by Beth Orsoff
“I am sorry,” she said. “But I had no idea he’d be here today. Plus, I thought you knew. I mean, you were there, Sam.”
“Yes, but apparently I was too drunk to remember. Which I don’t even understand because I really didn’t have that much to drink.”
She bit down on her lip and glanced away. “Yeah, about that. I don’t think it was the alcohol.”
“Then what was it?” Suddenly I remembered Shazza and her white powder. “That bitch drugged me!”
“It wasn’t like that,” Jenna said. “It was an accident.”
“How do you accidentally drug someone?”
“We think you must’ve picked up Chloe’s glass by mistake. We didn’t even know you had any until you started acting all weird.”
“You mean telling total strangers I want to sleep with them?”
She bit her lip again. “That was later. We knew before then from the way you were dancing.”
“How was I dancing?”
“Like a stripper. But with your clothes on,” she quickly added.
As if that somehow made it better, which I suppose it did, marginally. But I still felt like I’d been punched in the gut. “If you knew I’d been drugged, then why didn’t you just take me home?”
“We did. As soon as we found you.”
“Found me? You let me wander off like that?”
“Shazza said if we took you home right away, you’d just be bouncing off the walls, so we figured it’d be better to let you dance it out. And you did. But then you disappeared with that guy.”
“I disappeared!” Of course that was the moment the band decided to take a break, so all heads inside the tent turned our way. Jenna pulled me outside the circle of light, and I lowered my voice. “How long was I gone?”
“Not long,” she said. “Definitely less than an hour.”
An hour! “So basically enough time to get gang raped?”
“Stop being so dramatic. You’re not Whitney.”
“Let me get this straight. Shazza drugs me, you and Whitney know, but instead of taking me home to sleep it off, you take me to a bar with a bunch of drunk men, then let me wander off for an hour or so. And you think I’m being dramatic?” Was I the only one who understood the seriousness of this situation? These were the kinds of stories you heard on the news—right before they told you they found the girl dead in a ditch by the side of the road.
“Not men. One very good-looking man who bought you a drink, gave you a foot rub, which you seemed to be thoroughly enjoying, by the way, and asked for your phone number.”
“Of course he asked for my phone number. I told him I wanted to sleep with him. If I were him, I would’ve asked for my phone number too.”
She let out a long, heavy sigh. “Samantha, what do you want me to say? I’m sorry, okay? If I thought in a million years that that guy was going to show up at your sister’s wedding, I would’ve told you.”
“Don’t you think you should’ve told me anyway? Don’t I have a right to know?”
“Why? So you can obsess about this one stupid night like you do about everything else?”
“I do not obsess; I analyze. I weigh the pros and cons and make informed decisions. That’s how you’re supposed to do it.”
“My God, Samantha, do you actually listen to yourself?”
“No! You know I don’t like my voice.” Every time I heard it on a message or, worse, saw myself on a video, I cringed. I always sounded much better inside my own head.
She laughed. “It’s not your voice that’s the problem, sweetie, it’s the words coming out of your mouth.”
“Nice. Remind me to unfriend you the next time I’m on Facebook.”
She placed her arm around my shoulder and squeezed. “Sorry, Sam, you’re stuck with me for life.”
I didn’t know who I was angrier at—Jenna, my sister, or myself. One of them should’ve told me. Whitney knew I didn’t remember what had happened last night, but it was her wedding day, so I could forgive her for not wanting to have that conversation with me. And Jenna should’ve known I didn’t remember, because she was right, I did obsess, and I certainly would’ve shared my obsession about this. But I couldn’t blame her for not wanting to deal with my neurosis either. So that just left me.
“I’m an idiot.”
“You’re not an idiot. This could’ve happened to anyone. It could’ve just as easily been me or Whitney who picked up the wrong glass.”
“But it wasn’t. It was me. I knew I should’ve stayed home last night. I can’t believe I let you two talk me into going. What the hell was I thinking?”
