So it Goes Book 2: Snow in New York
Auteur·e
Lois Scott
Lectures
15,9K
Chapitres
45
Chapter 1
Olivia
“Jesus fucking Christ,” I whisper to myself as I slowly wake up. My hand goes immediately to my head as my skull pounds from the inside out, and I feel like it’s about to burst.
What the fuck did I do last night? Why on earth did I drink so much? Like what’s the point of that? The bachelorette… Right, last night was the bachelorette. But I shouldn’t have gotten this drunk. I haven’t had a hangover in eight years.
And then there is this weird ache between my legs, like I’ve sat on something. What the hell did I do last night?
Slowly, I open my eyes and take in my surroundings. I’m in my hotel room, thank god. So nothing bad happened.
I look down and see that I’m covered in a thick duvet, but I know I’m naked. I can feel the duvet on my bare skin.
Why on earth am I naked?What the hell happened?
Then an arm wraps around me, making me freeze.
Really, Liv? You’re naked in a bed. Clearly, you’ve had sex. Why would you think you’re alone?
My subconscious does have a point…
The person doesn’t talk at all but tugs me closer, pulling me against him, which makes me turn without me wanting to. I will have to face the person at some point, right?
His broad chest meets my eyes. Ooh, not bad… Nice muscles. No woman has ever detested a six-pack, right? Nice plump, rosy lips. Damn. Those must have been fun to kiss. Too bad I don’t remember kissing those lips anymore.
I look higher and freeze when I see the face of the man I slept with. The face of the same man who left me at the altar seven years ago.
THE PREVIOUS NIGHT
“Liv, come on. Have some fun. It’s been years since we’ve done something with all the girls. It’s my bachelorette party,” my best friend, Sara, says, chastising me.
“Don’t be a party pooper. You’ve promised to be there, so you better come out of your room. You didn’t come all this way to New York for nothing, right?”
I haven’t gone out since I was twenty-one years old. That was with Andrew, my ex-fiancé. We were supposed to get married, but in the end, it wasn’t meant to be. Actually, I don’t know if it was meant to be or not, as my boyfriend of seven years stood me up on our wedding day.
Left at the altar, to be precise. What a way to get dumped, right? I’ll tell you, it crushed me in every way possible like a truck rode over my heart and then a train came and rode over me once more. It was horrible.
I’ll never forget his best friend Greg’s face. The smug look on it, the smirk. He got what he wanted. I don’t know why. But he never liked me. Looking back, he tried to break us up ever since we got together.
And what a spectacle he made of it when he finally did it, at the altar as if it was his stage, in front of my friends and family.
I broke down like any sane woman would have done. I broke down in my classy white satin dress, getting it stained with my makeup. I know because the photographer took photos of me. I still have them. To remember why I don’t date, don’t go out, except when I have to.
I know I didn’t deserve it. I deserved an explanation, but I never got one. All I got was a door in my face when I confronted his mom a couple of weeks later.
The signs were clear after all these years. I wasn’t getting any answers. All I could do was move on. And I did. Kind of. I swore off men and focused on me, my family, and my job.
Tonight is the first time since that dreadful day that I’ve gone out for such a big event. For Sara, I had to do it.
“Fine, I’m coming down. But the second I’m not feeling it anymore, I’m out. You know how these things make me feel.” I can see her roll her eyes through the phone.
“He’s not worth this sacrifice you’ve made. You should’ve shown him what he has lost. Don’t lock yourself up. Get dressed in something sexy, put on some makeup, put that wig on, and get your fine ass down.”
She has a point, doesn’t she? I do get dressed, but it is simple. Too simple, not sexy at all, not worthy of a maid of honor at a bachelorette.
“I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”
“Yes!” she screams through the line.
I end the call and get to work. I pull out my red dress. It’s a dress my mom got me when she pushed me out for a date. The date was horrible and gave me the idea that dating and going out was not in the cards for me. But it did give me this nice little number.
It hugs all the right places. As a twenty-eight-year-old, I’m not the skinny kind of girl I was all those years ago. But then again, I never really was. I’m my momma’s daughter: I’ve got curves lots of others would cry over. But I rarely show them.
