Sometime between the moment when the hills began to blend together and the falling sun met the earth, a horn blared from behind Julie. She looked up to find herself dazing through a green light.
Damn. The detergent.
She either did a load tonight, or it would be bikini bottoms to work in the morning.
As she turned into the Walmart parking lot and slipped back into her damp shirt, it was still Nico who starred in her thoughts. Her mind had drifted from Patrick to her flab to the pile of laundry waiting for her back at home, before landing squarely on Nico.
Her mind was still reluctant to dismiss the man who’d pulled beside her in his big black truck and politely, but forcibly stolen her attention.
Even as she found her way to the far back corner of the store near the disposable plates and utensils, she couldn’t get past the idea that she’d so misread him. What is it with this guy? She wondered as she finally reached the laundry aisle.
Deadbeat hottie couldn’t be the whole story.
Detergent and fabric softener in zip bags and bottles climbed the shelves in bright oranges and greens. Absentmindedly, Julie lifted herself up onto her tiptoes and reached above the major name brand ones. She grabbed the free and clear liquid in a seventy-five ounce pink jug. The mountain fresh tropical flowerburst one had left a cluster of hives all over her body the last time. Now, she was strictly dye and perfume free baby detergent.
As Julie pulled it down, she knocked over a row of fabric softener on the shelf below. Righting them on the shelf, she shook her head deep in thought. Nico’s smile was sexy as hell, but it was also kind. Like he’d be humble and gentle. He looked like the kind of guy who’d have a library card in his wallet and a good credit score. Likely a dog guy with a soft spot for a lazy snuggly cat.
And his truck? It wasn’t showy with flashy rims even though it looked expensive. Deep down, she figured he had it for noble, neighborly reasons. You know, in case he might need to help a friend move, or because he worked for Habitat for Humanity in the summer and they hauled big loads.
He was supposed to be a nice hot guy. Not manwhore of the year. Ugh.
With everything neatly back on the shelf, Julie turned on her heels and started toward the end of the aisle.
“Is that you, Julie Laurich?” a nasally voice called.
Keep walking. You look like shit.
For the second time that day, her name had been called with a question mark hinged on the straggly end. Her gut urged her to keep on marching. It never failed that when she looked and felt her worst, she’d run into someone she knew.
Plus, this was an in-and-out trip. No basket, she reminded herself.
Still, curiosity won.
Julie pivoted in the direction of the strained familiar voice. Celeste Waltman. I should have kept walking.
Except, Celeste wasn’t just someone she knew. At one point, Julie had called her a friend.
They had worked together as tellers, but were fast friends—probably too fast, when she really thought about it. Almost overnight, they were texting and calling and hanging out together on weekends. Pretty soon, Julie’s friends became Celeste’s friends, since she was new to Vegas and didn’t know anyone. Road trips turned into weekend getaways and quick flights to San Diego and L.A. The two were inseparable, sharing clothes and makeup and money. Besties. Friends.
“Oh. Shit, I didn’t know who you were,” Julie said, pressing her free hand to her chest. She was far from relieved though.
Their friendship was fine. Until Julie began to notice that her buddy had turned into her mirror image.
It hadn’t bothered her the first time. When she decided to chop off her locks and dye her hair black, Celeste turned up the next day with the exact same raven-hued bob.
The matching manicures and purses caught her attention, but still not enough to be worried. Not until the chiseled guy who bagged groceries at the supermarket next door to their branch showed interest in Julie. A little less than a week later, Celeste hooked up with him, and the clues slowly began to add up.
After inching away day-by-day, making excuses why they couldn’t hang out, and “missing” Celeste’s calls, the distance finally felt wide enough for Julie to slip away unnoticed.
“Hey, I thought that was you, but I couldn’t tell from the back.” Celeste tilted her head, her gaze stalling at Julie’s thighs before a phony smile stretched the loose skin around her mouth into pronounced parentheses.
Julie only knew it was phony because they’d laughed together once back at the bank about telephone voices and customer-facing smiles which they plastered on to get good service reviews.
Celeste had demonstrated hers, complete with unblinking sparkly eyes, a tight smile, in which she bared only her top row of teeth, and a bubbly high-pitched send-off when she’d finished their transaction. At the time, Julie had called it her Stepford wife face because it was so robotic. A real Invasion-of-the-Bodysnatchers type habit.
The irony was not lost on Julie that at this low point she’d run into the one person who had literally tried to be her.
She stood before this not so strange stranger, a bottle of baby detergent weighing down her arm, broken-hearted, out of shape, and underdressed easily by comparison to Celeste.
There she was—tired with messy hair, in frumpy clothes that highlighted her perfect pear shape. And, she was pretty sure she reeked.
And then, there was Celeste.
Or was it? Long gone was the stringy-haired flat-chested plain Jane she used to know. Looking at Celeste’s tight, unnaturally pulled skin, she’d obviously had a nip or tuck, or two. Everything was inflated, including her pouty red lips, and the boobs were definitely new. Had to be at least a D cup.
Julie stared in disbelief at the platinum blonde bone-straight strands flounced over her bronzed bare shoulders. Dizzying curves highlighted a cinched waist. A skin-tight white dress hugged her in all the right places.
Cute dress, too. But who gets all dolled up to grab paper cups and champagne from the grocery store?
Julie’s brow creased slightly. “Hey—” she let the word drag, not wanting to seem too excited to see Celeste.
Somewhere deep down, the sight of this radiant long ago friend filled her with questions about winding roads and crossing paths. She and Celeste had met at a fork in the road and their paths hadn’t crossed again until now, but to look at them, she wondered who had made the wrong turns. One of them was full of life in all its forms and the other was merely passing time in the wrong body.
