Snap

RAE

Cue part two.

“What the fuck is fucking wrong with that fucker?” Zoe screams while I used her dress as a tissue and sob uncontrollably.

My last name was going to be Dupont. We were going to be Mr. and Mrs. Jacob Dupont. Our kids were going to have curly hair and long eyelashes. He was going to give me the ring I picked out online.

I was going to be happy. It was all I wanted.

He wasn’t going to cure my depression or social anxiety, but I was going to be happy, at least most of the time. That’s how the future was supposed to work.

You meet a guy in your senior year of college, you fall in love, and then you get jobs, pop out a couple of kids, and become happy.

That was the plan.

I wanted that plan.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?!” Zoe shrieks again. The repetition was a bit much, but I get it. That’s what best friends do. They drive the fucking point home when your boyfriend cheats on you.

“Jake?” I whimper, raising my head to search for the person she was shouting at.

Her target isn’t Jake.

It is his hockey opponent, and she is bawling nearly as noisily as I was.

“I’m so sorry,” she wails, throwing her arms around my shoulders. “He said he was single, and…,” she hiccups.

I gently pat her back until her sobs turn to sniffles. “It’s not your fault,” I console.

She wipes the mascara that gathered beneath her raccoon-esque beautiful brown eyes, smearing makeup across her face. “I’m Courtney.”

She sticks out a snotty hand. “Let me make it up—” Hiccup “—to you.”

Entirely unsure about what to say, I just stand there until Zoe made an executive decision and said, “Yeah. You owe us.”

Us. As if we were sister-wives or something.

Courtney’s friend Layla cleans our faces with makeup wipes from her purse before we go into Smash, another shitty club downtown.

It would have been more fitting if all the glasses broke there, but whatever. That was the least of last night’s problems.

“Lemme buy you a drink,” Courtney insists, pulling on my arm.

“Fuck it” were the last coherent words I remember saying.

Several rounds of vodka crans later, the four of us are absolutely obliterated. Courtney and I dance together, screaming at every man who comes within our vicinity while Zoe and Layla each take one of our rejects.

I lift my plastic cup—Smash is clearly smarter than Del Mar in the drinkware department—above my head and swung my hips, forcing thoughts of Jake and our future dog Bentley out of my mind.

“Hey, ladies.” A male voice interrupts the questionable dance Courtney and I were wrapped up in.

“No, thank you. No men,” I inform him.

The guy isn’t deterred. “Hey, Court!”

Courtney lifts her head from my shoulder. “Logan?”

“Hell yeah,” he laughs, taking a huge sip of beer before embracing in a bro hug with her.

“This,” Courtney announces, “is Rae. She hates men.”

I cross my arms and nod to show him who was boss.

“All of us?” Logan raises his eyebrows.

“Every last one.” I down the rest of my drink and sigh. “The only man for me is Tito.”

“She means the vodka,” Courtney clarifies. “I made out with her boyfriend.”

I raise my hand to report that I had a correction. “Ex!”

“Court!” Logan gasps. “You made out with someone’s boyfriend?”

“Ex,” I repeat. Then, annoyed at his accusation and considering Courtney wasn’t a member of the enemy gender, I add, “It wasn’t her fault. He lied.”

“Good. Courtney’s like my little sister. I would have had to ground her.”

I giggle.

“You’re laughing at my joke? I thought you hated men,” Logan chuckles.

I was stumped. He had me there. “Fine. You and my dad are okay. You’re on the exceptions list.”

Dad liked Jake. Mom did too. I’m going to have to break the news to my parents, I realize.

“I’m getting another drink,” I inform Courtney and Logan.

“Let me buy it,” Logan says quickly. “Consider it a payment from the men in your debt.”

I bite my lip. Fuck it. “I’ll accept.”

I followed Logan to the bar, and he hands me a vodka cran after telling the bartender to keep the change.

“Thank you,” I say between sips. “So, what brings you here?” Stupid question, but he was on my exceptions list, so I had to make polite conversation.

“Long week at the office,” he sighs. “I was supposed to meet some buddies, but they bailed at the last minute. I figured I’d stop by anyway.”

Jake bailed on my heart at the last minute.

“Are they men?” I ask.

He smirked. “As a matter of fact, yes.”