I hold back the tears and finish my makeup, enhancing my forest-green eyes with a cat-eye line and some bright-red lipstick to match my dress.
I put my beautiful curly wig on, making my hair a little bit browner than my actual hair color. Well, that’s what wigs do, don’t they? You can’t have the exact same hair color, can you?
I put on the black stilettos to finish the look, knowing I won’t keep them on for the entire night. Heels, yes. But stilettos, nope. Those are sexy but also uncomfortable as hell. And everyone who says otherwise is a liar, liar, pants on fire.
Downstairs, I walk out of the elevator, feeling eyes on me. It’s the kind of attention I haven’t had in a long time.
“Dang! Yes, Liv. That’s what I’m talking about. I got my wing woman back. You look hot as fuck!” Sara yells across the entire lobby, making my cheeks heat up.
“I feel it as well. I’m here as promised,” I tell her, shrugging my shoulders, reminding her that I put in the effort but still I don’t really want this. I’m doing this for her.
“Yes, let’s go!”
***
Within the hour, my stilettos have flown into a booth as I let the drinks flow. We’re at a strip club, making sure the bride has her last night of fun before the big day.
She and her groom-to-be aren’t getting married for a couple of weeks, but Sara wants everyone here, including her sister, who lives hours away, and this was her only weekend off. We all made it work for Sara.
Sara has always stood by me, picked me up when I broke down. She was there. She was my maid of honor at my failed wedding, and she made sure I got out of there. She was with me for the weeks that passed after that day.
But better than that, she was with me when my cancer came back. She came to every doctor’s appointment, held my hair back when the chemo became too much and I was puking my guts out.
She was there when I needed her. And so, I am here for her.
I have to admit, I have lots of fun. From the pole dancing to the half-naked bartenders, yup. A great bachelorette.
Somewhere between the strip club and the private dances, I see familiar blue eyes looking at me. Blue eyes I wished I’d never had to see again. But he isn’t alone. He is there with a friend, I suppose.
The blue eyes come closer to me, and all of a sudden, the rest of the world fades away. Standing in front of me, he looks like he has seen a ghost.
“Andrew?”
“Fuck,” Sara says.
By the look on Andrew’s face, he wasn’t expecting to see me or her here. But that’s how fate works! What on earth am I saying?
“Olivia, what are you doing here?” he asks me.
“Don’t!” Sara, the bride-to-be, slurs, stomping toward us, or trying to. But instead, she cracks a smile as another stripper pushes her back down to give her a lap dance.
We are definitely getting what we paid for with this bachelorette. And I don’t know why, it must be all the booze running through my veins, but I smile at him.
I throw my arms around his neck and start dancing. Dancing like we would back in college. Swaying my hips to the beat of the music. Turning around as I grind against him, going lower and getting back up.
“You know you never answered my question,” he whispers in my ear as he holds me by my hips against him. His whisper sends a shiver over my skin.
“Less talking, more drinking,” I answer him, pulling him toward the bar. I don’t want to answer him. It would only cause more hurt. And what better way to forget that you’re hurt than drinking?
“Two shots of scotch, please,” I yell at the sexy bartender.
“Coming right up, gorgeous,” the bartender says with a smile, winking at me.
I giggle at his gesture. I haven’t been called gorgeous in years. At least not by anyone other than my family. And let’s be honest, that doesn’t really count, does it?
“Why are you giggling?”
I shrug my shoulders, but the look he is giving me and the booze in my system makes me spill everything I’m thinking.
“I haven’t been called gorgeous by a man other than my dad in, like, seven years. It’s just weird, that’s all. But enough with the sappy stuff! Let’s get drunk and go dance!”
Andrew pulls a weird face, as if something doesn’t add up for him. But he doesn’t say anything else. I pull him with me, and we dance farther on the dance floor.
We dance the entire night. We drink, talk, and dance like we are two teenagers with nothing to think about.
But that’s what alcohol does to your body and brain, doesn’t it? It makes you forget. It makes you do things—things you would never think of doing when you are sober.
It clouds your judgment, and that’s how you end up in a wedding chapel at 3 a.m., getting married to the one person you hated. That one person you believed ruined your life years ago.
