trip with Cindy. New Orleans or somewhere fun. Whatever. Who cared? She didn’t need any of them anyway.
She looked at her hand, the third finger on her left hand, and wiped a tear away. Josh had come clean about everything that morning. The video was his, or rather him and Drew filming themselves doing each other. He’d fallen in love with Drew, and that was that. Oh, Josh had cried and carried on, but in the end, it didn’t matter. He’d left carrying her big engagement ring, and she’d started drinking. Eventually, she’d decided to come to Elmo’s, though she didn’t know why she’d made that decision. Drunk people didn’t make good decisions.
Neither did people named Ellery who were dumb blondes who thought they could make things work when they couldn’t make things do anything. Or something like that. Even her thoughts were broken.
Someone sat down on her left. She squinted at the person and frowned. “Well, of course, it’s you. Why wouldn’t it be you sitting next to me on the single worst night of my life?”
Clay Caldwell shook his head. “Elle, dude, you’re wasted.”
“Ding! You are correct, sir. That was my goal.” She slapped her chest and noticed a stain on her sweatshirt. She hoped it wasn’t drool. She may have dozed in the Uber on the way to Elmo’s. “I rock.”
Clay looked over at Chris, who was not nearly as cute as Gage, by the way. Not even close. “Shit, how many has she had?”
Ellery counted the upside-down shot glasses, tapping each one. “One. Two. Three. Four. Five.”
“Jeez, Elle, drink some water,” Clay said, sliding the sweating glass toward her.
“You may have fucked my mom, but you aren’t my daddy, Clay Caldwell,” Ellery said, poking his arm with her finger.
Clay’s expression was mad. She could tell because his mouth made a line.
“I’m calling Josh to come get you.” He pulled out his phone. “He gave me his number a few weeks ago.”
“I bet he did,” Ellery drawled. Or tried to drawl. She wasn’t sure if it came out as intended. “But he isn’t going to come get me. We broke up. See?” She held up her naked left hand.
“Then I’m calling your mother,” Clay said.
“Fine, but she’s in San ’tonio.”
Clay set his cell phone down on the bar. “Then I’ll take you home.”
“Over my dead body,” Ellery quipped, tapping the bar. “I’ll have another. Now.”
Clay shook his head. “You’re cut off. Drink your water.”
Ellery tried to slide off the barstool but stumbled and fell against Clay. She pushed off him and straightened. “Whatever. I’ll go somewhere else. Where’s my purse?”
“I don’t think you have one,” Chris said. The new bartender shook up a drink, the ice clattering obnoxiously as he made a martini or something fruity. It was probably for the ladies celebrating at the end of the bar. They’d been laughing, taking selfies, and being all-around happy for the last hour. Ellery hated them.
“Here,” Clay said, sliding his credit card across the bar. “It’s on me. I’ll get her home.”
“No, he’s not,” Ellery said, swaying a bit. She grabbed hold of the bar. “You know why? He slept with my mother. My mother. Can you believe that?”
“Elle, stop,” Clay said, shooting her the look her father usually used when he was tired of her behavior. “You’re making a fool of yourself.”
“Really? You’re the one who made a fool out of my mother.”
Clay’s mouth remained tight. His eyes flashed anger, too. “Stop. You’re making a scene.”
“Oh, so now you’re worried about what people think? Well, I don’t care. Look at me, Clay,” she said, stepping back and looking down at her sloppy outfit. Her house shoes had kitty-cat whiskers. “Does it look like I care?”
Clay peered down at her feet. “Are you wearing slippers?”
“Yep. I got ’em on. ’Cause they’re comfortable, and I don’t care anymore. You want to know why I’m quitting my life?”
He sighed. “I’m afraid to ask.”
“Because I’m so bad in bed, I drive guys gay.”
She really didn’t think that was true, but it sounded good. Her self-pity was at least a foot deep, and she found she liked wading around in it. Felt better than trying to make a stupid plan for her life that wouldn’t work anyway or cutting up all Josh’s clothes, which she had actually contemplated. She felt like going all Carrie Underwood with a baseball bat on his stupid car. Except as mad as she was, it wasn’t so much at him. Could he help that he was gay?