Page 9

I groan. “No arguments. I’m not allowing you to sit around here and stew on things you can’t change. We’re not doing anything crazy, just food and a few drinks. Anyway, you can’t say no, because I promised your aunt I would cheer you up, so …” She gives me a faux innocent smile.

Although fake, and the fact that “nothing crazy” is probably a lie, I feel the first bit of excitement I have all day.

I could argue and continue with my plan to drink my misery away alone on the couch, or I could go out with my best friend who’s going to do everything she can to put a smile on my face.

“Okay,” I say, having a large sip of my drink. “Whoa. How much rum did you put in this?”

“Enough.” She shrugs. “I’ve got to be honest,” she says as she follows me from the kitchen. “I thought you would take a little more convincing.”

“A night with you sounds like exactly what I need. And do you know what?” She lifts a brow as I spin around to face her. “I’m even going to let you pick what I wear.”

“Who are you and what have you done with my best friend?”

“Funny. I don’t want to think, so just point me in the right direction and make sure I have a drink at all times.”

“Done. Go get in the shower, and I’ll work on the wardrobe.”

With my drink still in hand, I walk into my bathroom and turn the shower on. My aunt was right about something: I need a distraction, and although I might not be willing to find a man to do so, my best friend fits the bill.

I shower, take off what’s left of today’s makeup, and wrap a towel around both my body and my hair before walking out of my bathroom.

I find Brooke standing in the middle of my room in just her underwear with two dress options hanging from her fingers. The first one is a definite no—I think I’ve got skirts that are bigger—but the second one is perfect.

“Okay, this is gorgeous,” I say, taking the soft floral fabric between my fingers. “Why have you never tried making me wear this one before?” I notice the tag still hanging on the back.

“Because I bought it for your birthday. I just thought you might need it tonight instead.”

“How many times do I need to tell you not to buy me anything for my birthday?”

“Every year. But equally, every year I’ll ignore you. So, happy birthday,” she says despite the fact it’s still over a month away, holding the hanger out for me to take. I do so eagerly.

It’s a stunning navy wrap dress with bright pink flowers covering it. Granted, it’s a good few inches shorter than I’d usually choose for myself, but it’s got full sleeves to make up for it.

“You’ve got thirty minutes. I’ve booked us a table.”

“Where?”

She taps her nose before walking out of the door, holding the other miniscule dress to her body. God help me if she’s wearing that; the guys will trip over themselves just to get a look.

I pull out one of my nicest sets of underwear in the hope that it, along with the dress, will cheer me up before spritzing myself with perfume and pulling it all on.

I dry my hair and make quick work of accentuating my natural curls, allowing it to hang down over my shoulders before going for my makeup.

My mood has me applying it a little heavier than I usually would, but when I sit back and look myself over, I can’t help but be pleased.

I look a million miles from the girl who broke down in the hall not so long ago.

My armor is firmly back in place, and I’m ready to spend some time with one of my favorite people.

“Are you ready?” I call to Brooke as I slip my feet into a pair of wedges and swipe a clutch from my closet.

“Almost. You?”

I drop my gloss and cell into the small purse and walk to her room.

“Ready.”

She glances over her shoulder at me, her eyes going wide as she takes me in. “Whoa, girl. That dress was made for you.”

“I love it. Thank you so much.”

“You’re more than welcome. I wish you’d let me shop for you more often.

” She stands, revealing her tiny black bodycon dress, and I remember why she shouldn’t be my personal shopper.

“Oh shush,” she says with a wave of her hand, knowing my exact thoughts about the scrap of fabric she calls a dress. “Let’s go.”

Her hand slips into mine and she pulls me through the house. Outside, I find an Uber waiting for us, and after locking the front door we climb in.

Brooke confirms our destination, off we go.

It’s only a few minutes later that we pull up in front of my favorite tapas restaurant.

“You got a table last minute?”

“Sure did,” she says with a wink.

“Oh God, who did you promise what to?”

“Moi?”

“The innocent look doesn’t wash with me, B.”

Rolling her eyes, she huffs out a breath. “I might have agreed to a date with Todd.”

“You did not!” I squeal.

“See how much I love you?”

“Oh, like it’s really a hardship. He’s not exactly bad looking.

” Todd’s been a waiter here since it opened, and he’s hit on Brooke every single time we’ve been.

And every single time, she’s knocked him back.

I don’t know the real reason; she comes up with some pathetic excuse each time before deflecting the conversation.

“If it puts a smile on your face, then it’ll be worth it.”

“Thank you,” I say sincerely as we walk toward the entrance. As if he was waiting, Todd pulls the door open and greets us—okay, Brooke—with a wide smile. Credit where credit’s due, his eyes don’t drop in favor of her body for almost a whole minute.

“I secured you both the best table.”

“Thank you, Todd. I really appreciate it.”

“No problem. I can assure you that the pleasure is all mine,” he mutters almost absently as Brooke walks ahead, giving him full sight of her ass.

I laugh at him before following her lead.

“You want the usual?”

“You got it.”

Todd nods and walks away to place our order. We’ve spent so much time here in the past year that he doesn’t even need to write it down now.

Brooke chats away about a guy she’s been messaging that she met the previous night after I left, and I’m grateful that she keeps my mind on less depressing matters.

Todd arrives with a giant decanter of sangria and two glasses.

The place is packed, so he doesn’t hang around long, even if it’s clear he would like to.

“I don’t know what your issue is with him. He’s sweet.”

“Exactly. I don’t want sweet. I want a bad boy.”

I roll my eyes at her. “Of course you do.”

“And what about you? Is there a reason that you’re avoiding talking about last night?”

My temperature rises just thinking about it. “No, there’s just nothing to talk about.”

“Oh right. Yeah, sorry, I forgot that getting all up in that hot Brit’s business was a totally normal thing for you to do.”

“It was the tequila,” I argue, much to her amusement.