They were both undoubtedly searching for flaws in the other. Celeste with her veiled digs, and Julie straining for a glimpse of the person she used to know beneath the expertly curated image.
“Oh my gosh. Are you…?” Celeste started.
You have got to be fucking kidding me.
Julie blinked. Then she blinked some more, but the ghost did not vanish. Just past the snowy strands tucked behind Celeste’s left ear, he was coming right toward her. She spied him. With each step, she couldn’t believe her shitty luck.
All sound ceased as he settled into his wide stride, heading toward her. On his lithe frame hung an expertly tailored black suit, in all its splendor. As always with Patrick, the devilishly opulent design was in the details. The diamond-encrusted cuff links and tie clip. The thin lacquered black leather belt and matching loafers. Ties and pocket squares that complemented his smoky eyes.
It figured—this new selectively adorned version of Celeste complemented his moneyed image.
Patrick wasn’t good-looking by all standards, but he had that certain something. Ooh, she had a weakness for long lashes and dimples on a man, and Lord, this man had them in spades.
Before Patrick, she wasn’t the biggest fan of facial moles on men, but he even made a discolored melanin pocket look good. Off to the left of his top lip, a small, perfectly round brown dot sat as a beacon of his masculine beauty.
It was barely noticeable, but at that exact moment, Julie’s hands shook and her skin pulsed with a tingly numbness that spread all over until she couldn’t move. Her stomach tied up in double knots. She was exposed and awkward and overwhelmed in the worst way. And, she looked like shit on a stick at the moment.
“Uh…” Julie panicked, looking for an out. She swallowed hard as her mouth dried into a cottony slur. “I’ve got to, um…go,” she started.
“Julie, this is amazing,” Celeste shrieked with far too much enthusiasm for someone who’d been given the slip.
Julie took a few steps back and when she’d nearly reached the end of the aisle, her feet planted to the ground. There was no fight or flight left in her. She could barely speak coherent sentences, let alone take accounting of her scarce arsenal of zingers for a fight.
And as much as she wanted to run, the sight of him after two months had just about disabled her motor skills. I have to get out of here.
“Honey, this is one of my oldest friends, Julie,” Celeste purred.
Honey?
Heat trailed up to Julie’s cheeks as she tried to steady her breathing. Palpitations drummed in her chest. She was shaking on the inside, breaking on the inside.
Celeste was who he had chosen and they were nothing alike, if not polar opposites. She could be a lot of things but she couldn’t be superficial and flashy. It wasn’t in her blood, which at the moment was boiling.
In that moment, Julie really looked at Celeste. All the changes she’d made. Changes likely at Patrick’s request. She had changed for him, too.
Sick. Tired.
She had a mind to tell him all the things she’d planned to say before he beat her to the chase. She was going to ream him a new one. Tell him what a dickless coward he’d been—was being now, the way he just stood there without saying a word, quiet and still. A damn deer in headlights with his bugged eyes and clenched jaw.
Beads of sweat glistened on his pale forehead, a haunted expression pulling at the edges of his face as if he’d seen a ghost.
Yes, it’s me. Grow some balls.
Julie shook her head in disbelief. He was liar, a cheat, and a bastard. He could barely look at her for more than two seconds before his chin dropped to his chest.
Then, his hand slipped into Celeste’s. A simple, quiet gesture. The kind of thing people do out of habit. By the ease in which he’d done it, Julie could tell they’d been doing it long enough that they didn’t even have to think about it.
Her eyes zoomed in, laser-focused on their clasped fingers. His slender and strong. Hers dainty, though fittingly tipped with acrylic claw-sharpened points. Blood red.
A knowing stare flickered from Celeste, back and forth from Julie to Patrick. She knew something. Julie didn’t trust it. This coincidence was far too coincidental to be happenstance.
No one had luck that bad.
Julie lowered her gaze to their interlaced fingers again. It took every muscle in her body not to lunge toward them and unleash two months worth of wasted fury, but they were perfect for each other: an asshole and bitch.
Julie forced a thin smile, refusing to give him the reaction he likely craved.
She had prayed for a sign and here it was as clear as day. Patrick was not the man for her.
A stab of resentment pierced her. As pissed as she was, no as incensed as she was, seeing them together only hardened her heart. She thought it would hurt her more than anything, but it was just the opposite. All the frilly nostalgia and longing just wasn’t there. It was hard even to be jealous when she was seething with anger.
She narrowed her eyes and slowly lifted her gaze.
As Celeste jabbered on making introductions and throwing in all flavors of exaggerations about their short-lived friendship, Julie was thinking about addiction and signs that let you know it’s finally time to quit.
This same nicotine patch commercial for smokers would come on all the time asking the same questions over and again. Has your smoking habit begun to control your life? Are you worried about your health? Have your friends and family and colleagues told you that your clothing, hair and breath smell? Are you always trying to hide your habit? That’s how you know it’s time to quit, the bass-filled voice would say in the most grave of tones.
Yes. To all of the above, Julie admitted now.
For far too long, Patrick had been her addiction. He was controlling her life to the point she was starting to worry about her health. Liz had made it clear that she stunk from sitting in the house moping over him. For the past two months, she’d been hiding it. This was her breaking point. There was no other choice but to quit.
“We’re not telling anyone, either,” Celeste whispered and winked. With her right hand, she lifted what looked like non-alcoholic champagne, and cups. Then, she released her left hand from his and rubbed it over her belly in a way only women do when there’s a joyous celebration about nine months off on the horizon.
While Julie should have been watching the smooth curve of Celeste’s hand, she couldn’t help but focus on the blinding emerald-cut solitaire perched on a very special finger.
Mother fucker.