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Jessie
“Stupid, idiotic, moronic son of a bitch!”
“You know that ‘stupid,’ ‘idiotic,’ and ‘moronic’ all mean basically the same thing, right?” My best friend, Chelsey, grins at me.
I glare at her, deleting the text message from my ex-boyfriend. “I know that, but Dax is worthy of all three. It’s, like, an extra-strong usage.”
“Or you could just say ‘fucking son of a bitch.’ ”
“We don’t all have your potty mouth.” I roll my eyes as she grins wider. She’s proud of that fact. Has been for years. “I wish he’d leave me alone. It’s been weeks. Why is he suddenly interested in apologizing?”
“His new toy probably got grounded.” She shrugs and swings her legs off my bed, sitting up. “You know what you need?”
“Sex?”
“Sex is always needed,” she laughs. “No. You need a girls’ night. We’ll go out tonight.”
I purse my lips.
“Oh, hell no. We haven’t been out since that night. And, as your best friend, it is my duty to inform you that you’ve avoided it long enough, and now you gotta pull on your big girl panties and buck the heck up before I drag you kicking and screaming to party.” She stands and clamps her hand over my mouth when I open it to argue. “And no, getting another tattoo is not an acceptable way to deal with your heartbreak.”
“Imotartken,” I say against her palm.
Chelsey pulls her hand away, grimaces, and wipes her palm on my shirt. “Say what now?”
“I’m not heartbroken,” I sigh. Not anymore, at least. That ship sailed a couple of weeks ago. “I just don’t want to party. I want to chill out at home and watch some trashy TV and drink cosmos and berate my gut because I haven’t been to the gym for, like, two weeks.”
“Okay, you win.” She holds her hands up on either side of her head and backs toward my bedroom door. “But you know Dirty B. just got back from tour, right? Like, this morning?”
I stare at her.
“And I saw Saskia waiting by their house on my way to work.” She lifts her eyebrows, and I swallow my groan.
Damn, if they’re back, my sixteen-year-old Dirty B.–obsessed little sister is going to drive me crazy.
“When do I need to be ready by?”
“That’s my girl.” Chelsey grins and tucks her dark hair behind her ear. “Two hours. Not a minute later.”
“How about a minute earlier?”
“I will kick your ass, you sassy bitch.”
“Love you!” I laugh after her as she flounces downstairs. I kick my bedroom door shut and grab my phone from the vintage-style dresser in the corner. As I suspected, one message flashes onscreen, and I open it, against my better judgment.
Although, it’s rather evident that my better judgment has been on vacation since I met Dax Michaels. Or, the Cheating Butthole, as I dubbed him within thirty minutes of finding him with his hand down some other girl’s pants.
Flicking the bean. Rubbing the lamp.
Jess, please stop ignoring me.
My name is JESSIE, I fire back. Or did you lose your brain when you got ‘caught in the moment’ too?
Jessie. Come on, babe.
My fist will ‘babe’ your nose if you keep bugging me. Swear to God, Dax. Screw you. I tap Send a little too vigorously and throw my phone onto my bed. It bounces, and I wince when it narrowly misses the wall.
I think my aim got lost with my better judgment.
I stop in front of the mirror before I open my closet to find a dress for tonight. I really wasn’t lying when I told Chelsey about the little paunch at the bottom of my stomach. Too many cosmos and not enough treadmill has me looking permanently bloated since my breakup.
Note to self: get ass to gym tomorrow.
The bright red snapdragon curving over my elbow catches my eye as I turn, and I hold my arm in front of my face to assess the newest addition to the “bunch of flowers on my arm,” as my dad calls it. It doesn’t stand out particularly, as almost all the flowers are different colors, but it’s the brightest to me right now.
Snapdragon: graciousness and strength.
For the gracious way I refused to kick and scream at finding my boyfriend of two years playing ping-pong with someone else’s clit, and for the strength I needed to move on.
It sits perfectly, surrounded by its bed of roses, a calla lily, a blue iris, a sunflower, and a daisy. Each one with its own meaning and reason for being so carefully and intricately inked on my skin.
I bend my arm and straighten it, making the snapdragon “snap.” My lips curve as I do it for a second and a third time, and I’m thankful I made the decision to avoid my elbow when I got my calla lily done six months ago. The way the snapdragon opens and closes whenever I move my arm is a constant source of amusement.
A girl’s gotta get her kicks where she can, after all.
My phone buzzes on the bed, and I ignore it. It’ll either be Dax or Saskia, and I have no desire to talk to either of them right now. Hell, I have no desire to do anything other than climb into bed with a bowl of popcorn and binge on Netflix.
And I wonder why I’ve put on a few pounds. Really, Jessie, sort yourself out.
Maybe Chelsey is right. Maybe I do need a big night out.
When my phone buzzes for the third time, I know it won’t be my ex or my sister. Only my best friend calls me that much without pausing for breath.
I grab my phone, and before I’ve even had a chance to say “hello?” she spits out, “Leila and Sofie are in! And Ella. Tate’s girlfriend. See you soon!”
The line goes dead.
I blink. For a girl who has a serious issue with rock stars, she’s way too happy to hang out with their sister and girlfriends.
My bedroom door bursts open just as I pull a black bodycon dress from the closet. “Oh my God, Jessie! Guess what!”
I somehow manage to hold in my groan. “I don’t know, Saskia. What?”
“They saw me. All of them! And Kye waved! Right at me!”
Good grief. She’s almost hyperventilating. “You need a paper bag or something? A wet rag on your forehead? An ice bucket over your head?”
“No! Ugh! You just don’t get it!” She turns around, her blond hair flying, and she slams my bedroom door behind her.
“What it’s like to be sixteen and experiencing unrequited love?” I mutter. “No, I absolutely have no idea what that’s like.” I roll my eyes and hang the dress over the door.
I’m almost certain I wasn’t that crazy when I was sixteen—a whole eight years ago.
But I’m definitely certain I’m gonna need to pair some Spanx with this dress. Here’s hoping I don’t get laid tonight.
And there’s a sentence I never thought I’d say.
Can you imagine that, really? Oh, hi. Excuse me while I slip sexily out of my organ-crushing panties.
Yeah. Not in this life.
Still, I pull open my drawer and extract a pair of nude Spanx. They’re practically a machine, and I wonder if I can even get into them alone. It’s been a while since I last wore them, so maybe my extra pounds went to my butt. Or my thighs. And if that’s the case, this evil waistband isn’t getting anywhere near my stomach.
I lay them on the bed and look at them for a moment. Hell, I could try them on, but once I get them on, I’m not taking them off. Shower first, then.