Page 50 of Not a Perfect Save

Jake stands. “Time to pull out thebigguns.” He cracks his knuckles.

I don’t even want to guess what’s going to come out of his mouth next.

“You need the grand gesture.” He says with authority.

“Huh?” I grunt.

“Grand gesture. Something to demonstrate yourlurrve,”he says. “Think holding a boombox over your head, jumping on a plane and serenading her, putting her on a floating door from a sinking ship even though there’s enough fucking space for the both of you.” Jake scowls at that last one.

“How do you know this?” I ask.

“Dude. I have five sisters.” He holds out his hand, fingers starfished. “Five. You questioning me?”

He has a point.

“So, what? Send her flowers? I can do that.” I’m already reaching for my phone.

Logan shakes his head. “Are you kidding? Even I know that’s an amateur move.”

“What then?”

“What does she want?” says Jake, the newly minted in-house love guru for the New York Titans. “Thinkbig.”

“Skywriting?” I say doubtfully.

“Bigger.”

An idea strikes me. So perfect. So perfectly horrible.

Chapter Thirty-Two

ELLA

Silver ice bucketsstrategically placed around the living area of this hotel suite ensure that no one is more than an arm’s length from booze. Unfortunately, the alcohol selection itself is substandard—pink champagne, cranberry juice and vodka, some dainty daiquiri thing—all selected to match the color scheme of the bachelorette party. What does a girl have to do for a Scotch around here?Should’ve brought a flask.

So goes the fifth circle of hell: Bachelorette Party.

I’m a thorn among the roses, literally. In a black dress of my own design while everyone else is in shades of red and rose, per the ‘suggested’ attire. Hannah is not pleased. My one concession is the sash screaming, ‘Bride Tribe’. And only because Celeste insisted. It was either take it or choke her with the pink and white streamers laced around the room. Meanwhile, Hannah is in a white satin and tulle micro-dress that’s more wedding night than day. A crystal-encrusted tiara sits atop her blond hair.

The rest of the Barbie Brigade is here in full force tonight, bodies trim and toned compliments of Pilates and Soul Cycle and Botox.

But I know what’s underneath.

Or do I? All week, words hammered at my skull. Possibly cracking it open just the tiniest bit, letting a little sliver of truth slip through. Many of Hannah’s friends aren’t all that bad. Some have always been really nice.

What was it Connor said? That I was all about labels, implying I was judgy.

A little, niggling voice in my head whispers that maybe he has a point. Guilt washes over me.

Fine. So I’m judgy.

Settling myself in one corner, I attempt to ignore the curious looks that come my way. Most of the women here saw the spectacle I made of myself with Connor that first evening. Wonder how desperate they thought I was then?

I take a long draw of my pink drink. But was Connor right about the rest of it? What else did he say? Oh, that I was hiding away. Nope. Not me. He has no idea what it’s taking to sit here on my own. In plain sight and sticking out like a broken nail in my black dress.

The large-screen TV shuffles through a slideshow of Hannah in some very risqué poses. A sexy photo shoot, compliments of one of the bridesmaids. I shudder at the thought of her sending a selection to Hank. For his Spank Bank. I snort at the rhyme and get a few more covert glances.

The music goes back and forth between 80’s, 90’s, and whatever is popular on TikTok. When Madonna’s “Like a Virgin” comes on, the girls dance around Hannah as she croons into a pink dildo. Obviously a nostalgic moment.

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