Page 95 of Undone

Me:I’m so scared. I’m shaking. More (eye rolls).

Smith:You should be. The things I’m gonna do to you girl—would make the hardest hooker blush.

I put my phone away with heated cheeks, feeling my nipples peak in my bra. God, that man can be an animal in bed.

And I liked it.

More than liked it.

He conquered me, while making me feel as if I hold some sort of mystical power over him. Maybe someday, we can find our way back, but he’ll need to kiss my ass first.Literally and figurativelybecause I’m not the blindsided, star-struck girl I was that late summer afternoon anymore. Every day that I wake up by myself, I grow stronger.

“I’m so glad I came.”

“Me too.”

“I haven’t had this much fun in years.”

“Are you coming clubbing later?”

“I wouldn’t miss it.”

I hand Sally another gin and tonic and sip my wine. Her niece sobbed when she saw the nursery and gave me unlimited use of the indoor pool and spa facilities she is opening in the spring; as long as I paint another mural in the Inn’s dining room.

Of course, I agreed.

Slowly, but surely, I’m making my own group of friends without Dev or Creed. I’m making my own mark on my new world and I’m climbing out of the dump I’ve been living in.

The exhibit tonight is interesting. Carl Quinn uses junk. Literal junk and fuses different materials he finds in junkyards into art and sells it for thousands. Sally elbows me in the side snickering, “He’s selling garbage for thousands? What crap.”

While I look at his work differently.

Art isn’t black and white.

It’s taking nothing and creating something.

Poring time and love into your craft. I admire him for that. I close my notebook. “I’m going to make the end of the year Senior essay about his work. I’m interested in what my students will make of it.”

Sally snorts into her empty glass.

“You ready?” Kathryn asks, as she buttons up her coat.

“Just a sec.” I swig the rest of my wine and put the empty glass down, looking forward to going out. Kathryn is big in the art world here and has so many friends. It was easy for her to get us on the VIP list for a brand-new club,Black Velvet,that opened last night. We have a “couch” or something and our own waitress. I haven’t been out on a casual night with friends since my Chicago days—I’m not counting the crazy wedding weekend.

Late winter still clings to the California air as we step out and into an Uber. The line to the club reaches around blocks. I shake my head as we pass a group of giggling girls, laughing, and falling on each other. That used to be me and Dev.

But those days are gone.

And I’m okay with it, but nostalgia punches me in the gut.

And it hurts.

The two of us will always be close, but Rog is between us now. Being things to her that a best friend just simply can’t.

“We’ve stepped back in time.”

Bemused, I look up at the enormous crystal chandelier hanging in the middle of the room. The club has five floors, each with a balcony looking down on the one beneath. Huge black velvet drapes hang from every doorway on the first floor and are tied back by golden velvet rope.

“Is this an underground sex club?” I hiss under my breath.

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