“Just be here, okay?” Astrid said. “It’s too late to find someone decent to replace you.”
Delilah wiped her hand down her face. “Yeah.”
“What was that?”
“Yes,” Delilah practically yelled. “I’ll be there.”
“Good. I already booked your room at the Kaleidoscope—”
“What, I’m not staying with Mommy Dearest?”
“—and I’ll email you the itinerary. Again.”
Delilah grunted and hung up before Astrid could hang up on her, then dropped the phone on the counter like it was on fire. She twisted the lid off a half-full bottle of gin that sat next to the sink and took a shot, no glass required. The liquor burned all the way down, searing her nostrils and watering her eyes.
Two weeks. It was just two weeks.
Two weeks and enough money to get her through three months of rent.
She snatched up her phone, the damn traitor, and went back into the bedroom. Lanier’s robe hit the floor, and she found her own strapless black jumpsuit that showed off the tattoos inked all over both her arms in a rumpled pile next to the dresser. After slipping it on, she spent about ten seconds looking for her underwear, her favorite purple lacy cheekies, but they were nowhere to be found.
“Fuck it,” she said, slinging her bag over her shoulder and pulling her mass of dark curls into a messy bun. She located her red four-inch heels by the huge black-and-white framed photograph leaning against the wall. The image showed a white woman in a thin white dress, mascara running down her wet face as she stared at the viewer. She was in a bathtub, gown completely soaked and sheer, nipples barely visible above the milky waterline while her fingers curled around the rusty white tub. It was Delilah’s, one of the four pieces in the Fitz show. Memories of Leila-Lucy-Luna forking over actual money and then promptly shoving her tongue into Delilah’s mouth drifted into clarity. The damn name still played hide-and-seek.
“Hey,” the woman said, lifting her head from the pile of pillows and squinting at Delilah in the city-light, hair a tousled mess. “Wait, are you leaving?”
“Um, yeah,” Delilah said, popping on her shoes and double-checking that her wallet was in her bag, her keys, her Metro card. “Thanks, this was fun.”
Leah grinned. “It was. Sure you don’t want to come back to bed?” She lifted an eyebrow as the covers fell just low enough on her chest to reveal a lovely swell of skin.
“Wish I could,” Delilah said as she edged toward the door. The offer was tempting, but her brain was already gone, back at her apartment, running through what the hell kind of clothes she needed to pack for this wedding and all the brunches and showers and, dear god, bachelorette parties Astrid had planned.
Astrid and her posse of mean girls.
London’s face fell. “Oh. Okay, well . . . text me?”
Delilah turned her back to the woman and headed into the hallway. She lifted a hand as she opened the front door. “Absolutely. Will do.”
She knew she wouldn’t though.
She never did.
On the subway ride back to her apartment in Bed-Stuy, it settled on her, the reality of what she was about to do. Going back to Bright Falls was one thing, but spending two weeks at Astrid and Isabel’s beck and call? That was quite another.
And Delilah had absolutely no intention of making it easy for them.
Chapter Two
CLAIRE DRAINED HER wineglass for the second time that night, then set it down on the rough wooden table a little too hard.
“Relax,” Iris said, sitting across from her, stirring the orange in her vodka soda.
“What do you think I’m trying to do?” Claire asked, tipping some more Syrah into her glass. She knew she’d regret it—red wine always gave her a headache—but Ruby was spending the night over at Josh’s apartment for the first time in two years, and she’d told Iris she wanted to go out, clear her head, get away from Josh and his relentless I’m a great guy! smile and sparkling hazel eyes. So here she was, half drunk at Stella’s Tavern, Bright Falls’s only bar, while the neon jukebox in the corner piped out horrible country music and she tried not to hyperventilate.
“I don’t think the alcohol’s doing the trick,” Iris said. She turned her head and surveyed the crowd, which consisted mostly of guys playing pool and a bunch of college students home for the summer.
“No, I don’t think it is.”
“You want to go somewhere else?” Iris squeezed her hand. “We could just go back to your place and watch a movie.”
Claire shook her head. She felt jittery, like that time she and Josh had tried pot during their senior year in high school and her heart raced at a thousand beats per minute for the next two hours. She had to get some energy out, and sitting on a couch drinking and eating leftover pizza wasn’t going to cut it.
“I just need a distraction,” she said.
Iris’s eyebrows popped up. “What kind of distraction?” Her voice was teasing, and Claire knew exactly what direction her friend was headed. Iris was always reading one romance novel or another, and was famous for constantly trying to cultivate happily ever afters for her friends, even if just for one night. “Like . . .” Iris rolled her hand over and over, prodding Claire to go on.
Claire rolled her eyes but smiled. “Okay, yes, fine. That kind of distraction.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
Iris clapped her hands once, then rubbed her palms like some wicked villain. “Yes! It’s been forever since we got you laid.”
Claire shushed her and leaned forward. “Keep it down, will you?”
“Keeping it down isn’t going to land you in the sack with someone.”
“Oh my god, will you—”
“Hey, Bright Falls!” Iris called, cupping her hands around her mouth as she stood up. Heads swiveled toward her, mouths already smiling like they did anytime Iris Kelly spoke up. “Who wants a chance with this fine-looking lady next to me! She’s in desperate need of a good fu—”
“Iris, oh my god.” Claire tugged on her best friend’s gauzy tank top, half hoping she ripped the hem in the process. Iris plunked down into her chair while Claire’s face burned like the center of the sun. Everyone stared, and more than a few lifted a brow in her direction. Matthew Tilden, who used to make extremely inappropriate comments about Claire’s ass back in middle school, turned around on his barstool and tipped his beer toward her, while Hannah Li, a kindergarten teacher, for god’s sake, smiled so prettily before lowering her long lashes to her cheek, Claire’s stomach flipped.