Ever since Jude stepped out on Jovie a couple months back, I’ve been holding my breath waiting for something to happen again. Infidelity is a slippery slope—not that I speak from experience. It’s just something Paul drove into our heads growing up. He always told us once you cheat, it’s only a matter of time before you do it again.
Much to my relief, Jude returns with a fresh beer, sipping the foam off the top.
“This place is kind of lame,” he says.
“What the hell are you talking about?” I scoff at him. Personally I’m here for the top shelf tequila, killer music, beautiful people, and vibrant atmosphere. We don’t have anything like this back in Maine. We’re a world away from lighthouses and lobsters.
“I don’t know, I just feel like we should move on after this,” he says. “Bar crawl or whatever.”
“We paid a twenty-dollar cover just to get in here,” I remind him. The cover, plus the drink, plus the tip, means I’m already forty dollars poorer than I was when we first got here, and it’s only been twenty minutes. “Sit back and relax.”
Jude takes the seat next to me and nurses his beer while the music pumps. A couple of the guys with us flag down a cocktail waitress and ask her to bring a round of Bacanora shots to the table.
I’m scanning the room when I spot a flash of white again. The blonde Jude had his gaze on a few minutes ago struts past our table, flicking her hair over her shoulder and turning back to make eye contact with him.
She smiles—again.
As does he.
“What do you think Jovie’s up to tonight?” I ask him in a not-so-subtle attempt to steer his mind in the right direction.
“She went to her cousin’s bridal shower in Montpelier or something,” he shouts over the music. “Why?”
I sit back. “No reason.”
No reason at all …
“I can’t get over how f-uh-cking hot the girls are here,” he says, swallowing a mouthful of beer and scanning the place again. “It’s insane. Like the ones back home look like 1800s schoolmarms compared to these chicks.”
I roll my eyes. Meanwhile, he can’t take his off of the next group of women who pass our table. With their long, lanky bodies and their two-piece dresses and their taut and filled faces, they’re beautiful in their own way, but they’re not my personal cup of tea. I prefer hair I can run my fingers through without it getting tangled in extensions, skin color that looks like it was touched by the sun (or nothing at all) over something that matches orange soda.
Two women—each looking like carbon copies of each other—stop in front of the DJ booth to snap a selfie, their lips puckered and their fingers holding peace signs.
Jude elbows me before pointing to the blonde who won’t stop walking past us every five seconds. “That one won’t stop eye fucking me.”
“Ignore her.”
“Are you out of your damn mind?” Jude laughs, tossing back the rest of his beer. “You seriously expect me to ignore the hottest fucking thing I’ve ever seen in my life?”
“I do,” I say. “Because you have a girlfriend back home.”
“Doesn’t count if it’s not on American soil.”
Without another word, he heads to the bar to grab another beer. For a moment, I think he’s in the clear—until he takes the long way back to our table. I watch as he bumps into her—on purpose—and uses it as an excuse to apologize. Or at least it appears that way. It also appears that he’s introducing himself. I look away. I can’t take another minute of this shit.
It’s a solid twenty minutes before he returns, but at least he returns alone.
“Her name is Stassi.” Jude’s standing a little taller, wearing the smug arrogance of a hunter about to snag the ultimate catch. “Believe it or not, she’s from Portland—Maine, not Oregon.”
“Wow,” I feign shock and interest. “That’s fascinating.”
“I know, right? I told her I’m Maine born and raised and I’ve never seen anything like her before …”
“And that line actually worked on her?” I ask.
He nods. “Must have. Because she’s coming over later.”
I almost choke on my sip of tequila. “To our room?”
“Yeah,” he says. “Think you can crash with Cory and Derek tonight? We’d go to her place, but she’s here for her sister’s bachelorette party and she’s sharing a suite with, like, five other girls.”
“You want me to crash on the floor of Cory and Derek’s room so you can fuck some girl that you just met twenty minutes ago?”
“Come on, man.” Jude chuckles, his face flushing the way it does when his liquor starts to catch up with him.
“No,” I say. “And before you bitch about it, it’s for your own good.”
I know how this is going to go. Tomorrow he’ll be filled with regret and blaming his bad decision on alcohol instead of accepting full responsibility like a man. Then he’s going to rope me into this, begging me to cover for him with Jovie.