“So, you’re basically running away then?” Tessa stretched out on the couch, crossing one ankle over the other.
Emily shook her head, even though that was exactly what she was doing. She was running—from Bette, from the rejection, from the sting of knowing what it felt like to be wanted by her, only to realize it had apparently been nothing more than a figment of her imagination.
“Well, I, for one, think you’re being dramatic,” Tessa said, yawning.
“I amnot,” Emily gasped, turning to her with her jaw dropped slightly. “Why would you even say that?”
“You’re literally curled up like a Victorian widow waiting for her husband to return from the war.”
Emily dragged a hand down her face. She’d scrubbed off her makeup the moment she got home from work leaving her skin feeling raw and exposed. “I just want the call so I can move on.”
“Right,” Tessa said, tapping her fingers against her knee. “And moving on includes staring at your phone for who knows how long until it manifests the outcome you want?”
“You’re being annoying,” Emily groaned, picking up a frilly olive-green pillow and throwing it at her. Tessa caught it, unbothered.
“And you’re forgetting that you are only thirty-two years old. A spring chicken,” Tessa said, wiggling her brows. “Instead of staying in tonight, and drowning your sorrows in Ben and Jerry’s, why don’t we go dancing.”
“Dancing?” Emily pulled a face.
“Yes!” Tessa exclaimed. “Loud music. Strong drinks. Hot women you can kiss all you want in the club’s bathroom stall.” She fluttered her eyelashes, fully aware of the brittle eggshells she was walking on. “And before you object,” Tessa held up a finger like she was scolding a child, “I’m not taking no for an answer.”
“No,” Emily objected.
Tessa took it at that moment to fly off the couch and jump right onto her side. She would’ve surely broken a bone if Tessa wasn’t so featherlight—or if her knees hadn’t barely missed her femur. “You’re going. You need a reset.”
Emily sighed, long and heavy. The truth was, she did need a distraction. She needed to get Bette’s face out of her mind. She needed to get that icy voice out of her head. She needed to replace the feel of Bette’s hands on her body with someoneelse’s. A hot redhead in the middle of the dance floor sounded like just the way to do it.
“Fine,” Emily muttered, “I’m in. Just don’t pick some dingy hole-in-the-wall.”
The cab pulled up to the curb in front of Luna Azul, a sleek, neon-kissed nightclub wedged between a high-end tapas bar and a moody speakeasy with a solid red door.
“It just opened up,” Tessa said, yanking on the handle. “You’re going to love this place. I mean we can literally go get tacos at midnight if we wanted to.” The door flew open, and she spilled onto the pavement, Emily following close behind.
“Midnight tacos,” Emily grumbled under her breath, tugging at the hem of her dress, which Tessa had all but forced her into. The dress was midnight black and hugged her curves like a boa instructor. The heels weren’t that much better. Far too high, far too sexy for their own good. “You bribed me with dancing, not tacos.”
“I bribe with whatever works.” Tessa grinned, fishing through her tiny metallic purse. “Oh wait, crap, my lipstick.” The thin tube landed on the concrete with a dull clack and rolled near the curb.
Tessa bent down to fetch it, Emily keeping cover to ensure her best friend’s lovely ass wasn’t on display to the whole world when Tessa’s head snapped to the right and froze.
Emily didn’t think anything of it, especially since she was too busy adjusting the strap of her heel while regretting not wearing sneakers. But then she caught Tessa’s sharp inhale, and when she whipped her head back, her eyes were wide.
“What?” Emily asked, searching Tessa’s hand in case she had picked up something other than the tube of lipstick. The streets weren’t exactly squeaky clean.
Tessa opened her mouth, then closed it. She didn’t say anything until she was upright again, standing so close to Emily that she could see that freckle above Tessa’s lip in the soft glow of the streetlight. “Do you remember when you showed me a LinkedIn photo of Bette Bridge the other day?”
“Yes,” Emily said slowly, her stomach already twisting, wondering where this was going.
“Well,” Tessa began, glancing out of the corner of her eye. “Salt and pepper hair at twelve o’clock.”
“What are you talking about.” Emily furrowed her brows and shook her head, not entirely grasping what Tessa was saying. Or maybe her brain had already registered what was happening but was just refusing to acknowledge it.
Tessa didn’t answer right away. Instead, she nodded toward the bar across the street, its exposed brick walls lit up by Edison bulbs dangling from overhead. “See for yourself.”
Emily followed her gaze.Oh shit.
Bette Bridge was standing at a round table outside a bar across the street, looking unfairly good in a sleek black blouse, sleeves rolled to her elbows, and faded black jeans.
Emily went rigid. Her breath hitched, her pulse hammered, and for a second, she wasn’t sure why her body was even reacting in this way. Just because Bette was across the street didn’t mean she would even spot her, and even if Bette did see Emily, it didn’t mean they’d end up crossing paths. Emily had a feeling the physical therapist would try to avoid her if she could. Make a run for it.