She grabbed me by the shoulders and forced me to face her. “This is exactly what I mean about you obsessing. It was an accident, Sam. And you’re right, something bad could’ve happened. But thankfully it didn’t. And we should all be grateful for that. So let’s just put it behind us and move on.”
“How can I move on when the guy it happened with is inside that tent expecting me to have sex with him?”
“The way I see it, you have two options. You can tell him the truth, have a good laugh about it, then sleep with him or not—your choice. I mean, it has been almost a year, Sam. And from what I remember, he was pretty hot.”
While the getting laid part was appealing, the rest was appalling. “And my second option?”
“Ignore him for the rest of the night, then never see him again.”
I chose option two.
Chapter 14
Jake
He thought about going after her but decided that would be a bad idea. Just like telling her the truth had been a bad idea. He should’ve listened to his head instead of his cock. It was his cock that always got him into trouble.
He was skirting around the edge of the dance floor making his way back to the bar when Rita accosted him. “So? Was I right?”
He couldn’t have been less in the mood for her nosiness. But he knew the sooner he told her what she wanted to hear, the sooner he’d get that much-needed Jack and Coke. “Yes, I came over to talk to Samantha.”
“I knew it! I knew you two would hit it off. As soon as she told me she didn’t believe in marriage, I knew she was the perfect woman for you. That and her boobs, of course. I know you’re a tits man; don’t even bother denying it.”
He didn’t waste time correcting her—every man was a tits man—it was the “perfect woman for you” that had caught his attention. “Wait a minute. Samantha’s the woman you texted me about?”
“Yes. I told you she’d be at the wedding.”
“You said she was a bridesmaid.”
“No, you assumed she was a bridesmaid. And she’s the maid of honor, which is basically the same thing except Whitney didn’t make her wear the hideous dress.” Rita nodded to the purple ruffled monstrosity she and the rest of the bridesmaids were cloaked in.
None of this made sense. “But I thought you were out with the bridesmaids last night.”
“I was. One of Whitney’s friends organized a bachelorette party.”
“And Samantha was there too?”
“Of course. She’s the bride’s sister. Where else would she be?”
“Wasn’t it at a male strip club?”
“Yes, I think it was called Bare or Bared or something with a B. I can look it up if you really want to know. Why?”
That couldn’t be right. He’d danced with her, talked to her, she’d given him a foot job. “So after the strip club you all went to Lux?”
“No, we all went home. Why? What happened at Lux? Did Whitney go to check up on Michael? Did she catch him doing something he shouldn’t have been? God, Mark never tells me anything!”
“No, nothing like that. I was confused, that’s all.” He loved Rita, but he did not love Rita’s big mouth. She was the last person he’d ever confide in. He walked away from her before she could start grilling him again. And he kept on walking until he was outside the tent. He needed to think.
He’d been positive Samantha had
been the woman he’d met at Lux last night. Sure, she looked different today—the fancy dress, the makeup, her hair pinned on top of her head—but he still would’ve sworn she was the same woman. And even the bride resembled the woman’s friend or sister or whoever she was who’d called him a pervert last night. And they had the same names, for christsake!
But Samantha had been at Bare with Rita, which was on the other side of town. It was possible Rita was mistaken and the rest of the bridesmaids had gone to Lux afterwards. But it was also possible he was confusing Samantha with someone else. He’d had a lot to drink last night too.
She must think I’m a total ass.
There was only one thing to do: Apologize. Profusely. He just had to find her first.
Chapter 15
Samantha
Jenna and I were headed back to the tent when I spotted Jake pacing outside the entrance. “That’s him,” I whispered, “the guy from last night.”
She squinted. “He’s even cuter than I remember. Are you sure you don’t want to sleep with him?”
“Positive. You know me, I’d just spend the whole time obsessing, and I’d never be able to have an orgasm.”
“Yeah, you’re probably right. Stick with your vibrator.”
Again with the vibrator? “How do you know about my vibrator?”
“Because you wouldn’t shut up about it the whole limo ride home!”
