“I used to daydream about this—us walking down the beach together. But it was so . . . different.”
“Lola, I’m so, so, sorry. Breaking up with you was the dumbest thing I ever did.”
“You didn’t,” I say.
“What?”
“You didn’t break up with me. I found out you were with Megan, and it just ended.”
“Right.” He pauses to scratch the back of his head. “Well, she was not you. I didn’t feel for her what I do for you. Not even close. I still love you, Lola.”
“I don’t love you,” I say honestly. “Not anymore. But I did once if that makes you feel better.”
“It doesn’t.” He pauses to scratch the back of his neck. “I get the feeling you’ll always be the one that got away.” He sighs deeply. “Will you at least consider forgiving me?”
The thing is, I’m not as angry with Ethan as I thought I’d be. I’m so beyond caring, it isn’t funny. My heart is now broken over a different man, a man I didn’t realize I was in love with until it was too late for us. But it doesn’t matter because that man never loved me, even if he once said he did.
But Ethan—he was my rock once. He held me while I cried at the funeral, brought me food for weeks, and made sure I showered and ate when I couldn’t function. He saw me through the worst of it. I can’t hold this grudge if only for the respect I owe the friendship we once had.
“Yeah, Ethan. I forgive you,” I say honestly. “Now, let’s start heading back.”
“Thank you, Lola,” he says.
The restaurant is at a lull when we get back, and I ask Fernanda to join us as we sit, drinkingaguas frescas. Having her at the table feels less intimate, more like friends chatting. I stir my straw in the glass as I catch up with Ethan and everything he’s been up to since I last saw him.
“So, what are you ladies doing tomorrow night?” Ethan asks.
* * *
I lookat myself in the mirror and can hardly recognize the woman looking back. I’m not used to being a brunette yet.
“You look hot,” Fernanda says from her spot on the bed. She came over with a few options to let me borrow an outfit since I don’t have many pieces in my wardrobe appropriate for nightlife.
“Thanks,” I say, pulling down the short cream-colored miniskirt. “And thanks for coming out with us tonight. I don’t want Ethan to think it’s a date.”
“I know,” Fernanda says, running her fingers through her hot-pink locks.
“Are you sure this isn’t too revealing?” I ask for the second time. The miniskirt she’s let me borrow is more like minuscule, and my fuller hips and rear are testing the skirt’s limits. To go with the skirt, Fernanda has lent me a gold sequined halter top that leaves my back completely bare.
“Just enough for the club we’re going to,” she says.
“You look killer too, by the way.” Her strapless deep-blue dress fits her like a glove.
We meet up with Ethan at the dance club, a mid-scale venue next to the water that Fernanda insists has a good vibe, and if we get tired of dancing, we can always bail to the boardwalk.
Ethan’s mouth hangs open when he takes me in, and his gaze rakes my body from the top of my head down to my toes. “You look great,” he nearly screams in my ear over the thumping bass while he hugs me hello.
“Thank you,” I yell back, pulling away from his embrace. Despite how dark it is, I can tell his eyes are hooded with arousal, but I pretend not to see it. We’re just friends now.
And I’m determined to enjoy myself. To let loose a little, for once. I’ve worked so hard to learn the ropes of running the business with Elena, to move into my new place, to work on myself with my therapist, picking up yoga at the insistence of my therapist to do something physical. After all that, I’ve earned a little fun.
Ethan comes back with drinks for Fernanda and me, and to my delight, he doesn’t only focus on me. He asks Fernanda to dance first, and she drags me to the dance floor with them.
One tequila shot.
Two tequila shots.
Three tequila shots.