“What?”
Zoe continued to shake her head slowly, but added a shrug for goodmeasure. “Man.”
“What?” Rebecca asked again.
“You got it bad for this one.”
Rebecca opened her mouth to protest. Her brain scrambled forarguments, sifting through a variety of options. Instead, she inhaled a bigbreath and let it out slowly. “Goddamn it.” It was true. She did have it badfor Spencer. And she’d been fine until the sex. She hung her head and let out atiny cry of despair. “Why did I have to sleep with her? Why did I let thathappen?”
“Because we are weak, silly creatures, my friend.”
Rebecca groaned, then downed her club soda like it was a shot ofwhiskey and slid the glass across the bar for a refill. When a new glass was inher hand, she turned to Zoe and said simply, “I want to protect her. I want tostand up for her. Is that weird?”
“Absolutely not,” Zoe said and signaled the bartender for anotherbottle. “It says a lot about the kind of person you are.”
“Stupid and self-deprecating?”
“Exactly.” Zoe let out a chuckle and touched her beer bottle toRebecca’s glass. “Nah,” she amended, after they’d sipped. “You’re okay.”
“I need to get her out of my head, Zo. I’ve got no businessmessing in there. I need to step off.”
“You do.” Zoe’s eyes tracked a young, pretty blonde across thebar. “Too bad the heart wants what the heart wants, huh?”
Rebecca scoffed.
“Right now, mine wants that.” She pointed at the retreatingfigure. “Be right back. Maybe.” And Zoe was off, sauntering across the bartoward the pool table where the blonde had stopped to watch the game.
Rebecca spun on her stool and sat with her back against the bar.She’d been excited to get the invitation from Zoe to join her out for a drinkafter work. Rebecca’s first client that morning had come in at 5:30 a.m. andshe’d gone nonstop ever since. A relaxing drink after a busy day sounded great.And despite how often they texted, she hadn’t seen Zoe face-to-face in quite awhile.
And then she’d walked into the parking lot and been a nice personand veered toward what was obviously a businesswoman who had gotten out of hercar and was waving Rebecca over, poised to ask a question.
Marti Daniels. That was her name. That was how she introducedherself when she shook Rebecca’s hand, but the name hadn’t clicked. She wasn’tunattractive. A little plain, maybe, but neat, well-dressed, great smile. Herdark hair was sleek and expensively styled. Her suit was designer. Her car wasa Lexus. Then she asked if Rebecca knew Spencer Thompson.
Pieces started to snap into place.
“She’s my girlfriend and she was supposed to meet me out here”—aglance at her gold watch—“fifteen minutes ago.”
“Oh, you’re the fiancée,” Rebecca had said, before she could stopherself.
“I am. You know Spencer?”
“I’m the instructor of the bride class. Rebecca McCall.”
“Ah, the infamous Rebecca.”
Rebecca wasn’t sure what that meant, but chose to let it slide by.“You signed Spencer up for the class.” Again, not what she’d thought aboutsaying, but it popped out and, in that moment, Rebecca was very curious to hearsome details.
And then Spencer had appeared, and there went Rebecca’s chance.
Zoe swaggered back to the bar a few minutes later and sat on herstool.
“Shot down?” Rebecca asked.
“Like an intrusive drone,” Zoe answered, with a disappointed shakeof her head. She turned to Rebecca. “How’re you doing, my friend? Rehashing theparking lot scene?”
“Every last word.”
“Women, man.”
