Page 44

“To recap, there was no revenge banging?” Hildy asked, peeling another strand off her string cheese. Apparently she’d found a stash in the kitchen while everyone else was out having their initials branded into fancy leather belts.

“I choked,” Jean confirmed. “Which pisses me off even more.”

“Because you’re sexually frustrated?”

“No!” Although that was also true. It was hard to fast after an all-you-can-eat buffet. “I’m mad because I was all over the place emotionally. Like a little bitch.”

Jean’s self-image did not allow for woe-is-me waffling. Her whole identity was about being bold and tough, with a take-no-prisoners attitude. It was Charlie’s fault she’d turned gelatinous on the inside.

“And he denied the Adriana thing? We’re supposed to believe she’s not here for him? Even after she did that poem?”

Jean waited in case Hildy wanted to stab her again. “He claimed he wasn’t sleeping with any of them.”

Hildy crumpled her cheese wrapper. “There’s something else going on here. With Adriana. Something we’re not seeing. I can smell it.”

“Yeah, it smells like horseshit to me.” This was a lie; Adriana smelled like ginger and cloves, and Jean had no reason to believe the pop star was pretending. Her performance at cowboy poetry night had seemed pretty direct.

“Even if they’re not together now, there’s no way he chooses me instead. ‘Sorry, smokin’ hot superstar, I prefer this random hotel employee I met on vacation.’”

“You don’t give yourself enough credit.”

“I give myself plenty of credit.” Jean pounded her breastbone with the flat of her hand, as if she could drive the words home. “I like who I am. Confident, freaky, talented. I don’t need to jeopardize all that by going after someone like Charlie. Why would I set myself up to fail?”

“So you’re afraid,” Hildy translated.

“Immune to reverse psychology is what I am.” Jean touched her bottom lip. Her mouth was still tender from kissing Charlie, but how long would the feeling last—a couple of hours at most? Their time together was a Polaroid in reverse, already fading back to black.

“It’s not even the losing that gets me,” she admitted. “I don’t like it, but I’ll survive. The problem with the Adriana Asebedo situation is that it changes who I thought he was. Knowing he was with her rewrites everything I thought I knew about Charlie. Like now he’s partly hers.”

Instead of all mine .

Jean had never considered herself a touch-him-and-die type.

But Charlie had made her believe she meant more to him than anyone else ever , past or future.

Finding out about Adriana Asebedo threw that certainty into doubt.

Even Jean’s self-esteem was hard-pressed to imagine Adriana hadn’t left a permanent mark, her initials carved somewhere on his heart.

After all, there was a freaking song about it.

“It doesn’t matter what’s going on with those two,” Jean reminded herself. “I’m supposed to be making a dramatic exit.”

“About that.” Hildy tugged one of her curls.

“What?”

“I might have rear-ended someone.” She made a pinching motion with her thumb and forefinger. “A teensy bit.”

“How? When?”

“I had to move the Jeep so they could unload the trucks. It was chaotic. Also, what kind of car doesn’t have those little sensors that tell you when you’re about to crash into something? There should have been beeps or flashing lights.”

“But you’re okay?”

“Fine.” Hildy fluffed her hair, confirming that her most important body part had come through unscathed.

“I take it the car is not?”

“My family is extremely lawsuit cautious. My uncle sent someone to tow it back to town, just in case. We’ll let insurance handle it.” Hildy waved a hand like that solved the problem.

“We’re stuck here—no way out?”

“It’s not like we’re locked inside a haunted house with a serial killer on the loose,” Hildy said in her most soothing tone.

“What about calling a Lyft?”

“Fun fact: there are zero drivers available at this location. Isn’t that interesting? I didn’t know there were still places on this continent you couldn’t get service. Hey! Maybe I should do an article on the last rideshare deserts. You could be one of my sources.”

“I’m not thinking quotable thoughts right now, Hildy.”

“Sure, I get it. But that would add a killer opening. ‘POV: You just got dumped and desperately need to get away from your ex. But instead you’re trapped in the quicksand of modern dating nightmares: no cars available.”

“Catchy,” Jean said.

“Sorry. I’ll switch to my solutions mindset.” She made a swiping motion in front of her face. “Maybe you could borrow a horse?”

Someone had been soaking up too much frontier ambience. “I’m going to go for a walk. See if something comes to me.”

