Exes and O's (The Influencer, #2)(33)

In the light of day, the weight of last night’s error in judgment is staggering. To the point of indigestion. Sure, our shoulders and noses touched for a hot second. We may have even flirted a little. He may have gazed longingly at my lips. But flirting is Trevor’s default mode. He can’t help himself. And for all I know, maybe he was simply staring at a zit on my face.

The blunt truth remains—none of it meant a thing. We don’t want the same things, a crucial consideration, as he pointed out himself. Besides, there’s still this mysterious Angie person in the picture.

Why did my traitorous brain venture into the forbidden and unavailable? Why did I let my followers coerce me into thinking Trevor would be a good idea? Why must I be so overeager in every aspect of life?

I contemplate my options as Crystal confidently leads the class through a series of cooldown stretches on the mats, which are more on my level. I’m grateful for the chance to be horizontal.

Once the class is over, Mel and I stick around on the mats, watching Crystal do a quick ab workout on her own.

“I have something to tell you guys,” Crystal announces, mid-crunch. “But before I say it, you have to promise not to freak out.”

“I make no promises,” I declare.

“You’re pregnant, aren’t you?” Mel asks, retying her ponytail. She quickly adds, “Not that you look pregnant or anything. But I’ve been getting a maternal vibe from you. And you’ve been pinning house décor ideas on Pinterest.”

Crystal claps her palms together. “Scott and I . . .” Her voice trails off, and she stares at me like she’s about to drop some bad news. “We decided to elope in March. In St. Lucia.”

“Elope?” I repeat, stunned. “As in not even immediate family?” There goes my fantasy of being a no-nonsense, ball-busting maid of honor.

“Yup. Just us.” She keeps her eyes on her running shoes, which tells me she’s anticipating protest. “I know you guys were hoping for a normal wedding, but I’m just not feeling it. Neither of us are really interested in the planning and the drama.”

I don’t entirely blame her. When I was planning my wedding to Seth, dealing with the Chen side of the family was no joke. First, Grandma and Grandpa Chen insisted on inviting at least twenty “close friends” they play mah-jongg with. This includes one woman who insisted on a plus-one for her deceased husband’s urn, which she brings with her wherever she goes. Then there are Dad’s three siblings and ten adult cousins, many of whom are feuding and refuse to be seated at the same table.

Crystal and Mel eye me expectantly, noticing I’m staying tight-lipped. Truthfully, I’m picturing Dad’s face, which will be one of cutting disappointment. He’s been waiting ages to host one of our weddings. Fatherly pride aside, he lives for a good party, particularly if he gets an excuse to be in the limelight.

Belatedly, I shrug. “I completely support whatever you guys want to do, so long as you livestream your ceremony. I want to live vicariously,” I add.

“Did Scotty want to elope too?” Mel inquires, deep in a downward-dog stretch.

Crystal shakes her head. “He was up for whatever I wanted to do, as long as we get married as soon as possible. He’s mostly excited to go on a honeymoon.”

Mel sits upright and gives her a subdued aww. After a string of short flings in the past year, she’s in a phase where the sheer mention of commitment makes her full-body shudder. Her commitment phobia aside, I understand her decision. I’d be off men too if my last boyfriend rocked an exclusive wardrobe of turtlenecks.

Aware of Mel’s less-than-enthusiastic outlook on love, Crystal tries to backtrack with an unromantic ramble about the merits of saving for a down payment on a home instead of “frivolously” spending it all on one day.

“Do you think you’ll ever be interested in something long-term?” I ask Mel. The last few guys she brought home, she tasked with labor around her apartment (like fixing her leaky faucet) before sex. What a queen.

Mel avoids my eyes, struggling to pick at a hangnail on account of her sparkly acrylics. “Absolutely not. I like my life the way it is. I get to focus all my energy and attention on my business without having to feel guilty. I don’t have to compromise what I want to watch on Netflix or what I want to eat for dinner.”

“Do you ever feel . . . lonely?” I ask softly.

She studies her coral running shoes, obviously not eager to dwell much longer. “Nope. I have Doug to keep me warm at night.”

“Her vibrator,” Crystal whispers.

“We support you and your battery-operated relationship either way.” I lean in to smother her with a sweaty hug.

She cracks a smile while not-so-discreetly worming out of my embrace. “Take it from me. Men are burdens to be abandoned at the first sign of trouble. Anyway, someone tell me something fun and scandalous. I just killed the mood.”

I volunteer myself as tribute. She lives for gossip, and I’m willing to sacrifice my dignity for her temporary amusement. “Okay, fun story, I tried to kiss Trevor last night.”

Crystal propels upward in a hard-hitting crunch, bewildered. “What fresh hell? You tried to kiss Trevor?”

Mel slaps the mat enthusiastically. “I saw that coming a mile away.”

“How did this even happen? And what happened to your exes plan?”