Crush(133)

She rolled her eyes.

“What? It hasn’t. Just because when you and Preston are on, you do it morning, noon, and night doesn’t mean the rest of us do.”

She shrugged. “I can’t help it if I have an overactive libido.”

I had to laugh.

“And besides, most younger couples do it more than once a week.”

“Dawson and I did it more than that but even if we didn’t, I’m sure we’d be considered way more normal than you and Preston.”

With a tug of my hand, Lily led me toward our table. “Let’s see what everyone else has to say about it.”

“Oh God, let’s not.”

Everyone else was our four best friends. We had pledged growing up we wouldn’t turn into our parents but as of that very morning the last of us entered the ranks. Now, each and every one of us had joined our prospective family businesses. Making it official, we’ve broken the vow. And now we’re doing the only thing we can—gathering together to bury it.

Morbid yet true.

Making our way through the crowd, I noticed the way the glass shelves that towered over the bar seemed to shimmer with the aged scotches and exotic liquors. It was a Saturday night, and like most Saturday nights in every nightclub all around the world, the patrons were out to celebrate. But unlike everyone else, we were coming together to mourn the death of our young ideals.

Coincidence the burial was taking place on the same day as my canceled wedding?

I hardly thought so.

It had to have been a sign that it was time to put them both to rest.

The Rose Bar was the newest addition to Jet Set. Danny met the owner of Jet Set last year while he was partying in a club in Miami. Under its new management, the Rose Bar had been touted as one of America’s swankiest clubs. It even had a fleet of white cars, including Hummers, Lamborghinis, Ferraris, and Porches, used to pick up and drop off Jet Set members.

The club was packed and brimming with wealthy men and women, some of whom I was sure would turn up on Page Six. Because the men and women inside weren’t just anyones, we were all someones—the great-granddaughter of Eisenhower, the great nephew of Ford, a great cousin of Kennedy. No one needed to know how many greats were before our name—it was irrelevant. The bloodlines were all that ever mattered.

I rolled my eyes at the thought and draped my leather jacket over my arm. My little black dress fell a few inches above my knees and the vertical lines of crystals gave it some shape. I preferred comfort to style in a way that seemed to separate me from my peers whose motto was all fashion.

Lily and I passed a brilliant red billiards table and a loud cackle of laughter caused me to look up. At the center booth, in the middle of the VIP section sat a bunch of guys. Even as Lily continued to pull me along, my eyes stayed locked where they were, as if some kind of magnetic force wouldn’t allow my gaze to shift.

The guys in the booth toasted one another and then slammed back their drinks, laughing boisterously. However, when a group of scantily clad women walked by their table, they all stopped talking. The women eyed the guys as languorously as they possibly could, hoping for an invitation to join them, I was sure. The guys stared back with equal vigor.

I knew those guys.

I dropped Lily’s hand and walked closer. Standing at the edge of the stairs, I recognized a few of the girls’ faces from grad school at Stern. My eyes redirected to the horseshoe of men in the booth, also from Stern. Lars Jefferson was the bookend to the group. In grad school he was always the loudest, most obnoxious, and most arrogant guy on campus. He held his elite social status as a pass—a pass to do and say anything he wanted. Unfortunately, he was also Dawson’s best friend.

I never could stand him.

He leaned forward and that’s when I saw the blond hair I’d have known anywhere.

Dawson.

I froze, glued to the spot I was standing in.

It had been three months since I’d broken up with Dawson. Six weeks after we set the date. The day I was supposed to move in with him. Now I couldn’t help but stare. Of all the places to run into him, I never thought I’d see him here.

Lars stared at the women. He took his time choosing the girl he wanted and then beckoned her with his smile. I watched as it went down, needing to see if my ex-fiancé did the same. Lars tipped his chin and sure enough the woman beamed with glee. Dawson just sat there while a few of the other guys followed Lars’ lead.

The girl Lars showed interest in brushed her jet-black bangs away from her face, patted her hips with her hands, and walked slowly to the table. I was certain she must have known who he was and probably also knew he was involved with someone, but from the white-toothed smile Lars gave her as she walked over, she must have been confident that didn’t matter.

“Hi,” she said to him.

I was good at lipreading. I’d spent a great deal of time watching people. No, I’d studied couple’s interactions. It was an unhealthy habit I had picked up when I was lost. But it was Dawson who had helped me stop. It was Dawson who helped me live again. It was Dawson with that group of men looking to f*ck any girl they could. And it was Dawson who I had let go.

Ice formed in my belly.

Lars ran his eyes up and down the girl’s body, as if he was trying to assess her dress size. Then he gave Dawson a sideways look. Dawson shrugged. If it was because he wasn’t interested or didn’t care, I couldn’t tell. But then Dawson shifted his eyes toward a pretty blonde who walked by and Lars did the same. I had to assume Lars maybe just wanted what Dawson was interested in.