Jean left the wagon without a clear plan. It felt like being seven again, running away from home with her pillow and half a pack of cookies because her parents wouldn’t let her stay up to watch Grey’s Anatomy . At least her grievances had gotten more legit with age.

As she walked, Jean considered her options.

Daddy Koenig might be willing to help, but she didn’t want to give him the wrong idea.

Sergeant Cowboy would tell her to tough it out.

Weirdly, the person who seemed most likely to offer assistance was Adriana Asebedo—but you couldn’t ask someone to rescue you when they were part of your problem.

Two names that did not cross her mind were Mountain Dew and Ponytail, her early-morning visitors. And yet that was exactly who appeared in her hour of need.

“Hey,” Ponytail said, grabbing Jean’s arm. “What are you doing?”

“I have absolutely no idea,” Jean replied, honestly.

They laughed like she’d said something funny.

Mountain Dew stared into Jean’s eyes for a borderline uncomfortable stretch before giving a decisive nod. “You’re coming with us.”

Which was how she ended up partying with Adriana Asebedo’s dancers and backup singers all afternoon.

If by “party” you meant yoga and meditation, a chair massage, and a gloppy-yet-surprisingly-tasty green drink that was allegedly better for her than “a vitamin IV,” though they made her promise to also try one of those ASAP.

“It’s like being reborn,” Ponytail (whose real name was Jessica) promised, and Jean had to admit she liked the sound of that. Bonus points if they could also do a memory wipe of the last month of her life.

Conspicuous among the sci-fi stylings of the beauty tools and health supplements were the humble mason jars of Mugsy’s teas.

From what Jean could tell, all the creativity went into the beverages themselves, because the handwritten labels gave off strong “I don’t have time for this nonsense” vibes. Much like their maker.

“I’m surprised they didn’t hook you up with beer,” Jean said.

“Too bloating before a show,” Mountain Dew (aka Pax) told her. “And these teas are Adriana’s favorite, if you know what I mean.” Pierced eyebrows arched, assuming Jean understood the subtext.

She connected the dots easily enough. Being nice to his beloved former babysitter would get you plenty of bonus points with Charlie.

Not that Adriana Asebedo needed to exert herself to impress anyone.

All she had to say was, Want to hold my Grammy?

Or Let’s fly to Belize for the weekend! Shelling out for homebrewed teas was the equivalent of buying a candy bar for Jean.

“Adriana doesn’t eat with you?” she asked Pax, over the light-yet-satisfying lunch the tour’s private chef had prepared for the crew. It was hard to resent someone who regularly treated her employees to restaurant-quality food, but Jean was trying.

“She needed some alone time.” This was relayed in such a gossipy hush Jean knew it was code for “she’s busy ripping off Charlie’s clothes.”

You’ll have to put them back on him first, she thought, with a bitterness that rivaled the Meyer lemon vinaigrette on a dish that had suddenly become unappetizing.

“I don’t suppose any of you have a car?” she asked, trying to look trustworthy. “Or a truck? Windowless van? Anything faster than a lawnmower.”

“You need a ride, babe?” Jessica patted her on the head, because apparently she saw Jean as a feral kitten they’d found in a barn. “We have room on the bus. How far are you going?”

“To the airport.”

“No problem. You mean Denver?”

Jean shook her head. “The little one in Rapid City.”

“Ohhh.” Jessica wrinkled her nose. “That’s trickier. You should just stay with us until our next stop!”

That was a profoundly bad idea for many reasons, but Jean wasn’t in a position to be picky. She could always ask them to let her out at a gas station along the highway. “When are you rolling out?”

Please say tonight, she silently prayed, crossing her fingers behind her back.

“It’s up to Adriana,” Pax said with a shrug. “She has things to figure out first.”

Significant looks ricocheted among the members of the crew.

“What?” Jean asked, giving up on deciphering their facial expressions. This was a group that had dramatic reactions to most topics of conversation, from “best fabric softener scent” to “near-death experiences on our last tour.”

“We want Adriana to be happy,” Jessica said. A chorus of nods affirmed this truth. “But at what cost? It’s the eternal question. Career or love?”

“And it’s not like happiness is guaranteed,” Pax chimed in. “How is it going to be any different this time? They have the same obstacles as before.”

Everyone had an opinion, voices climbing over each other as they discussed Adriana Asebedo’s love life. It was like the comments section on a fan website, only not mean. Jean couldn’t quite tell if they shipped Adriana and Charlie or not, because she was doing her best to tune out the details.

