Page 98 of Revelry

“You don’t have to answer them, Ali,” Kit—scarily beautiful tortured musician—says.

“Yeah, tell them to fuck off,” Buzz—our weirdly grounded stoner—says.

I let out a deep sigh. “It’s fine. You’re all just gonna keep pestering me at work about it anyway, and I’d rather you hear it from me than listen to all that crap in the tabloids. So … yes, it was real. At least for me, but I can’t speak for them.”

“That’s so sad.” Evie’s big blue eyes sparkle with unshed tears.Jesus Christ, where did Tarsh find this woman?

“Yes, it is,” I agree.

“So why did you break up then?” Max asks.

“There were a lot of very painful reasons why we ended it—no doubt you’ve likely seen some of them. But it is what it is. And, Max, my vagina is magical. You could stick any old thing up there and not find it for weeks.” I laugh, and the others do too, but there’s tension at our table, and I find myself wishing I hadn’t answered any of their questions. When I glance up, I notice Kit watching me. He’s not leering, or anything creepy like that. He’s just … studying. It makes me more uncomfortable than their questions.

“Beer’s empty, time for a refill,” I announce, perhaps sounding a little too overzealous as I get up and snag the empty pitcher on the table. I walk over to the bar, letting out a puff of air as I think of ways to forget. Most of the time, I’m pretty good at it. Today, not so much. I order another jug of beer, and when I move away from the bar, a man’s voice stops me in my tracks.

“Hey, I know you. You’re that—”

Oh my god, if he says that girl who took it up the arse in the elevator I will commit the worst sin known to mankind and pour this jug of beer all over his arsehole head. I turn around, levelling a glare on him, but it quickly turns into a grin, and I almost drop the pitcher when I launch myself at him.

“You’re the girl I used to live with,” Tim, my old flatmate, finishes, ruffling my hair as I hug him. “How’s it going, super star?”

I laugh humourlessly at the jibe. “It’s about to be going real well,” I say as I raise the pitcher of beer in the air.

“What the hell are you doing here? I thought you were living it up with the rich and famous.”

“I think we need to expand your definition of that. Living on a tour bus is hardly as glamorous as it seems.”

“So …” He smiles mischievously at me. “You and Taint, huh?”

“Yeah.” I shake my head, not wanting to get into this with Tim at all. He was always Brad’s friend before he was mine, and though we’d come to be very good friends over the course of the time that we’d lived together, it still felt weird talking about this stuff with him.

“Well, I can see you’re pretty torn up about it—”

“I really am,” I say, hoping he’ll change the subject.

“You have my number if you want to catch up.”

“Actually, I don’t. Lost my phone,” I add, when he looks at me warily.

“Oh well, give me yours then.” He pulls out his smartphone and he types in the numbers as I read them out.

“So, how are you?” I venture, because I’m not yet ready to deal with more questions from my workmates. “How’s the wedding coming?”

“I don’t know.” Tim shrugs, waving at a guy dressed in a monkey suit just like his as he shouts a farewell from across the bar. When he turns his face back to me, his eyes are guarded. “She’s planning it with some other dude, now I guess.”

“Cloe left you?”

“Yup,” he says, swigging down half of his beer in one go.

“Oh, Tim, I’m so sorry.”

“I’m not. Dodged a fucking bullet, if you ask me. She was a colossal bitch.”

I nod. “Yes, she was.”

“Let’s do drinks on Tuesday. We can sit around a jug of beer and regale one another with how pathetic our lives are now that we’re nearing thirty and wasting our sexual prime.”

“Speak for yourself,” I say.