Page 2 of Love By a Landslide

Be there in 20. Next round’s on me.

She sent him a thumbs-up emoji, too relieved to be snarky.

“Well?” Tasha sneered, having zero reservations about lacing her words with snark. The willowy woman draped herself against Victor, the usual bored expression frozen across her beautiful yet severe features. If Victor’s girlfriend was capable of smiling, Lucy had never witnessed it, and a cheery expression would no doubt be a startling contrast to her typical pinched irritation.

“He’ll be here in twenty minutes,” she called back over the pulse, flashing her phone screen in their direction as further assurance that Brodan’s friends hadn’t wasted an evening attending Lucy’s celebration only to be stood up by the person theyactuallywanted to see.

Tasha whispered something into Victor’s ear. He nodded and stood. “We’re going to grab the next round.”

“Thanks, guys,” Lucy shouted, lifting the half-full drinkshe’d been nursing since arriving at the crowded drag venue. She cringed as the caustic tang of vodka and energy drink coated her mouth and rushed to add, “Can you make mine a beer, IPA, please?”

The couple, dressed so fashionably that they put Lucy’s basic black tank top and snug jeans to shame, turned dismissively and strolled toward the bar.

They can stay there for all I care.

She banged her glass onto the table, inadvertently splashing a little of the high-octane gasoline over the rim and onto her fingers. “Shit,” she mumbled, accepting a small stack of napkins from a passing cocktail server. She smiled bleakly. “Thanks.”

Lucy pointlessly dabbed at her hands and then the table, the flimsy napkins all but disintegrating from the gluey combination of glitter and cheap cocktail mixer. She abandoned her efforts and accepted the sticky fate of her glass, just as the final peppy bars of “Call Me Maybe” by Carly Rae Jepsen thundered to a close. Confetti and applause coated the large room in equal measure. A statuesque drag queen—whom Lucy had the fortune of calling her best friend for the past decade—flapped her hands, smiling and cooing her thanks into the crowd.

“You’re too kind. Please stop. Just kidding, MORE applause! Thank you, thank you!” Wrapped in a neon pink latex gown, Dirty O’Feelya wore a chocolate brown wig that added close to ten inches to the queen’s already staggering height. She blew kisses and gestured to the backup dancers to share in the applause. “Thanks, boys! All right children, Mama needs to take a little break and wet her whistle. I’m leaving you in the ever-capable hands of DJ Yum. Andboy, is he ever. Let’s give it up and shower him with love!”

The spotlight faded as Dirty O’Feelya descended the stage into the crowd, periodically stopping to accept complimentsand pose for selfies with her adoring fans. Upbeat music piped through the speakers but at a blessedly more subdued volume.

“La La Lucy!” the drag queen sang as she approached. “Happy birthday, girl! I am so glad you made it.” Then, after glancing around the little bistro table and grinning wickedly, added, “And about 175 pounds of deadweight lighter, it appears. Does this mean—”

“Don’t go getting your hopes up,” Lucy interrupted, rolling her eyes. “Brodaniscoming. He just had to finish some work stuff. He says hello and that he hopes you break a leg.”

“Oh, the little peach, I amsurehe does.”

Lucy was under no delusion that her best friend and her boyfriend liked each other. At best, they pretended to tolerate the other’s presence for her sake. But the time spent with both of them at once had become so rare that neither had to put on much of a show.

Dirty O’Feelya plucked Lucy’s glass off the table with two careful fingers and sniffed. “What in the ever-loving hell are you drinking? It’s your birthday; you should be drinking expensive bourbon.” Placing the offending beverage back on the table, she snatched a stray napkin and dramatically wiped the gooey remnants from her skin, paying extra attention to her precariously long press-on nails.

“It’s a vodka and some kind of energy drink.” Lucy leaned in, continuing quietly. “I didn’t pick the last round.” She gestured to the stylish couple standing at the bar.

Her friend leaned in conspiratorially and with a teasing voice said, “Clearly.” She reached out and gently squeezed Lucy’s shoulder. “Where is everyone? I thought the girls were coming.”

“They canceled this afternoon,” Lucy explained. “Lydia had food poisoning and Kylie couldn’t get anyone to cover her shift; her boss needed her to serve at a last-minute banquet orsomething.”

Dirty O’Feelya tsked. “Sounds like they blew you off, Luce.”

“What? No.” Her friends would have made it if they'd been able; Lucy was sure of that. She could admit that she hadn’t made much effort to hang out with only the girls in quite a while. Typically, she’d just invite them out when she spent time with Brodan and his crew—to which they’d been politely declining more and more frequently. But birthdays? They were sacred in her tight-knit little group. And this was her thirtieth! They wouldn’t have missed it on purpose. “Both of their reasons seemed genuine.”

“An easy feat over a text message.” Her glossy, pity-filled pout and shoulder squeeze made Lucy’s stomach sink.

Are they avoiding me?

“You know I would have joined you if I weren’t already filling in for one of my sisters tonight, but I have bills to pay. Dirty O’ is a picky bitch, and ostrich feathers aren’t cheap.”

“You look gorgeous. Did I forget to mention?”

“You did, but I’ll let it slide. What else is new?”

Lucy’s smile returned. She’d been dying to tell her friend about the upcoming trip she’d scheduled for June but hadn’t had the opportunity.

“Brodan and I have a romantic getaway planned next month. We’re renting a room in Leavenworth. It’s this cute little Bavarian town—pretzels, beer, bratwurst.”

“You had me at bratwurst!” The queen threw back her head and barked out a laugh.

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