I had promised myself, on my twenty-first birthday, that enough was enough. It was time to get my life together. It was time to never wake up with fear again. It was time to move on from all those things in my past that had fucked me up, and use them to make me into something great.
Which I mostly had.
Until tonight, when I’d jumped off the cliff of sanity and sobriety into the backsliding pits of party girl hell all over again.
Don’t get me wrong, I loved to hang out with my friends and drink and have a good time. But I also liked to stay in complete control.
And nowhere in my game plan for a new and improved life had I included sleeping with my friend’s brother.
Oh. My. God.
I grabbed stray pieces of my clothing off the floor as I moved quietly from the bedroom. But by the time I reached the kitchen near the front door, my bra was nowhere to be found.
No worries—I had more at home.
I covered my eyes again as I stifled a panic attack. Leaving my bra at a complete stranger’s house when I snuck out was one thing. I would likely never run into them again. They could hang my underthings on their hookup shrine for all I cared. Or hand it off to a new girlfriend. Or burn it in effigy or whatever.
But leaving lingerie at a man’s house I was going to have to see again, namely later today, was… awful.
Good grief, this whole thing was just dumb. Why? Why had I let things get this out of control?
It was that stupid crush, I realized. He’d been so charming lately. And helpful. And for a split second, I thought I needed someone to take care of me.
Or at least I wanted someone to.
It was just that… I was so tired of being the only one in charge of my life. Especially when I got it wrong so often.
Damn, there were so many important decisions to make and so many things to do and now I was in charge of a whole kitchen and Vann had been so wonderful when I’d needed him and… now I couldn’t even remember last night! Why couldn’t I remember? What had happened? What had… breathe, Dillon. Freaking breathe. A panic attack wasn’t going to do anyone any favors right now.
I found my purse on the counter with my cellphone miraculously inside. There was even enough battery left to order an Uber.
Vann made a sleepy sound from the other room, causing me to jump out of my skin and glance toward his room. He was still in the very center of the bed, sleeping diagonally across it. One of his arms was splayed wide where I used to be and the other covered the top of his face. The sheet draped over his important bits, leaving the rest of his gloriously sculpted body on display. Dang, this guy took care of himself.
Those thoughts pulled my attention around the rest of the apartment. The design scheme was clearly male. The biggest TV I had ever seen took up one wall, between two ceiling-high windows, flanked by a stationary bike on one side and a treadmill on the other. Along that same wall was a row of dumbbells. The L-shaped sectional in the middle of the room was a monstrosity of overstuffed worn leather. There was a novel on the coffee table with a bookmark sticking out of it.
God, that shouldn’t have made me want to crawl back in bed with him, but it did.
Three different bikes hung on the wall closest to the door. They were mounted in an artistic way, but by the look of the beaten tires and beat-up frames, I could tell they were used.
And used often.
“Cycle life,” I whispered to myself. “It really is a lifestyle.”
The kitchen was more of the same health-nut practicality. An expensive blender nestled next to an air fryer and a giant Tupperware container full of homemade granola mix. A huge container of protein powder sat next to the sink.
Aside from his affinity for being healthy, I liked the way he’d set his place up. It felt more comfortable than mine—more homey.
He clearly used this place.
Er, obviously.
But I meant his home was lived in. He worked out here. He made meals here. He made messes.
My apartment was the stop along the way. I used my bed. And my shower. And sometimes I cooked a meal. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d bothered with the TV though.
With my phone in one hand and my shoes in the other, I took a moment by the door to admire the apartment one more time and the man that lay cluelessly in bed.
He had been equally as drunk as me, right?
There would be an awkward moment tomorrow when we had to face each other and remember what had happened. I needed to make an appointment with my therapist stat. But then I’d be able to move on. We’d be able to move on.
Maybe he’d even bring me my bra.
Maybe we’d be able to laugh about it and swear off tequila shots with Wyatt. Never again.
Maybe we’d be able to part as friends.
I slipped out the front door, ignoring the pang of hope in my gut as I made my way down the stairwell to the ground floor. It mixed with nausea as despair followed quickly on its heels. Did I even want to be friends with Vann?
I certainly didn’t not want to be friends with him.
My Uber driver didn’t even look twice at me. He simply took off in the direction of my apartment. I was probably par for the course for pickups at this hour.
Five minutes later, I was at home and locked inside my apartment. I hadn’t realized how close Vann and I lived to each other until now and it filled me with sadness all over again.
God, I was a mess of emotions. Not to mention that had been the first time I’d had sex since…
I went to my kitchen and grabbed a handful of pills for my headache and a glass of water. Taking them in one big swallow, I planted my hands on the counter and tried not to shame spiral any further.
Girls my age slept with guys. This was a totally normal thing. Especially after a night of drinking.
Oh, you know all about that, the evil side of my brain reminded me.
But this wasn’t that, I argued back. This was harmless fun. This was mutual attraction. This was… consensual. My therapist would probably be proud of me.
She’d been suggesting I try it again for a while. And now here we were. I’d tried it again. And it only made me want to cry a lot—or pack up and take off for an empty island to live out the rest of my days as an eccentric hermit.
