“You nervous?” I hope not. It would be a hell of a conversation if I have to convince him to man up. Still, most grooms experience jitters, don’t they?
“No.” The word is soft and sure.
“You always did know what you wanted.” There. I don’t even sound bitter about it.
“When it came to business, yes. When it came to Harper, I spent a long time in denial.” He cuts himself off with a quiet curse. “I know I have to apologize.”
My eyebrows rise. “For winning her?”
“God, no. I won her fair and square. I won’t apologize for that.” It’s so Christopher that I can’t help but smile. That’s what I love about him. Love. My smile fades. He meets my gaze. “I’m sorry for not seeing what you felt… about me. I was—am—your friend. I should have known.”
“I didn’t want you to know.”
A wry twist of his lips. “I didn’t even know you were—”
“Bi?”
“That.”
I got my ass kicked by my dad until I was old enough to punch back. I got my ass kicked at school for being my father’s son, before I learned to throw a right hook so hard the person had to go to the hospital. When I realized I was turned on by both men and women, it wasn’t something I was going to share with the world. “It’s not something I talk about much.”
A glint of amusement. “No. Hell, I would have been afraid to tell you if I were gay. You always seemed like such a Southern boy. Hunting and fishing and fighting.”
“I’m a pacifist mostly. Except I do like fishing. The fish have it coming.”
He looks away, toward the throngs of men who fill the space, the drinking and the gambling. The pretense that we aren’t being watched. “Who the hell are all these people?”
“Friends. They’re friends, Christopher.”
“No. They’re business. Whether we worked with them in the past or they’re hoping we work with them in the future, they’re here to make a buck. You were my friend. Maybe the only one.”
“I’m still your friend.”
“Are you?”
Unfortunately. Unfortunately, I’ll always be his friend. Unfortunately, there are knives carving the inside of me, writing patterns of loss on the slick side of my skin. “Yes.”
A roar goes up through the crowd, and I turn my head to see a group of women. They’re wearing colorful, sequined dresses—a night on the town. Harper’s in the lead, wearing a white sheath dress and a tiara that probably has real diamonds. She’s also holding a giant inflatable penis, which she’s augmented with a Sharpie, drawing a smiley face on the plastic and the outline of a tuxedo.
The bachelorette party has descended on the Den.
The men are more than happy to welcome the girls, ordering rounds of shots and breathing in their lush, sweaty scents. Christopher only has eyes for his bride. His dark blue eyes deepen as she approaches. He grasps her waist and pulls her the rest of the way. Their kiss is so intimate, so raw, so loving, I have to look away. When Harper pulls back, her eyes are dazed.
She sees me, and she grows wary. “Hey, Sutton.”
“Hey.” And the Oscar goes to… Sutton Mayfair, who sounds like a human being instead of a seething mass of envy and stupid self-pity. “Having a good time?”
A relieved smile. I’ve fooled her. Human, she thinks. “The best time.”
“I like your friend.”
She gives the giant inflatable penis a squeezing hug, making its Sharpie-drawn eyes bulge. “Dick is our chaperone. It’s not safe for young women to be on the streets alone, you know.”
This is Harper—effervescent and irreverent. Being around her, you can’t help but feel lighter. Christopher is the very opposite. He makes everything more serious. More weighty. They’re perfect for each other, and I… well, I don’t belong here.
The silence underlines that fact.
I see her ask him without words: did you ask him yet? I see Christopher answering without words: no. I’ve watched him do a hundred negotiations. So I know the precise moment he decides this is the time. There’s cunning in the air, like electricity before a storm.
“Do you want to come over?” he asks. After. Oh God. A threesome.
That’s what he’s offering right now. Like I’m a gift he’s giving her. Here’s your last chance to fuck someone else before we get hitched.
Or worse, it might continue after they say I do. I’d be like a living, breathing vibrator in their marriage bed. The sick part is how badly I want to say yes.
I can almost taste her salt sweet skin. I can almost feel the bristle on his jaw. My body’s taut with hunger. Yes, I’ll come over. Yes, I’ll eat her out and suck your dick and do whatever you want. I’ll leave whenever you want.
Bile burns my throat. “No, thanks,” I say, the words stiff and staccato.
“Oh.” Disappointment in her eyes almost changes my mind.
I don’t have to say anything else. I don’t owe them any explanation. Certainly I don’t owe them any lies, but I find myself speaking anyway. “I’m seeing someone.”
Christopher’s blue eyes lighten. “That’s great.”
That probably means he’s still worried about Harper changing her mind. I could reassure him that won’t happen, but then he says, “You should bring her to the wedding.”
“Or him,” Harper says, sounding hopeful.
“Right. Maybe.” No one’s coming to the wedding, man or woman. I’m not seeing anyone. My facade has cracked. I can no longer pretend I’m fine. I turn toward the door and walk away, leaving the party and the two people I love behind me.
Chapter Four
Ashleigh
Cold. Hungry. There’s no other word for it. Desperate. Everything about this life hurts, but there’s nothing I would have done differently.
Sometimes life doesn’t give any good choices.
Male laughter punches the silence as the door opens and closes, more men arriving. Droplets quiver on the windows. It’s shaping up to be an epic party. In a few hours there’ll be drunk men willing to pay two hundred dollars for me to follow them to a motel room.
As long as I don’t lose my nerve, I don’t have to starve tonight.
A dark sedan slows on the street. The window slides down. A man in his late forties looks me up and down. I could have passed him in a grocery store or a gas station without looking twice. An ordinary man. Gold glints from his ring finger. Of course he’s married. His wife is probably at home, warm and fed, scrolling through Pinterest right now. “How much?” he asks.
Tell him two hundred dollars. Ky told me that the first time I worked this street corner. He also gave me a pack of condoms. “You let your mind go somewhere else. Do what they say, don’t ask questions, and you survive. That’s the important thing.”
An unexpected guardian angel, for sure.
Tell him twenty dollars. Then maybe he won’t expect so much. I don’t know what the hell I’m doing, and I want it to be over soon. Twenty dollars is enough to buy hot French fries, salty on my tongue, and a cool, bubbly soda to wash them down. I’m almost sick with hunger.