I was beginning to think they were right not to tell me what I’d done last night. The more I knew, the more I didn’t want to know.
“C’mon,” Jenna said and grabbed my hand, pulling me toward the tent.
“What if he sees me?”
“Let him see you. You’re going to walk back in there with your head held high.”
“But what if he tries to talk to me again? He thinks I want to sleep with him, remember?”
“Then you make it clear that you don’t. Be polite but dismissive.”
Jenna pulled me into the light and Jake immediately spotted me. His eager strides outpaced my reluctant ones, and we ended up face-to-face on the lawn.
He glanced at Jenna. “Have we met?”
“No,” she said and kept on walking.
He shook his head and turned back to me.
“I need to go too. I want to be there when they cut the cake.”
He peered into the tent, then back at me. “They haven’t brought it out yet. You’ve got a few minutes.”
“Well, I don’t want to be late.” I stepped around him.
He grabbed my arm, then let go of it just as quickly. “Sorry, I only wanted to apologize.”
“By accosting me?” He hadn’t hurt me, but still…
“I…” He shook his head. “I’ve totally mucked this up. From start to finish. You must think I’m a complete jackass.”
I didn’t. Looking at it from his perspective, his actions made perfect sense. He thought I was an easy lay. If I were in his shoes, I probably would’ve done the same. But I was in my shoes—or more literally, my bare feet—so I stayed silent.
“Anyway, I just wanted to say I’m sorry. I thought you were the woman I met last night, but obviously I was mistaken.”
Was this some sort of game? Of course I was the woman he’d met last night. I’d had my feet in his lap, for God’s sake, and now he didn’t even remember me? He really was a jackass. “Apology accepted,” I said and started walking.
“Don’t go.” He kept his hands to himself this time but jumped in front of me, effectively blocking my way. “I thought we could start over.” He held his hand out. “Hi, I’m Jake Jensen, and I would love to buy you a drink.”
With Jenna’s words still ringing in my ears, I said, “I’m not thirsty,” and walked away with my head held high.
“Do you think that was too bitchy of me?” I asked Jenna and Jeffrey on the drive from the Solomons’ beach house to the hotel where the entire bridal party was spending the night. They’d decided to sleep there too because they’d both been drinking.
“A little,” Jeffrey said, followed by Jenna’s “Not in the least.”
“So that’s a maybe?”
“The guy apologized,” Jeffrey said. “You should’ve let him buy you a drink.”
“There was no buying,” Jenna said. “The drinks were free.”
“Maybe he wasn’t talking about tonight,” Jeffrey replied. “Or maybe he wanted to take her out after the wedding.”
“Or maybe he’s a jerk looking for an easy lay and she’s better off without him.”
“And maybe you should stop making snap judgments about people.”
“And maybe you should just admit when you’re wrong.”
There was a reason those two had broken up. Too bad they never remembered what it was until it was too late. I listened to them bicker for the rest of the short ride and jumped out of the car as soon as Jeffrey pulled into the hotel parking lot. I wasn’t surprised when Jenna knocked on my door twenty minutes later.
“Want company?” she asked.
“I left the vibrator at home, so sure, come on in.”
She kicked off her shoes and bounced on my king-size bed. “Why are men so stupid?”
“I’m going to assume that’s a rhetorical question,” I said as I turned the lock on the deadbolt.
She shook her head. “I should’ve brought Tanner. At least he knows what to do with his mouth, and it doesn’t involve arguing with me,” she added as if I needed clarification. “I mean, all Jeffrey had to do to get laid tonight was apologize. Is that so hard?”
I nodded and shoved another eight-dollar mini-bar M&M into my mouth. I had no idea why I was eating them. I wasn’t even hungry. Frustration, I supposed.
Jenna railed against Jeffrey for another few minutes, then grabbed the bag of candy from my hand. “All right, enough about me,” she said through a mouthful of chocolate. “What about this Jake guy?”
“What about him? I blew him off.”
“Do you really think he thinks you weren’t the girl from last night? Or was he just screwing with your head?”