I planted my hands on the granite countertop and slumped my shoulders. A tear landed on the glossy counter. And then another one.
Before I could grab a handle on my emotions, I slid to the floor and curled into the fetal position, sobbing harder than I had the night of the incident six years ago.
Tears of joy and sadness, of survival and grief, of knowing I could still have sex and live to tell about it.
Of knowing I could still have wild, drunk sex without getting drugged and taken advantage of.
Of hating that it still killed me, that there were too many similarities from that last time and this new time for me to ever want to do it again.
Of realizing that the crush I’d had on Vann was officially dead.
When I’d purged myself of the heaviness of emotion and confusion, I found that I was cold and soberer than I wanted to be.
Would this ever get better?
Easier?
Would I ever move on?
Or was this who I was. The girl that slept around. The girl that partied her way through life because she didn’t have to try.
The girl that got raped.
Thirteen
“We were wondering if you’d show up today.” Molly smiled at me as I slipped inside the bustling kitchen at Salt later that morning. She had a charcuterie board in her hands and a smirk on her face. “You okay?”
Hell no, I wasn’t okay.
I smiled and stole an olive off the counter. An angry chef in a Sarita jacket scowled at me. “Perfectly fine.”
She nodded her head toward the back office. “Come on, we’re eating before the hair and makeup people arrive.”
Folding my garment bag over my forearm, I weaved my way through the kitche
n to the large office Vera and Killian had designed for two.
Since they were both owners and head chefs, their office was rather luxurious compared to mine. And today it was covered in all things bridal—including a glowing bride, Kaya the bridesmaid, and white tulle as far as the eye could see.
“There she is!” Vera grinned at me, her hands busy with tweezers and a magnifying mirror. “You’re the last one to arrive. I was getting worried you forgot.”
“Never!” I declared as I plunked myself on the nearest wingback chair. A sudden surge of panic swished around in my gut. Had I acted a complete fool last night? Did I embarrass myself? Did they see me leave with Vann?
“How do you look that good?” Kaya demanded, her hoarse voice giving away her own hungover state.
I smiled at her and fished around in my tote. Pulling out a bevy of skincare products, I tossed her the under-eye patches made with collagen, green tea, and magic. “Here, these help.”
“Ooh!” Vera demanded, “Me next.”
“I brought more.” Scooting my chair over to Vera’s huge desk, I dumped out my bag and started passing out products.
“Now I understand,” Molly whispered in awe.
I blinked at her. “Understand what?”
“I used to think you were an alien,” she admitted.
Kaya nodded enthusiastically, “It’s because you’re so pretty. And skinny. And basically, we hate your pretty, skinny guts on principle.”
“Wha—?”
“Now I know your secret.”
I rolled my eyes. “My expensive secret. But seriously, this stuff works. Natural beauty is all about a good skin care regimen.”
“In other words, it’s not natural at all?” Vera asked.
Smiling patiently at her, I said, “If I had been born during the middle ages, without my arsenal of retinol, I would have been the town hag.”
Kaya threw the container of under eye patches back at me. “Not true!”
“Okay, fine,” I sighed. “The town drunk.”
They laughed at my self-deprecating humor.
“You weren’t that bad,” Vera assured me. When I gave her a look she added, “All of us were bad. Last night was fun!”
“Best rehearsal dinner ever,” Kaya agreed.
“Did Vann get you home okay?”
I pretended not to know who she was talking to and focused on finding my favorite moisturizer—aptly named Drunk Elephant.
Boy, if I didn’t relate to that.
“Hello?” Molly snapped her fingers in front of my face. “Is there something you’d like to tell us?”
“Who me?” I asked, all aflutter with confusion.
Vera rolled her eyes. “Yes, you. Did my brother get you home okay last night?” She waggled her eyebrows. “If you know what I mean.”
“Oh, was it Vann who helped me home last night?” I cleared my throat and tried not to be annoyingly obvious. “My memory is kind of fuzzy, to be honest.”
The three of them shared a look, before Kaya announced, “Come on, you guys were all over each other!”
My cheeks burned bright red. I could tell them what happened. I could fess up and ask them for help wading through these complicated waters.
But then I’d have to confess the other stuff too. And then they would tell their men. And one of those men was my brother. And another one was like a brother. And the third one was my old boss.
I would never be able to look at these people again if they knew.
Right now, I just wanted to keep my ducking and dodging to Vann and Vann only. At least he would be mostly out of my life after this weekend.
“Yes, you left with Vann last night,” Vera assured me. “We were positive you were also going to wake up with Vann, to be honest.”
Evading the upfront fishing from her comment, I shrugged and gave her a blank look. “Nope. I woke up in my bed this morning.” That wasn’t even a lie.
I’d woken up in my empty bed, in my big, empty apartment. There had been no awkward good mornings or shared breakfasts. There hadn’t even been a confused text.
It was almost like last night hadn’t happened and I’d only dreamed waking up next to Vann and sneaking out of his apartment.
My friends tried to hide their disappointed looks, unsuccessfully. Thankfully, five minutes later an army of hair and makeup professionals showed up and did their best work to make us glow, shine, and look anything but hungover.
