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The men are ridiculous—like something out of a calendar your mom would pretend not to own. Cowboy hats, firefighters’ pants, low-slung jeans holding on for dear life. They’re dancing with a confidence that suggests they’ve never heard the word no a day in their lives.

One of them peels off the stage, heading straight for our table. I stiffen as he approaches. Tall. Shirtless. Grinning. Zero shame.

“Oh no,” I say, eyes darting to Leilani. “Did you?—?”

She grins like a villain. “Already paid for.”

“I don’t want whatever he’s coming over here to give me.”

“Well, I’ll happily take it then,” she says, grabbing his hand before I can protest.

He doesn’t miss a beat—grinding on Leilani, all smooth hips and ridiculous confidence. Leilani eats it up.

I bury my face in my hands. “This is not how I thought my bachelorette party would go.”

Krishna leans in. “It’s better, right?”

I peek through my fingers. Leilani’s fanning herself with a drink menu while the man grinds against her. “I love her… but I fear her.”

The moment the first routine ends, the single girls take it as an open invitation to abandon all reason.

Leilani’s already on stage—yes, on the fucking stage—with a man in leather pants. Chloe is shimmying like her life depends on it, arms up, hair wild, eyes locked on a dancer with abs like a Greek statue.

Sefina, who needed three drinks just to look at the pole on the party bus, is now body-rolling like she’s been doing it since birth.

Malie would be appalled.

I blink. “Omigod. Is Chloe… kissing him?”

Julia leans forward. “Holy shit, she is. Mouth open and everything.”

Cheers erupt from the crowd as Chloe fist-pumps, looking far too proud of herself.

“Should we stop her?” I ask, half rising from my seat, unsure if I’m supposed to be the responsible one.

Laurelyn sips her drink, unbothered. “Let her have her moment. After this year, she deserves it.” She smirks, casual as can be. “They make penicillin for those types of mistakes.”

The whole table howls.

I sit back, heart tugging. I still don’t know the entire story with Ben. Chloe doesn’t talk about it, but I’ve seen the way her expression goes tight when someone mentions his name.

But tonight, she’s free. She’s wild. She’s laughing. And honestly? That’s a step in the right direction to healing.

Back at our VIP table, the rest of us have settled into the role of amused spectators.

Violet lounges beside me, one leg crossed over the other, sipping champagne like a duchess on vacation. It’s alarmingly tame for her, borderline suspicious, actually.

Julia’s perfectly composed, as always, while Laurelyn is already halfway through another drink and snorting at Leilani’s latest dance move.

“Does anyone else feel like we’re chaperoning?” I say, watching Chloe attempt to spin on a pole she definitely shouldn’t touch with bare hands.

Krishna laughs. “If we are, we’re terrible at it.”

“I’m not stopping her,” Laurelyn says. “That girl’s earned a scandal.”

Another dancer struts out, and the crowd loses it. This one has biceps the size of a rugby ball, and a cowboy hat that may have its own zip code.

“He’s pretty,” Julia says, studying him.

“He’s someone’s very dirty dream,” Violet says. Then, lowering her voice, “But honestly? What I’ve got waiting for me is better.”

We all nod, a quiet, shared truth settling in.

“Don’t tell Elias I said that, though,” Violet adds with a grin. “He might think I’m in love with him.”

“You are in love with him.”

“Yeah, but he doesn’t know. Yet.”

“Hate to break it to you, Vi, but he definitely knows. You’re not exactly subtle about it.”

She laughs. “Okay, but in my defense, he looks at me like I’m his whole world. It’s hard to keep the mystery alive.”

I sip my drink, letting it all wash over me—the laughter, the music, the ridiculousness of the night. But mostly, the women beside me. My circle. My heart.

The music thumps steady, lower now, a heartbeat slowing after the high. Most of us are winding down—hair tousled, makeup kissed off by laughter and cocktails.

But not Leilani. She’s still dancing. Her dress clings to her and her hair’s a mess of curls and glitter. Her smile is pure chaos—the beautiful kind.

