Page 52 of All Twerk, No Play

After her rant about Alex, I thought she had plenty of bitters to go around. I lifted the vermouth, opening the lid easily, and she frowned in annoyance.

"My grandfather has a Manhattan named after him, you know," she said, her voice fond. "He was so proud when I drank it with him at The Alder. Told me bourbon put hair on my chest."

"You want hair on your chest?" I asked.

"Of course not." Her frown deepened.

"I'll finish your drink," I said, pointing towards her couch. “Put your feet up, you deserve a break.” I poured a glass of water and followed her to the couch, where she glared out the French doors.

I placed the water on her side table then sat down on her coffee table to get to her height, my jeans brushing her wool pants. “What happened?”

“None of your business,” she said crisply, still staring at the night sky.

“It wasn’t. But I got called to check on you, so it is now. What happened?”

I gently put my thumb on her jaw to turn her face. She tried to tug away from my gentle grasp, but I maintained the hold on her chin. Her eyes were storm clouds, glistening with the weight of accumulating tears.

“Go ahead,” I whispered in my softest voice. “You can tell me.”

“I lost it all,” she breathed, barely above a whisper, gazing blankly over my shoulder at an empty wall. “Forbes, Fortune, Bloomberg … all gone. We were supposed to be a power couple. The next Regina and Arthur.”

“Like Beyonce and Jay-Z? Kim and Kanye?”

Her brow furrowed, fists gripping the armrest. “But he’s staying here in this second rate city.” She shook her chin out of my grip, her skull thumping against the wall behind her couch. “I wanted to show them all I could do it without their money and their name … and now I lost it all.”

Her lower lip trembled, swallowing heavily.

“And he gets everything he fucking wants. The girl, the house, the kid … he’s throwing away his success for that white picket fence,” she muttered. Her head finally tilted to me, a mean smile on her face. “And what did he do to deserve it? Nothing. Just born with a pretty face and a dick, but that’s all he needs.”

I coughed to cover my surprise that a woman born with a silver spoon in her mouth would criticize Alex’s privilege…but she wasn’t sober enough to handle a larger discussion so I simply said, “The white skin and zip code didn’t hurt either.”

She nodded, those pink eyes rimming again with unshed tears. “And now, when we’re so close, he just … he fucking quits on my dream.”

I didn’t know what to say. I was a one-night guy for a reason: I could get women off but I didn’t want them to get attached. I kept things low-commitment because I didn’t need anybody else relying on me. I had enough responsibility with maintaining the building and sending home money for Mama’s rent and Luisa’s tuition.

But thinking of my family sparked an idea. If some douchebag broke Adriana’s heart and flaunted his engagement, I knew what I would offer her.

I gently nudged Victoria’s leg. “You wanna punch me?”

Her head tilted like a confused dog. “What?”

“If I were you, I’d want to punch Alex’s smug face. I mean, I pretty much always have to stifle that urge,” I said, and her lips pursed. “But he’s not here. So want to punch me instead?”

Her drunk eyes went glassy, then she muttered, “Oh my god you’re serious.”

“Totally serious,” I said. Adriana would want to punch me, and her right hook could do some damage. But Luisa, she would want … “It’s either you punch me or I hug you.”

She crossed her arms. “I’m not going to punch you.”

“I won’t even dodge it. Come on, break my nose,” I stood up and slid her coffee table aside to make room for a boxing ring, spreading my arms wide to prove I wouldn’t block. Her mouth tilted in repressed amusement.

“Ok, fine. You made your choice.” I reached for her hands to pull her to standing. She didn’t resist, tilting into my embrace much easier than I expected, hands tucked into my chest as I wrapped my arms around her.

When she spoke again, it was muffled into my chest. “My dad liked Alex. Even Beverly couldn’t find fault with him, and she could criticize Mother Theresa.”

“Well she obviously didn’t look close enough, because he’s an asshole,” I said, wondering who the hell Beverly was. “And an idiot to let you go.”

She huffed a warm laugh into my beard. “You sound like Nick. He always told me I could do better. You’d like Nick,” she exhaled softly. Her voice cracked, hands fisting in my shirt. “I miss Nick so much.”

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