Co-Ed(61)

“You smell.” Isla scrunched up her nose when she waltzed over to me. “But you’re dedicated, I like it.”

“It was the only way to get close enough,” I grumbled and made an effort to dust off my damp clothes even though I knew it was in vain. When she’d texted she’d be meeting the target, I’d been headed back to my apartment, so I was ill prepared for sewer sightseeing even though I knew it was a possibility, considering the location. Can one ever be completely prepared to do something like that? The answer is no. Just. No.

“You bitches!” The Cheater ran toward both of us—lips curled in disgust, his eyes beady, angry little lasers, hand raised—like he was seconds away from attacking us with his cell phone.

Instinctively, I reared back and let my fist fly. Knuckles connected with flesh, and he whimpered and went down like the loser he was.

“Blaire!” Isla groaned. “You can’t just punch our clients’ husbands.”

“I slipped,” I lied. “Besides, it was self-defense! He’s twice my size and he made a threat!”

Isla just shook her head at me.

“He charged us! With his phone! That’s not normal behavior, plus it looked like he intended to use it as a weapon.”

I may have anger issues.

“Who the hell are you people?” Cheater was on the ground, covering his face with his hands. Oh hell, was he crying?

I stepped over his sad, pathetic body and grinned. “The Exes.”

Isla looped her arm through mine and then dropped our black-and-white calling card on the ground. It was our final punch to the gut. Not only did it serve to warn our targets that we were watching . . . always watching, future clients who randomly found our cards called us based on curiosity alone. We grew our social media presence by being selective and only taking high-profile clients. Business was booming.

“Have a good night.” I waved and shoved my phone back in my pocket.

Isla sucked in a breath. “So, pizza?”

“Fries,” I countered.

“Pizza.” She narrowed her eyes like she was thinking.

“Wine,” we said in unison.

“Oh, lookee here.” She pulled a bottle out of her giant Mary Poppins purse and waved it in front of my face like it was totally legal to drink while walking down the street.

“You have glasses in there too?” I laughed, poking my head in her giant bag.

She was already pulling them out.

Of course.

Always prepared, Isla was.

“And a screw top.” I pointed. “Best date of my life.”

“Isn’t it though?”

“She’ll get more than half.” I nodded as Isla poured my red Solo cup to the rim. “You know you didn’t have to seduce him, he was well on his way to dropping trousers near the dumpster.”

“Our clients expect dedication. Yours was the sewer, mine was his mouth and body.” She scrunched up her nose. “Same thing, different locations.”

I shuddered. “So true.”

Isla stopped walking and lifted her cup in the air. “To another successful divorce.”

I clinked my cup with hers. “Men. Women. People of LA, you’ve been warned: the Exes are here, so keep it in your pants—”

“Or panties!” Isla giggled.

I tilted my head and continued, “Or get it chopped off.” I scrunched up my nose. “Too far?”

She hesitated and then tilted her head. “I was thinking more along the lines of running all male penises over with a car, but most are so small I was having trouble figuring out the specifics.”

I doubled over in laughter. “Yeah, I’ll drink to that. And don’t worry, I’m sure the longer we do this the more creative your imagination will get.”

A couple passed us by. As I watched them kiss, I ignored the pang in my heart.

Just like I ignored the longing that came with it.

Stupid heart.

“You’re happy, right?” Isla asked. She was my other half. If the other half oozed sexuality and confidence. Most days I was lucky I even put on mascara and remembered to wash my hair. I was so focused on retribution, on not focusing on the past, that I was barely staying sane. I wanted to be that woman, the one who told the world where to stick it—I just didn’t know how to do it without acknowledging all the parts of myself that were still broken, still hurting. Because that meant I had to actually admit it happened, it was real, and I was alone.

An impasse, that’s where I was at.

“Of course!” I said loudly, realizing she was waiting for my response, and like an idiot I was peering into my wine cup like it was a magic 8 ball that would give me all life’s secrets if I just stared hard enough. Her eyebrow arched, and I could tell she wasn’t convinced. I took a deep breath, forced a soft smile, and said it again. “I’m really, really happy.”

I just had to repeat it.

And then add in two reallys.

She gave me a confident nod and wrapped her arm around me. “Good.”

And that was it.

Except it wasn’t.

Because a part of me was still thinking about that couple, about the look in her eyes when he kissed her, and about the way it felt to be kissed.

A really good kiss.

One that stunned you into silence. One that stole your breath and made you swear that if you died in that minute, it would be okay. A kiss that made you believe that maybe, just maybe, the world wasn’t all bad.