Jesus, I need to get laid if I’m thinking that brazenly right now.
“I don’t need a fake boyfriend,” I counter. “Plus, why go through the trouble of someone fake? That just makes me seem just as bad as he is.”
“True.” She tosses her head back and forth in thought. “But I swear, it could work. Show him you’ve moved on. That whatever the two of you shared is as good as dead.”
“Enough about him. We’re in Vegas, Emma. It’s New Year’s Eve, and I don’t want to spend one more moment of this year thinking about him. I say we dance the night away! That’s what we came to do, isn’t it?”
“Hell, yes!” Emma shouts, slapping the bar before standing and grabbing her clutch from her seat.
I reach for my small purse as well, throw a few bills on the counter, pointing to the cash when I get the bartender’s attention, and then spin around to survey the dance floor. Hundreds of sweaty bodies are grinding to Usher’s Yeah, and a breath of resolve comes to life in my lungs. I have no idea what tomorrow may hold, but tonight I’m gonna live in the moment and celebrate being alive and free from responsibility because starting tomorrow, I need to buckle down and figure out what the hell I’m going to do with my life.
* * *
“Another shot!” Emma yells as we traipse off the dance floor, sweaty and breathless from shaking our asses and avoiding being ground up on by numerous men for close to an hour.
Realizing that my buzz has subsided and the last thing I want is to be completely sober tonight, I agree as we swivel through people and squeeze into a spot at the bar.
“More tequila, ladies?” the fetching bartender with the British accent asks as we nod simultaneously.
“Give us three shots this time, please!” I call out as he walks away, but acknowledges my request with a head bob.
“Three shots? That seems a little excessive, Beaverly.”
The hairs on my neck stand up and my shoulders tense, knowing without a doubt that the owner of that voice and the use of that name can only mean one thing—Hayes Weston is here.
Turning slowly to my right, I’m greeted with the shit-eating grin that only Hayes, my brother’s annoying and asshole-extraordinaire of a best friend, has perfected. “Don’t fucking call me that,” I seethe through clenched teeth as Emma pokes her head around me.
“Oh, come on. You know that’s how I show my love for you, babe.”
“I’m not your babe, either.”
“Hi, Hayes!” Emma chimes in, cheery and star-struck. She knows how I feel about Hayes, but the traitor still acts like he’s a celebrity when she sees him.
“Emma. What are you two lovely ladies doing in Vegas tonight?”
“What does it look like? We’re celebrating the arrival of a new year, genius. What about you? Why are you here?” I ask, letting my eyes briefly dance up and down the length of him as he stands in front of me, one hand positioned casually in the pocket of his charcoal slacks, the other clutching a glass of whiskey in front of his crisp, white button-down. His outfit is simple and I hate that he looks effortlessly put-together in it.
“Did you forget that I own part of this club now, Beaverly?” He shakes his head mockingly. “Seems once you graduated from college a few weeks ago, you lost some of your intelligence.” His teasing grin lights my insides on fire, both from anger and the fact that deep down, I hate how sexy his mouth looks like that.
“Bite me, Hayes.”
“Just tell me where, sweetheart,” he replies in our signature rebuttal. He brings his glass to his lips and sips delicately on the amber liquid, just as the bartender comes by with our shots.
Before I can pay the man, Hayes throws down a few hundred-dollar bills and then speaks. “Bring us another round, please, but this time, bring enough for me to join in as well.”
The bartender nods, slides the money across the bar, and returns quicker than he did for the two of us. With too many shots of tequila placed before us, Hayes turns his attention back to Emma and me. “Well, ladies. Are we going to ring in the new year the right way, or what?”
“We?” I ask, confounded by how suddenly my plans for a carefree night have been derailed
