Page 40 of Stud

Thankfully, Rachel was in town. I’d be able to seek oblivion tonight while drinking fruity cocktails with my friends. I’d made plans to take Sherise dress shopping tomorrow. Felipe’s wife, Gabriella, was on the books for Sunday. She’d need easy dresses and comfortable yet stylish shoes for their Italy trip. I had several stores lined up.

That left today. I had no clients booked. No sample sales were in need of my perusal, and I couldn’t afford my own shopping until things turned around for my folks. Normally, I’d head to the Habitat site. Volunteering had become my safe haven, a place to release my turmoil through manual labor. But it was Friday. Basic reconnaissance had informed me that Anton Bickley would be at the build on Fridays.

My arch nemesis was a school teacher now. He’d be at the site weekly, guiding his co-op students through the paces. I should have used the intel to head over and apologize to him for my awful stunt, but when I thought about how terrified I’d been in that walk-in fridge, how disgusting it had been to stick my hand in a maggot-filled bucket, my temper would flare. I was sick about the cockroach prank. I was angry about Anton’s bullying.

I wasn’t sure which emotion would rule me when I finally faced him.

I chose a hike instead. The fresh air cleared my mind, but not my Owen Restlessness. I checked my phone incessantly afterward, hoping Owen would send a flirty text, to no avail. I also creeped him on Facebook, but the mysterious man didn’t have an account. My wariness increased. People with secrets avoided social media, like my ex had. But Owen wasn’t Brandon, and I was letting my past affect my present.

Hanging out with Gwen and Rachel would be the distraction I needed.

Unfortunately, when I met them at the given address and realized where they were taking me, I nearly left. “Is this your idea of a joke? What kind of club needs an elevator?”

“A new swanky one,” Gwen said. “Don’t worry. I’ll hold your hand.”

“You’d be better off holding a barf bucket.”

She tapped the toe of her turquoise stiletto, unimpressed, while we waited for Rachel to get off her cell. The girls knew I disliked confined spaces. They knew I’d be green by the time we reached the top floor. They also knew I’d recover. Checking out a new hot spot trumped my claustrophobia. “They better sell margaritas by the pitcher.”

Gwen petted my hair. “I’ll buy the first round. And we’re doing you a favor. You can’t spend your life avoiding your fears.”

Except avoiding the Habitat build today proved I could.

Rachel hurried over, jamming her phone into her overflowing purse. “Sorry. Mother drama. She thinks my niece might have meningitis because the little peanut coughed.” She planted her hands on her slim hips and exhaled.

I made the sign of the cross over my chest. “Let’s get in that moving coffin and get my torture over with.”

When the elevator doors opened on the thirty-eighth floor, sweat had gathered in my cleavage. My skin was likely more gray than blush. My lungs had shrunk to pea-sized and swallowing was an effort. Dizzy, I stepped into the bar. The massive windows overlooking San Francisco swayed, but the room was stunning. A spray of tiny lights exploded from the ceiling, mimicking the galaxy of city lights expanding across the night sky. The elevator sucked, but the view and ambiance were worth it.

Gwen slapped my back. “See? Piece of cake.”

Said the girl who jumped off cliffs. “There should be a margarita in my hand.”

Two and a half margaritas later, my Anton quandary and Owen Restlessness still lingered, but I maintained my game face. We chatted with Rachel about school and Jimmy and Napa Valley. Gwen regaled us with tales of rock climbing and bungee jumping that had me green again. We also tutted over her, making sure she was managing her mother’s illness all right.

We laughed and commiserated at our high-top table. I managed to fly under the radar until Gwen said, “How did everything work out with your latest gay crush? You two besties yet?”

That had Rachel perking up. “Please don’t tell me I missed another one.”

I said, “Nope,” and Gwen crowed, “Yep!”

Traitor.

Rachel sighed into her Chardonnay. “Honestly, the only crappy thing about living in Napa is missing all the little stuff. I need details.”

They mirrored each other, chins in hands, waiting on me. They were about to get more than they bargained for. “That story is a doozy, but I need another drink before I open the vault.” I drained margarita number three.

Rachel frowned at her almost-empty glass. “I’m not sure I should. Reckless Rachel hasn’t been out for a while. I’m like the Hulk. Days Without Incident: Two Hundred and Twenty-five.”

Except Reckless Rachel was a blast. Give my sweet friend four glasses of wine, and her inhibitions often vanished. Case in point: the Dildo Incident. If it weren’t for Reckless Rachel dragging us into a sex shop, making a fool of herself, then running through the street with a dildo while screaming, “I have a penis!” I wouldn’t have found Blue Bunny.

I fluttered my Lancôme lashes at her. “I rode the elevator. Drink up, girly.”

Three men in slacks and button-downs, who had been circling us like sharks, finally moved in for the kill. The tallest led the way. “How about we treat you ladies to that round?”

I didn’t blame them for hitting on us. I could strut through a Sex and the City rerun in my fluffy tulle skirt and pink strapless top as Carrie’s stunt double. Rachel’s red dress flaunted her tanned skin and freckles. Gwen was her usual rumpled-yet-styled self in a loose off-the-shoulder top and skin-tight black pants. Guys assumed we got dolled up to impress them. So adorably naïve. They’d never understand that women often dressed for women. I had to look my best for my girls.

Clueless, these men lingered. All three were fit and handsome. Business types with fancy watches, Crest Whitestrip teeth, and superhero jaws. Before Owen, I’d have flipped my hair and angled my cleavage their way. Before Owen, I’d have accepted their flirtatious offer. After Owen, I said, “Thanks but no thanks.”