Page 55 of Last First Love
All that's left for me now is to come up with an apology that I can give her before the wedding.
A good one. One that lasts. The kind of apology that she can take with her when she moves on to the next part of her life, leaving me behind once and for all.
Lily
My homecoming/going away party at Riddles has enough people show up that it gets a little rowdy. Also, it goes on for long enough that we could conceivably call it Darcy's bachelorette party. Except there's no strippers. She told me more than once that she wasn't interested in seeing anyone take his clothes off except for Abernathy, and that's sweet and all, but aren't we socially obligated to have strippers?
Doesn't she owe it to us single ladies to have a hot stripper?
Anyway, it's all the fine ladies of Girl Club and a bunch of other people that Darcy is friendly with all milling around Riddles and making a lot of noise. Basically every woman between twenty and forty-five is crammed into Riddles right now, plus good old Aunt Opal who would never miss a party.
I don't know most of them even though I grew up here. The age difference between me and the ladies of Girl Club means that I didn't go to high school or college with any of them, meaning I wouldn't even know them if it weren't for the photography gig I did for Darcy's mother.
You know. The one with the hot firefighters, including the one I'd had a crush on who didn't even recognize me at first, but then basically took out a full page ad in the paper to tell everyone about how it had been for him when he was going down on me.
And I mean, it was spectacular, no doubt. But I didn't really want everyone to know about me and Ken. I liked it better when it was something private between the two of us, instead of me being another one of his drive-by girls.
I sigh. I'm supposed to be having fun at this joint party that Girl Club put together for the two of us, but my heart isn't in it. I keep eyeing the door, half expecting it to burst open with Daniels standing there, all gorgeous and pissed off and ready to hate-bang me into the nearest wall.
Now there's a stripper act I'd be willing to get behind. Or on top of. In front of. Wherever he had in mind, really. We could definitely make it work. Him in his sexy firefighter uniform, maybe some dirty man dance moves.
But where is he? I glance around the group filling up the bar and I don't believe for even a second that he doesn't already know I'm back in town. My brother told me that he was asking about me regularly while I was away, He'd even seen his car do a slow roll by once when he was at my place watering my plants.
Yethe's not here. He didn't come for me tonight, and I have to accept that most likely means he's given up on getting my attention. Probably all for the best given that I'm planning to relocate to the big city as soon as possible after the wedding. I've got a meeting set up with a realtor next week to talk about getting my place here in Valentine on the market.
I don't need the distractions that man embodies so perfectly. I have less than zero business getting involved in another hot night with him, and we've already figured out that there's no realistic chance for anything other than a very hush-hush, short term kind of thing between us.
And I know what Darcy and the others would say about that. They'd make it out to be completely unacceptable, point out how I deserve far more than one night of super hot, scorching sheet time with a man I'd never really gotten over. But instead, he's all I can think about, even here at this party where I'm supposed to be a little bit drunk and a lot happy.
I've got dick on the brain. Or at least one particular dick and all of his many, many other fine pieces.
Apparently, my mood is contagious. At the table next to me, the little knot of women is groaning about how bored they are and how they wish there were some men here.
"Well, what do you expect when you let the fat girl plan the party? She's not going to be able to get any men to come here." A sharp, high pitched laugh follows that particular statement, which is cut off when the woman next to her sees me and elbows the mean girl in the tit.
"Ouch, quit it you whore." The woman who was speaking turns to tell her friend off but catches a glimpse of me and sucks in a sharp breath.
"Oh hey there. Great party." Her voice comes out flat and false and it turns my stomach. The knot of women around her giggle, and it makes me want to fight somebody.
"Thanks," I say extra-careful casual, in the special tone I save for people I really truly dislike and don't care if they find out. "I guess I could have invited some of the calendar photoshoot guys, but well, they were worried about having to tend to the thirst of so many of you much, much older women at once."
I give the group of women a very toothy alligator smile and a little wave that reeks of phony, even though I can feel my entire skin flushing with anger at the way she'd talked about me. See, this moment right here is exactly why I can't be with a man like Ken Daniels. Because even when I'm sitting in a bar at my own fucking party, people will talk shit about my sex life because of the shape of my body.
As if they get a vote. As if they get to have an opinion about who I do and don't kiss. Or get naked with. Or bang.
Just like they think they should get a say in what and when I eat, how I dress and what I do with myself—my job, my hobbies, my money. My everything.
I'm fucking sick of it. I can feel myself literally vibrating with anger. I want to slap that judge-y look right off her face right now, when she's looking at me like I'm a bug that needs squashing or a piece of trash that should be thrown away.
"Oh, isn't that cute? You can act like you're somebody important here, but you're nothing but a joke. These girls aren't your friends, fatty. They're keeping you around to make themselves look good."
Wasn't she listening when I told her to fuck off? I suppose I could just ask her. "Do you always have this much trouble with your hearing, or is it something special about being a mean bitch that's making it so you don't listen? I don't care what you think about the way I look. I'm beautiful. The hottest guy in Valentine already knows it firsthand, if you haven't heard."
At that, the snarly mean girl throws her head back and cackles. "You and Daniels? Yeah, I was wondering how much you had to pay him to pretend like he was into you. You don't actually expect anyone to believe he took the time out of his regularly scheduled hot girl parade to pity fuck the fat girl, do you?"
Her words suck the air right out of my lungs, leaving me gasping and wracking my brain for a quick comeback. I mean, I'd like to hit her in her mouth but that doesn't seem like it would carry the right message. Nope. This is definitely a use my words situation.
"Huh. You sure do spend a lot of time thinking about me and my sex life." I shake my head at her. "You're almost as obsessed with me as Daniels is."
