Every woman in the room gives me the side-eye. Someone snorts.
“Take it easy on her, girls. She never comes in here.” Fiona lays a manicured hand on mine. “Honey, we never talk shop when we sit in these chairs. This is a gossip-only zone.”
“Now you tell me,” I grumble.
“So what’s Neil like?” Sylvie asks. “We’re dying here!”
“Hey, now. I already told you there was nothing between us. And I wouldn’t spill even if there was.”
“But what’s he like?” Sylvie presses. “What’s with that fancy pad? That place is only a one-bedroom, and it still manages to be bigger than every other apartment, except for Silas and Delilah’s.”
“Oh.” It’s not gossip if you’re just talking about furniture, right? “His place is great and also terrible. I’m afraid to touch anything because it’s probably priceless. And the sofa is too uncomfortable to sit on. That’s why we watch TV in bed.”
Everybody titters, and I realize that if me watching television with Neil is entertaining, they must just not have a better scandal to chew on tonight.
“Okay, that’s dumb,” Samantha says. “Wouldn’t a bad boy like Neil light the bad furniture on fire and start over?”
“That’s not Neil,” I say immediately. “He’s a bad boy the way nachos are Mexican food—some of the toppings are familiar, but it’s still not the real thing.”
The whole room erupts with laughter.
“She’s right,” Sylvie says, coming to my defense. “He’s the guy who walks around after the party, making sure all the beer bottles get into the recycling bins.”
“He’s a surprisingly good dude,” I agree. “He’s just not my good dude. Recent evidence to the contrary notwithstanding.”
“I can totally see you two as a couple,” Sylvie says.
“You are the only one,” I mutter.
“Oh, I’m not,” she says with a sly smile.
“What does that mean?”
She just shakes her head. “I think you two deserve each other. You deserve somebody who will never do…” She waves a hand in the air. “…whatever it is people did to make you so angry. And he deserves somebody who isn’t a bullshitter like that awful ex of his.”
“What was the deal with Iris?” Samantha demands. “What a drip that girl was. Why did she show up in Vegas?”
“Who knows?” I say. “Although, I overheard their fight. Iris was trying to tell him that their separation had been long enough. She said she loved him. And he went all Taylor Swift on her ass. We are never ever getting back together.”
Honestly, Neil had been uncharacteristically blunt. I’d wanted to cheer. And afterward I’d offered to get him drunk.
The rest is (sordid) history. And that is why I’m sitting here having my fingernails painted in a tasteful color.
As punishments for drunk stupidity go, I’ve seen worse, I guess. “Thank you,” I tell the manicurist. “That is beautiful.”
I’m not even lying. It is beautiful. But we all know that it just isn’t me.
SIXTEEN
YOU HAVE TO STROKE IT
Neil
Before we go wheels up in Chicago, I take a call from Vera the stylist. “How’s my favorite athlete?” she asks playfully. “How’s married life treating you?”
“Um, great.” Although every time someone asks me that, I feel like a dickhead. Lying all the time is not that much fun. Who knew?
“Your tuxedo shirt is all ready to go. But your wife didn’t send me any dress measurements, aside from height and weight. So I’m bringing a lot of different styles for her to try on.”
“Oh, sorry,” I stammer. “She’s probably very busy.”
“It’s fine,” Vera says in a bubbly voice. “Not everyone enjoys measuring her own bust, you know?”
I chuckle along. But I’m asking Charli to step pretty far outside her comfort zone. What if Vera starts asking her a bunch of personal questions? How badly could this go?
We hang up, but I feel uneasy. When our jet reaches the gate at La Guardia, I’m the first one pulling his bag out of the overhead compartment.
“You want to share a car?” Tank asks me.
“Sure,” I say, even though I was about to sprint for the taxi line alone. If Vera and Charli are locking horns, I’d like to get home as soon as possible.
“Take me too!” Anton calls as we file off the plane.
“And me!” Newgate calls. “I’ll drop you guys off on the way to my place.”
“Sure,” I say. “But hurry.”
Luckily, we snag a minivan yellow cab and pile inside.
“Can’t wait to get home to see my girl,” Anton says as we approach Brooklyn. “You guys coming to the game tonight?”
“I am,” Tank says. “Bess will want me to hold the baby while she takes some pictures.”
“I’ll go,” Newgate says. “I don’t have plans. And Drake is in, right, bro? Gotta watch the little woman play?”
“Um…” Am I going to Charli’s game? I’ve been to Bombshells games before, and she’s been to one or two of mine. But our schedules rarely line up, so it hadn’t occurred to me. “What time does it start?”
“Ask your wife!” Tank snickers.
I can’t, though, because I’ve already sent her two unanswered texts since we landed. Everything okay with Vera? Or are you throwing darts at our marriage certificate?
Radio silence.
So I’m a little unnerved when the taxi finally pulls up in front of our building. I’m the first to grab my suitcase out of the back and hoof it into the building.
“See you at the game, Neil! I’ll save you some popcorn!” Anton calls.
I slap the elevator button without stopping to give him a snarky response. And two minutes later I’m stepping off onto the sixth floor and hurrying toward my door.
When I step inside, there’s nobody in the living room. But Charli’s voice floats out from the bedroom. “You have to stroke it,” she says. “Make it soft and lush. Ooh, that’s it!”
“Like this?” Vera asks. “Ohhhh, yes! Wow. Oh baby.”
“Just like that. Yes!”
I don’t know whether to be really turned on or really confused. I hurry toward the bedroom, where Charli and Vera are both staring into the full-length mirror on my bathroom door.
“Curve it more,” Charli says. “And then blend it out.”
Vera strokes something against her eyelid. It’s… makeup?
That makes sense. I think. But I’ve suddenly lost about half my brain power because Charli is standing before me in nothing but a corset, lace panties, and high heels.
A corset. It’s made of lace, and it curves saucily over her perfect ass.
I make a noise like “nnngh,” because how could I not.
Two heads swivel in my direction, and both women straighten up in surprise. “There he is!” Vera hoots. “Welcome home, big guy. I brought over your tuxedo shirt.”