Chapter Three

Addison

“This asparagus wasn’t grilled long enough,” Mia announces and wrinkles her cute nose. Since she’s not in the kitchen tonight, her long, dark hair is loose around her shoulders and down her back in long, natural curls. Her makeup is done and her curvy body is rocking in a fun little outfit. Riley grabs Mia’s hand and shakes her head.

“You’re not going in the kitchen tonight,” she says with authority, making the rest of us smile. “We’re having fun.”

“I know,” Mia replies and takes a deep breath. “I’m holding myself back. But I’ll be having another meeting with my chefs on Monday. I wish I could work every day, all day.”

“You’d kill yourself, and we won’t allow that,” Cami says and takes a bite from her plate. “Does anyone else find it ironic that we’re all sitting here, eating aphrodisiacs, and not one of us is getting laid tonight?”

We’re sitting at the table right in front of the stage, eating dinner, waiting for Jake to show up. When the rest of the girls found out that I’d hired Jake to be the weekend entertainment, you’d have thought we were fifteen again. So of course we’re all here, front and center, for his opening night.

And we’re all dressed to the nines.

Because I hired Jake freaking Knox.

I mean, Jake Keller.

“Two girls got very lucky last night,” I reply, the words still bitter in my mouth.

“Okay, I didn’t hear the story yet,” Kat says and sips her wine.

“Yes, tell it again,” Mia says. “And then I’ll add the part where I’m going to rip Jeremy’s balls out.”

“It’s just the typical story,” I begin. “I went home early last night, and walked into the house to find him fucking two girls in my living room.”

Riley’s eyes narrow. “I never liked him.”

“What did you do?” Cami asks and adjusts her silver, shimmery tank top.

“Well, by the time they finally noticed me standing there, I’d had time to go from shock to sadness to blinding rage, so I just smiled politely—”

“Uh-oh, that’s never a good sign,” Cami mutters.

“And I told them all to get the fuck out of my house.”

“And Jeremy?” Kat asks.

“Jeremy tried to make excuses, but I just stared at him, impassively—”

“Another bad sign,” Mia adds.

“And told him that I never wanted to see his disgusting, small-dicked, cheating face again. And he left.”

Of course, I don’t mention that I curled up into a ball on my bed and cried for a few hours, and questioned myself and why men seem to think it’s okay to walk all over me like a doormat.

Because no one will ever see that side of me.

“My man picker is broken,” I announce and take a big bite of roasted grape and brie crostini with honey and sea salt and immediately—and silently—praise Mia’s culinary genius. “Which is fine, because I’m done with men.”

“It’s not broken, it’s off-kilter,” Riley says with a smile. “Maybe you need a break from men for a while. You didn’t take much time after the split with Craig before Jeremy got his meat hooks into you.”

I frown, surprised that the ache that used to come when someone mentioned Craig’s name isn’t there anymore.

“I still want to punch Craig,” Kat mutters into her glass. “I was pulling for him.”

“Another musician,” Riley says with a shrug. “Granted, one that we all thought was a descent human being, and was with you for the better part of eight years, but still. A musician.”

“It was never going to work out with Craig,” I reply with a sigh. “Even though we both tried for a long time. Longer than we should have. I’m needy. I want to be with a man on a regular basis, not just hear their voice over the phone, and he was always touring.”

“You’ll find a non-musician, non–bad boy,” Mia says with confidence.

“Yes, for the love of all that’s holy, stop dating the bad boys,” Cami adds. “Although, with the outfit you’re wearing, you’ll attract every boy—bad or otherwise—in a ten-mile radius.”

I glance down at my black skinny jeans, red camisole, and black leather vest, then back at Cami. “What’s wrong with my outfit?”

“Not one thing,” Kat replies with a grin. “And those red heels are to die for. Not to mention the red streaks in your hair.”

“You never look the same two days in a row,” Riley says. “I love it.”

I shrug. “The way I look doesn’t seem to have anything to do with men being faithful to me.”

“That’s because you pick idiots.” Mia takes another bite of asparagus and frowns at her fork.

“I know what you need,” Riley announces. “You need a sexcation man.”

I swallow the wine in my mouth and frown at my friend. “A what?”

“You need to find a guy that you can just call up like once a month and go see him—”

“But he doesn’t live here,” Cami adds, surprising the hell out of me. “You have to travel to see him.”

“Right, because you don’t need him to be hanging around, mooching off of you, or generally just annoying the hell out of you,” Kat says with a nod.

“Exactly,” Riley says and grins. “So, he lives in like Seattle or maybe San Francisco, ’cause that’s just a short flight. And you go see him for a couple days, have a lot of crazy sex, then come home and get back to your life. Everyone’s happy. No strings.”