Chapter 2

I slammed back my drink, then put the glass back down on the counter. I took a moment to catch my breath, before raising my hand to call for the bartender. “Another one, please,” I said.

He frowned at me. “Um, do you think you’ve had too much, maybe?”

I shook my head quickly, but stopped when it made me feel a bit dizzy. “Not at all. Another drink, please.”

He continued to look at me with concern, which I thought was sweet, but while I waited expectantly, he just sighed and went to get my drink.

His concern wasn’t going to do me much good, after all. A while later, I was sure I’d had a little too much to drink. Still not drunk, but fed up. I was leaning against a wall feeling both sorry for and angry at myself. I felt stupid for using my last dime on that drink.

I need to head back to my apartment.

Soon, I would have to go home, too, since nearly all my funds had gone down the drain. I didn’t have room to feel regret, but I was disappointed I’d have to cut my trip short.

I looked around at the rest of the club. There was music and drinks and dancing, and everyone seemed to be having fun. This was a new scene for me. It was my first time in a club. I still wasn’t used to it, especially with all the noise and the bumping bodies.

If circumstances were different, I never would have ended up in such a place. Not because I hated it, but the thought never really entered into my mind before.

Then, I find myself scrolling through my phone’s gallery, where mine and Brandon’s photos are still saved. Looking at the most recent one, taken less than a month ago, we looked happy. Genuine.

With my thumb, I played with the engagement ring still on my finger. For some reason, it’s the only thing keeping me connected to Larson. Regardless.

Of course, drinking shots of tequila one after another gets you to this point—sitting pathetically like a crying mess with the taste of bile in your mouth. But so does finding out you’ve been cheated on by your fiancé.

Ex-fiancé, I reminded myself, despite my desire to deny it. I recalled the content of the message from an unknown number, it was the video of my best friend and now ex fiancé having sex. It hurt. What followed it were pictures of the both of them kissing and spending time together.

I let out a shuddering breath as I remember everything all over again. For the last hour, I recalled this same depressing thought: Brandon Connor, the love of my life, has been cheating on me for god-knows how long, and I only found out about it two days before our wedding.

How naïve have I been?

Biting my lower lip, I try to hold in an extreme episode of crying and self-hatred.

It takes all of my willpower to keep holding back the tears.

I hate myself.

I hate that I spent the last six months preparing for our wedding—booked everything, got the wedding dress, sent out the invites—only to find out he’s been cheating on me.

With whom, you ask?

With my fucking best friend, Amelia.

Shocking right?

Not exactly original. But just because it’s cliché doesn’t mean it hurts any less.

When a sat by the bar, the bartender gave me a strange look but it quickly morphed to a professional smile. “Are you here with someone, Miss?” the man asked. “You look like you’re a little drunk…”

I shook my head. “Not drunk,” I corrected. “Just a little tipsy.”

Honestly, staring at his face wasn’t even helping, it was just making me daydream. If he let go, I was sure I would fall, and that thought made my hands flex on his chest.

His other eyebrow went up, but by his expression, I could tell he wasn’t exactly put out, even though some strange woman was hanging off him.

**

When I woke up the next morning, I regretted everything.

Fuck!

My head hurt like hell before I was even fully awake. The pain was likely what woke me up, and it felt even worse when I moved to roll over.

“Ugh.”

It wasn’t just the headache, either.

Why am I naked?

In a state of sudden confusion, I look around the bedroom; heavy grey curtains, open closets, bean bags, and laundry all over the floor. I knew better than to try and move too quickly, so I slowly tugged down the covers so I could see, and my eyes went wide.

“Who are you?” I whispered, quietly starting to freak out in my head.

A man was sitting on the edge of the bed. He had his legs crossed and was leaning an elbow on his knee. There was a mug in one hand, and he was holding his phone with the other.

When he turned around, and I saw his face, last night’s events came back to me, the parts I’d forgotten, at least.

He smirked down at me. “Don’t tell me you’ve already forgotten me. That breaks my heart, you know?”

“No, I know who you are,” I lied.

“Would you like some painkillers?” he offered. “And a glass of water? I figured you’d need them.”

“Because you knew I’d get hung over?” I guessed.

He nodded, though his expression looked strange, and a little unhappy. “Stay where you are. I’ll get them for you.”

He set his mug down on the nightstand. I stayed mostly under the covers as I watched him move around the room. He pulled a suitcase from the closet and fumbled inside the top pocket. Then he opened the second door into the room, leaving the door open. It was the bathroom, and from where I was lying, I could see him. He rinsed out a glass, then poured water into it, and brought both to me.

Probably did it that way so I would see he wasn’t trying to drug me. I decided it was time to get up, even though I wasn’t sure if I was ready yet. I couldn’t take the painkillers lying down. Still, when I moved, my head throbbed, but I made sure to move carefully. I noticed the light in the room wasn’t as bright as before, too, and saw the curtains were partially closed. I managed to sit all the way up, before I realized it, my eyes widening.

Crap!

“Why don’t I have clothes on?” I asked.