to worry because he sent you to John Barrett salon to finally fix your ‘trailer park highlights’ and make you ‘more presentable’?”
I cringe, shrinking in the stool as the memory assaults me. After removing my blonde highlights and adding dark brown lowlights, Townes seemed much happier. I figured he was entitled to his opinion. And frankly, I wanted to make him happy. I wanted to make him feel as proud of me as I was with him. A few weeks later, we attended yet another fundraiser. This time it was a black-tie event at the Waldorf, where in front of a crowd of people, his mother smiled maliciously and loudly told me, “How nice you finally look!” Before turning to a group of her friends and gabbing, “You wouldn’t believe what her hair used to look like!”
Bitch.
I exhale, groaning. “Can we switch to, fuck that shit, it’s time to move on?” I don’t quite put the same amount of enthusiasm behind that statement as she had, but still…
“Hell, yes!” she exclaims, immediately turning to get the bartender's attention. Her breasts jiggle in her low-cut V-neck top as she waves an arm in the air excitedly, hoping for him to notice her so she can steer me toward whatever path she plans to take me on.
I have to laugh to myself, or rather at myself, as I remember all the times Jenny led me down a road I would never have traveled without her. The truth is, I was wary at times, downright terrified at others, but each path led to fun and adventure.
While her mind is on the bartender, my eyes hone in on my cell, and my mind goes back to the night he’s having. Sure, I hate what he did to the ‘us’ I had planned, but that doesn't keep me from wanting to get to the point where I actually hate him. And it would just be one more time.
Oh, fuck it, let me be honest with myself...
Hello, my name is Nikki, and I am a social media addict.
I pull the phone off the bar and click on my Instagram app for a quick look before Jenny snatches my phone away again. Scrolling through stories, I see they are all now at a nightclub. A bottle is brought to the table. Lauren, who always wanted in Townes’ pants, is on the table dancing. Black mini dress, Louboutin heels. Cartier gold bangles on her wrist. I watch the same story over and over again, my eyes scanning the screen, hoping to catch a glimpse of the man who stomped on my heart. I move between the accounts of his friends, trying to piece together their evening. My throat starts to close when I catch Townes leaning into a girl, a flirty smirk in place as he appears to be whispering in her ear. Is he? Could he?!
I’m in my own world, hanging out on the corner of hate street and anger-lane, to be more precise, when I hear a sexy, deep voice with an English accent. “What can I get you ladies to drink?”
I lift my head, and there he is, tall, dark, and gorgeous. The man I’ve been avoiding at the Sweet Spot, at the local grocers, and basically everywhere I’ve seen him, like the plague. Sexy scruff lines his jaw, and when he smiles, a dimple shows on his right cheek. Recognition sets in his face, and my stomach drops—in sync with my phone. It slips from my shaking hands and falls onto the floor. Thankfully, it gives me an excuse to disappear, hide the obvious blush overtaking my entire face—thank you genetics—and gather myself.
Sliding off my barstool and crouching on the sticky floor, I pick up my phone and check the screen. Thankfully, it’s not cracked. But my ego? Shattered. That accent. The rich kid’s daddy in the Ferragamo shoes and owner of the sleek black Harley Davidson, the man who has had me scurrying like a mouse to hide for weeks, is... the bartender? I look around, trying to find the quickest way out of here, one that will make me look the least like a complete idiot.
Jenny kicks me in the side as I argue with… myself, still crouched down—basically hiding—, and I know I have to stand up. And stand I do, rather abruptly. Popping up to try to save myself from further embarrassment, I bang my head on the underside of the bar—ouch!
“Oh my God, are you okay?” Jenny is equal