Page 81 of Running from Drac
Pippa hands me another shot, her manicured nails brushing mine. “Don’t eventhinkabout getting sentimental on us, Amber. You’re about to marry a literal dreamboat. No looking back.”
But my eyes betray me, dropping to the scuffed rim of my glass. “I’m not sentimental,” I say, voice more defensive than intended. “I just keep thinking… we were broken up foroneday and he still managed to sleep with someone else. Like it didn’t even take him a week.”
Poppy winces. “Amber…”
“No, it’s fine,” I say quickly, lifting my next shot in a half-assed toast. “I’m not mad. I just can’t stop thinking about it. I know I say I don’t care who it was, but I kinda do. When I cheated on him, I was a wreck. I couldn’t eat or even think straight. And he…” I pause, watching the tequila tremble in my glass. “He got laid hours after breaking up with me.
“Men cope differently,” Mallory offers, shrugging. “And to be fair, you weren’t exactly innocent either.”
I glance sideways at her. “I know. This just feels different, I guess. I know I’m not an angel, but still. Something feels off.”
“You need another shot,” Pippa interrupts, handing me another glass. “Stop thinking about what happened in the past and start thinking about your future. You love Eddie, don’t you?”
I nod, swallowing the lump forming in my throat before chasing it with another shot. The warmth floods my stomach and dulls the ache. “More than anything.”
“See, that’s all that matters. It doesn’t matter what we fucking think; all that matters is that you’re happy.” Her tone is a mixture of overly happy and a bit condescending. One minute she’s anti-Eddie. Now she’s all gung-ho. What the fuck?
“I’m over it,” I lie, laughing a little too loud. “You’re right. He’s mine now. We’re getting married…and that girl? She doesn’t matter. If anything, that bitch got a taste of my sloppy seconds.”
“Cheers to that,” Poppy says. She and Mallory both look ecstatic, and ready for the night to commence. It’s Pippa that’s making me nervous. The way she looks at me sometimes, like she knows who Eddie slept with the night we broke up.
“Why do you keep looking at me like that every time I bring up the girl he slept with? Do you know who it was?”
Pippa quickly shakes her head. “Of course not, why would I?”
“Because you’re friends with Eddie too,” Poppy interjects. “It only makes sense that you would know.” Poppy pushes up her glasses, staring at her sister attentively.
Pippa brushes it off, smiling way too widely. “Come on, if I knew what slut slept with Eddie that night, I would tell you, wouldn’t I? Why does it matter? You were broken up.”
“True,” I agree. “But it still sucks.”
“The world sucks, Amber. Just drop it, okay? Whoever the girl was doesn’t matter. Not tonight. Not when we still have a shit ton of festivities planned.” She pulls me out onto the dance floor just as one of our favorite songs blasts from the speakers. “Have fun tonight and stop thinking about Eddie! You’re single tonight. Act like it!”
I lose track of how many drinks they’ve given me. My head is in that funny fuzzy stage. I’m still coherent, but there’s a shaky line between drunk and sober, and I crossed it at least three drinks ago.
“Are you having fun?” Poppy shouts over the music.
“A blast!” Looking around, I scan the club for Pippa. “Hey, where’s Pippa?”
“I think she’s at the bar getting more drinks,” Mallory says, hip-checking me with her sweet dance moves.
Laughing, I get lost in the beat, allowing the pulse to vibrate my blood and keep me moving. Mid sway, I see Pippa at the bar, leaning over our drinks. Her back is to me, shoulders slightly hunched, looking like she’s up to something. People block my view, but when she straightens and turns toward me, the way she grins makes my stomach curl. Why is she smiling at me like that?
Alcohol is doing backstrokes in my brain, the fog curling around me as she makes her way through the crowd, four shots in hand.
“You good?” Pippa asks, handing me a drink.
I hesitate before taking it, watching the liquid shift, not knowing if I should take another shot. “Yeah… just getting way too drunk.”
“Good,” she giggles. “You’re supposed to be.”
The next hour is a blur of neon lights, pounding music, and blurry photos taken in front of slot machines. We pile into a hotel elevator, and I’m giggling so hard I almost fall intoa tourist couple trying to find the buffet. Poppy holds me up while Mallory chats up a group of rowdy guys in rugby shirts.
“We’re not done yet,” Pippa purrs as the elevator dings to the top floor. “I have a surprise.”
The door opens to reveal a stage; the place crowded with women. Every single one of them is hooting and hollering to bring out the men, and that’s when I realize we’re at a male dance revue.
“Oh my god,” I burst out, clapping. “You did not take me to a strip show.”