It was impressive work. By the time I was dressed in my floor length blush gown with draped, off-the shoulder sleeves and a sweetheart neckline, I was legitimately impressed with the way I looked. My hair was pulled over my shoulder, somehow rocking a braid and loose curls and a crown of flowers at the same time. I looked like a hipster supermodel.
“Now this is magic,” I told Kaya and Molly, who had similarly stunned looks on their gorgeous faces.
“I’ve never looked this pretty,” Kaya declared. “Never.” When her makeup artist started to disagree with her, Kaya shook her head and insisted, “Seriously, never. I’m usually rocking a bandana, no makeup and three pounds of duck fat. Wyatt isn’t even going to recognize me.”
I couldn’t help but smile. She might be right. Not that she couldn’t totally rock a bandana, no makeup, and three pounds of duck fat. Because she could. And she did every single night. But she was stunning in full makeup and with her purple hair in loose waves.
Vera finally turned around and stood up, stealing our actual breath. She was a goddess in her wedding dress. It had all the romantic vintage feels with a sheer lace overlay covered in floral appliques and layers of white beneath. The back was a wide, deep V, coming together in a long train of buttons that started at her lower back. The intricately detailed lace sleeves were held onto the very curve of her shoulders with clear tape. They were short sleeve and nearly bell-like, but so ridiculously flattering, I couldn’t help but be jealous of her. The front was a low-cut V too, ending at her sternum and remaining tasteful but eye-catching. Her dark hair was styled similarly to mine only with flowers interwoven instead of the wreath I wore. And her makeup was all soft pinks and expertly placed highlights and she looked like a magazine ad—even with the smallest swell of her belly.
She was everything a bride was supposed to be. The perfect picture of hope and anticipation and eternal bliss. My heart ached with the desire to live this out one day. To have what she had. To love like she loved. To hope for what she hoped for.
My mind flashed with drunken half-images of sleeping with Vann. God, what a mistake. I wanted everything, and yet my nights were spent alone. Except for last night. And I can’t even remember what happened.
At least not accurately.
Not that Vann was the usual brand of loser I managed to attract in the past. But he wasn’t exactly my perfect eHarmony match either. Nor was he broadcasting interested vibes my way.
At least not in the wedding bells and prenup kind of way.
I chewed my lip, wondering if I would be the kind of girl to demand a prenup when it came down to it. I had a vast enough fortune that it would be smart to include one. And I wanted to be smart.
And wise.
And mature.
And a prenup definitely seemed like something a smart, wise, mature woman would get.
But I knew Ezra wasn’t planning to get one with Molly. When I’d asked him about it, he’d told me that if he needed to worry about a prenup with his fiancée, he wouldn’t have fallen in love with her to begin with.
I believed my brother. There were plenty of women in his life before Molly. He’d learned a lot from his first marriage. And he’d finally found a woman up to the challenge of him.
“Dillon, are you okay?” Vera asked, breaking me out of deep thought. She fidgeted nervously and I realized I’d basically been glaring at her as my mind spun in a hundred different directions.
Thank you resting bitch face for making my friends feel so loved.
Also, thank you Vera for getting married
and making me question everything in my entire life.
I smiled and brushed at strange, stray tears. “You’re gorgeous,” I whispered. “I’m sorry, you’re like this total vision of perfection and it just… got me thinking.” I waved a hand in the air. “Sorry, my thoughts are scattered today. I have got to stop letting Wyatt talk me into shots every time we go out.”
“Maybe we should start a petition,” Kaya grumbled.
“You’re stunning, Vera, seriously. Killian is going to die when he sees you,” I assured her.
“I’d settle for shocked silence,” she said, holding back tears. “Maybe a tear or two.”
The room filled up after that, the flower girls and ring bearer arrived and all the other attendants. Chefs and waiters were everywhere in the kitchen, preparing for the elegant reception. Champagne glasses were passed around and we toasted our friend and the nuptials about to take place. And then we toasted our friendship and love for Vera. And as the toasts went on, I let the liquid courage kill some of the strange butterflies flapping around inside me.
Not that it could kill everything. I realized I would have to go through Molly and Ezra’s wedding too. And probably Kaya and Wyatt’s before I even found a consistent date for the receptions.
I had basically army-crawled out of Vann’s apartment this morning because a lasting relationship was the last thing I wanted. The career, remember? The goals? And accomplishments? All that travel? And the general feeling of just needing to get my life together before I added anyone else to it.
But now I felt shockingly alone—glaringly single. Like everyone else in the world had this wonderful, beautiful, perfect relationship and I had… a lonely apartment and an uncertain future at Bianca.
Tears filled my eyes as I realized this wasn’t a new feeling. This wasn’t something I had just recently stumbled into now that my friends were all settling down.
This emptiness… this utterly depressing feeling of total isolation was something I had carried with me since I could remember.
This was why I’d gotten pulled along with the prep school crowd, trying whatever was put in front of me, sleeping with whoever was interested. This was why I’d hated going to my dad’s house where the lonely feelings I struggled with were only amplified. This was why it had been hard to be at home with my mom when the same feelings were reflected in her.
The Something about Her: Opposites Attract book four Page 15