“What do you think? Knowing the other side of the story.” Jessica touched Jean’s knee.

That was an easy one: I think Adriana should leave, and Charlie should choose me. Jean couldn’t say that to Team Asebedo, so she pretended to be a neutral bystander. “As long as everyone involved is a consenting adult, where’s the harm?”

Here , she thought, answering her own question. I’m the injured party .

Sighing, she dragged herself off the plush banquette. “I’m going to go see if I can flag down a truck or something.”

“No.” Pax pointed at the seat Jean had just vacated. “Why get murdered and stashed in someone’s freezer when you could stay and watch a private concert by Adriana Asebedo and her amazing dancers?”

On cue, everyone in hearing range struck a pose.

“This is a super rare opportunity,” Jessica added, dropping the hands splayed on either side of her face. “I grant you the setting is a little weird, but cows are better than war criminals.”

“Gigs like this are usually for a baby oligarch’s Sweet Sixteen,” Pax translated, adding a fist-clenching fake cheer. “Woo-hoo! Let’s all celebrate the dictator’s great-niece.”

“Adriana would never.” Jessica pressed a hand to her heart.

“She has standards,” Pax affirmed. “Trust, many are the billionaires who’ve begged Adriana to play their sad little soiree.”

“We’re only doing this because of the personal connection.” Jessica leaned into Jean’s space. “Also, it’s going to be a historic occasion. You didn’t hear it from me, but Adriana might launch a new single tonight.”

“Is it about beer?” Jean asked, only half joking.

Her new friends laughed. “It’s an Adriana song,” Pax told her. “You know it’s going to be about love .”

It felt like Jean had downed two meatball subs with extra cheese instead of a protein bowl. Some of her internal discomfort must have shown on her face because Jessica sent Pax an aha! look.

“Bad breakup?” Jessica guessed.

Jean nodded.

“Are they going to be here tonight?”

“The odds are pretty high.”

She placed her hand over Jean’s. “Then it’s obvious what you need to do. And running away is not it.”

“For sure,” Pax agreed.

“So then—what?” Jean asked, glancing between them.

“Makeover montage,” they sang, before clapping at their own brilliance.

Jean let them mess with her hair and do her nails, but when they brought out the big guns—an eyeshadow palette the size of a picnic table, the airbrushing sprayer, body paints—Jean couldn’t be their Barbie any longer.

First she convinced Jessica to let her paint iridescent scales along her forehead and one cheek, after which Pax requested “something you’d find on an old Led Zeppelin album.” The next thing Jean knew, she was covering half of Adriana Asebedo’s crew in body art.

The process was so absorbing Jean barely thought of the scene she’d painted on Charlie’s back. Twice, tops.

“You should do this professionally,” Pax said, twisting to inspect the winged creature on one shoulder.

“Is there a lot of demand for face painters? Outside the school carnival circuit.”

“I’m serious. You’re really good.”

“Thanks.” Jean took the praise with a grain of salt.

This was an uplifting crew, possibly because of the time spent in a hyperbaric oxygen chamber.

Over the last few hours, Jean had also been told that she should be a stand-up comic, a magician (she knew one trick), and the flyer in a cheerleading squad.

It was nice of them to try to boost her spirits. Jean recognized the kindness, even though she was a long way from having anything to cheer about.

Eventually her new friends had to get ready for the sound check, so Jean hid out in the bus until it was time for the concert.

Pax and Jessica had made her promise to stay at least for the first set, on the grounds that it would be something to tell her grandchildren. Or the neighborhood kids daring each other to ring the doorbell of her creepy spinster hovel on Halloween, to choose a more likely scenario.

Jean waited until the thumping bass suggested the preshow was underway before leaving her sanctuary. Maybe the free booze and loud music would dull the edge of her aching loneliness.

After sneaking through the web of cables, she snagged a pint glass from one of the banquet tables before creeping around the other concertgoers to find a secluded spot beyond the reach of the lights.

Okay, she could do this. Listen to Adriana Asebedo sing about her love affair with Charlie, endure some beer propaganda, then get the hell out of there.

At least she didn’t have to pretend to be having a great time.

This persona was kind of a vibe. A phantom with a tortured past, gliding through the shadows unrecognized—

“Jean!”

Shit.