I watch her, chin resting on my hand, heart pulled tight in my chest. She’s beautiful. Strong. Loud in the best way. And underneath all the glitter and jokes, she has the biggest heart. A person who makes room for everyone—no matter how crowded life gets.

It hits me then—she gives so much, but I’ve never seen her ask for anything. Not really. Not when it comes to love.

She throws her hands in the air, head back in laughter, and I swear it’s the most honest thing I’ve seen all night.

“Go, Leilani!” Chloe screams beside her, clapping off beat but happy.

Leilani turns toward us, cheeks flushed, eyes shining. “Someone better be filming this for future blackmail!”

“No phones, remember?” Julia calls back.

Leilani shrugs and twirls, arms wide. “Then I’m dancing for the gods, babes!”

And maybe she is.

Because tonight, under neon lights and with zero apologies, she’s magic.

The ride back is a slow unraveling of glitter, cocktails, and whatever dignity we left at Thunder Down Underneath.

Leilani is the first to fold… as she should.

She slides into the seat beside me, her dress wrinkled, lipstick smudged, and eyes wide and glassy with tequila truth serum. “I love you,” she slurs, leaning her head on my shoulder. “I’d marry you if Alex hadn’t gotten there first.”

I laugh, tipping my head against hers. “You’ll make someone a great wife one day.”

“Damn right I will. I’d only throat-punch him as a warning if he snores like a chainsaw. I’ll let him think he’s the big spoon—even when he totally isn’t. And if I’m mad, I’ll only shave one leg—because that’s compromise.”

Her grin widens, and I laugh, but she’s just warming up.

She leans forward. “For the right man, I’d wreck this body for babies—let my tits go south to feed his kids, swap a designer clutch for a diaper bag. I’ll do all the damn things.”

She’s being funny, but something tells me she means every word. “You sound ready to commit.”

“Here’s my level of commitment. I’d walk away from a buffet of top-shelf, commitment-phobic dick and lock in with one man for life. No take-backs.”

The party bus goes silent for a beat. Then we all burst into laughter.

I choke on my drink. “That’s pretty bold.”

She grins. “I’m ready to give up the dick train for the right person.”

Before I can answer, she sits up fast—too fast—and fumbles for her purse.

“Nope. Nope, nope, nope. Don’t do it, Lei,” Sefina says.

Leilani fumbles with her clutch, flips it open, and hunches over—using it as a makeshift barf bag without a second thought. It’s horrifying, and a little impressive, but mostly horrifying.

“Oh my God, Lei. Are you all right?”

She waves me off, dignity abandoned somewhere back at the club. “Well, damn. That was a character-building experience.”

Krishna counts us beneath her breath, managing us like a kindergarten field trip. “Everyone’s here?”

Leilani moans and stretches out on the seat, putting her head in my lap. “If I die tonight, tell my tinā I went out hot. She’d want to know I looked amazing on my way out.”

“You’re not dying, Lei,” I tell her. “Drunk and dramatic? Absolutely, but you’re not dying.”

I glance around at the chaos—half-eaten snacks, empty flutes rolling on the floor, a pair of glitter-covered high heels lying in the middle of the floor.

It’s a mess. A beautiful, unforgettable, soul-lifting mess. These women—this wild, hilarious, chaotic circle of mine—are everything to me.

And it’s my special night. I wouldn’t trade this night—or these girls—for anything.

By the time we stumble into the suite at the hotel, my cheeks hurt from laughing and my feet ache.

Everyone’s crashing in different places—Violet’s face down on a chaise, Leilani is curled up with a trash bin as if it’s her boyfriend, and someone’s shoes ended up in the minibar.

I toe off my heels and slip into the quiet bedroom. I collapse onto the bed, veil crooked and makeup half melted.

My phone buzzes.

Hope your girls didn’t get you arrested. Love you, almost-wife.

No one went to jail. Love you more, almost-husband.

I smile at the screen, a stupid, dreamy smile that doesn’t fade even as my eyes drift shut.

The city hums outside the window, neon reflecting off the harbor. My lashes flutter closed.

And just like that—still glowing, still grinning—I fall asleep.

Loved. Safe. Ready.