“I’ll tell you what.” I poke his chest. Ooh. Very muscular. “They are not—” I poke again to emphasize my point “—on the exceptions list.”

“I’ll let them know.” He winks. “Should I feel special for being on this list?”

“Duh.”

I turn around only to find Courtney lip-locked with a guy who was definitely a long-lost Hemsworth. Alright. Back to Logan, then.

“So,” I say to my second choice, “what do you do?”

He groaned. “I’ll buy you another drink if we don’t have to talk about work.”

“Deal.”

We shake on it.

“So, what do you do for fun?” he asks.

“I like photography.” Okay, so photography is my career as well as my hobby, but Logan didn’t need to know that I don’t get out much. “What about you?” I add.

His eyes light up. “You’re a photographer?”

I nod, about to say that I sure am, when he (thank God) continues, “I’m actually going to the art fair at Pioneer Park tomorrow to pick up something for my mom’s birthday.

“I was thinking of getting a painting, but maybe I’ll go with some photographs instead.” He grins. “You inspired me, Rae.”

I blush. A couple of tingles burst through my chest like they were trying to impersonate that scene from Alien . “You should,” I finally reply. “So, uh, what do you like to do?”

A flash of purple cuts in front of my eyes. I step back, blinking, and see a thin, leggy brunette in a violet romper squeeze between Logan and me. Rude.

“Hey, Logan.” She plants a kiss on his cheek. “Fancy seeing you here.”

Logan squeezes his eyes shut for a second. “Hi, Taylor. I’m in the middle of a conversation with the person you just stepped in front of.”

She turned her head and quirked an eyebrow. “Oh. Didn’t notice. See you Monday.”

Logan rolls his eyes when she struts away. I smile, pretending not to hate Purple Bitch. He was being nice enough to talk to me, a dramatic crazy person.

He didn’t have to pretend to be uninterested in his fuck-buddy—that kiss was very suggestive—or whatever she was.

Logan’s smiled looks a little forced when he picks up where we left off. “Besides working out, I don’t have much time away from the office. I like hiking. I try to go every couple of weekends.”

“We live in the perfect place for that,” I tell him instead of confessing that I’m the clumsiest person in the world and that none of my hobbies involve even the slightest bit of physical activity.

“Yeah, for sure. Are you into—”

A guy with massive shoulders and perfect cheekbones interrupts his question by shouting “Logan!” into his ear.

Logan jumps and, noticing the God-like figure behind him, rolls his eyes. “About damn time. Michael, this is Rae. Rae, Michael.”

Michael kisses the back of my hand. “It’s a pleasure, Rae.”

I ignore him. “Is he on the list?” I ask Logan.

Logan cracks up. “Nope. He didn’t make the cut.” Turning to Michael, he explains, “Rae hates men. Her dad and I are the only exceptions.”

Michael frowns. “Why?”

“My ex-boyfriend, who wasn’t my ex until tonight, cheated on me.” I feel tears well up in my eyes. “But I don’t want to talk about it. I’m going to get another drink.”

Michael follows me to the bar, and before I could open my mouth to speak to the bartender, he was already handing her his credit card and insisting I buy whatever I want. “Vodka cranberry, please!” I call.

“I’m sorry I made you upset,” he murmurs. “For the record, he’s an idiot. That’s the last I’ll speak of it, I promise.” The pad of his thumbs brush my cheeks gently, pushing away the tears.

My lips quiver. “Thank you.”

He hand me the cup—another plastic, thank you, Smash—and nods. “Want to dance? Platonically, of course.”

I turn to see where Logan was.

Honestly, I’d rather have chatted with him than danced with Michael, but he was wrapped up in an animated discussion with Purple Bitch, which he was probably enjoying more than stumbling through conversation with the awkward girl.

I look up at Michael. Damn. Definitely a nine out of ten in the looks department. I hate that Jake’s lips were the last ones on mine, that he was the last person to touch me.

Fuck it. I let my drunk self seize control. “Yes, but not platonically.”

Michael raises a sexy eyebrow and squeezes my hand. “I’ll never say no to a woman as beautiful and charming as you, Rae.”

Not once in my twenty-three years have I ever—I repeat, ever —been referred to as charming. Not even sarcastically. That’s how un-charming I am.

I decide that Michael didn’t need to know that.

I squeeze his hand back and follow.