I’d been wondering/obsessing about that too. “I can’t decide. At first I thought he was messing with me. But what’s the upside? Plus, the apology seemed genuine.”
“The guy was all over you at the club. You’d think he’d remember your face.”
“You’d think.”
She motioned for me to unzip her dress, which I did, and she slipped under the covers in her bra and panties.
“It doesn’t make sense,” she continued. “One minute he’s sure you’re the girl who wants to fuck his brains out, and the next he’s all, ‘My bad, must’ve been some other bimbo.’”
“I don’t understand it either,” I said, crawling under the covers on the opposite side of the bed. “But Rita saw us talking.” She’d openly stared at us from the dance floor. “Maybe she said something to him.”
“No doubt she’ll be at the brunch tomorrow. You can ask her then.”
Chapter 16
Jake
His phone pinged as he pulled into his garage parking space. Rita. Again.
Where are you? The brunch is almost over.
He texted back: Home. Skipped brunch. He knew Samantha would be there, and he wanted to avoid her. Yes, he’d acted like a jerk last night. But it was an honest mistake, and he’d apologized. What more did she want from him?
You’ll wish you hadn’t. Samantha wanted to hear ALL about you.
It was easier to play along than to explain. You lied, I assume.
Of course. I wanted her to like you.
And what makes you think I like her?
I have eyes.
Then you need glasses.
WHY??? She’s the woman of your dreams.
My nightmares.
Physically, Rita was right. He preferred a woman with curves, and Samantha had those in abundance. But otherwise she couldn’t be more wrong. Samantha was obviously high maintenance, and he avoided that type at all costs.
> What he needed now was a distraction—and work was perfect for that. He spent the rest of the afternoon poring over spreadsheets and earnings reports. His mind wandered to Samantha a few times—it was one thing to have a double, but a double with the same name?—but by the time his alarm rang on Monday morning, she’d slipped out of his consciousness.
He strode into the Hotel Bel Air freshly showered, shaved, and ready for the day. He stopped at the hostess stand, but before the woman could ask his name, Selena Chase was waving him over to her table on the shady side of the patio. She was sitting with a woman whose back was toward him. The divorce lawyer, he presumed.
He strode over to their table, and Selena stood up and kissed him on both cheeks, as was her custom. He turned to the other woman, who was still seated, with his hand outstretched.
“Jake—”
No, it couldn’t be. Not again.
Chapter 17
Samantha
“Jensen,” I said as I shook Jake’s hand. Was this our third introduction or our fourth? I’d lost count.
Selena glanced from Jake to me. “Do you two know each other?”
After listening to Rita alternately rant (“total player!”) and rave (“but deep down he’s a good person”) about Jake at the brunch yesterday, I felt like I knew him. And I was now convinced that his apology had been sincere since Rita mentioned that she’d told Jake that we’d all gone home after the strip club on Friday night (and I didn’t correct her). So Jake really did believe I wasn’t the same woman who’d thrown herself (or at least her feet) at him at Lux; he just thought I was the bitch who’d snubbed him at the wedding. But that was okay. After hearing about some of his exploits from Rita (“three nights, three different women”), I decided I was no longer interested.
“We’ve met,” I said as I shook Jake’s hand. “Nice to see you again.”
“Likewise,” he said, which I knew was a lie, just as my sentiment had been. He looked as unhappy to see me this morning as I was to see him.
Jake spent the next forty minutes alternating between scowling at me and ignoring me as I peppered Selena with questions about her marriage—how long she and her husband had been married, how they divvied up their income and household responsibilities, the property they each owned. Jake occasionally interjected. Selena had obviously been his client for a long time, and he seemed very protective of her. Once I had all the facts, I gave her my best guess as to what I thought her husband might ask for if and when she filed for divorce, and what she might have to pay in spousal support, being careful not to divulge any legal strategy since Jake’s presence compromised attorney-client privilege. Thankfully they had no children, so Selena wouldn’t be on the hook for child support too.