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Nicole tugged at the hem of her sparkly pink dress. She hadn’t bought clubbing clothes with her to Melbourne and Sam’s taste was more adventurous than hers. The material required her to go commando and she was already paranoid about flashing someone.
“I can’t come out tonight.”
Sam handed her a glass filled to the brim with sparkling wine. “You can. You will. You must. You have no alternative.”
“Isn’t this all a bit fascist? You and Tabby forcing me to have a party I don’t want?”
“Not when we’re doing it out of love. Drink.”
Nicole sipped obediently. For the past week she’d been doing whatever her sisters told her; eating when they put meals in front of her, falling asleep when they turned out the lights. Either she was obeying commands or she was in their dad’s office, pushing away thoughts of Aaron with work. She’d been sure that her manic breakup energy would reveal the reason Silver Daughters almost went bankrupt, but she’d found nothing.
“Did you or Dad make any big payments in the last twelve months?” she asked Sam for what felt like the millionth time. “Anything you withdrew out of the SDI accounts and forgot to put on the books?”
Sam glared at her over her wineglass. “No work talk.”
“But—”
“I mean it, tonight is about drinking, dancing and screaming the word ‘woo.’ That’s it.”
“Fine, but we’re talking about this tomorrow.”
“Whatever. How are you feeling?” Sam squinted at her, clearly scanning for signs that she was going to cry or keel over. Nicole would be offended, but she’d done both multiple times this week. It was embarrassing how weak she was. She was single, not experiencing a terminal illness. She forced herself to smile at her twin. “I’m fine. Where’s Tabby?”
“Right here, milady!”
Tabby burst into the room shaking her arms so violently her boobs were bouncing out of her mini-dress. Nicole felt a pang of envy. Aaron always wanted her breasts to be bigger. He once suggested she ask her friend Jackie for the name of her surgeon. For a second, she wondered if they would still be together if she’d gotten fake boobs, and she realised she was being ridiculous. She might as well be cupping her cheeks and sighing ‘Aaron used to love big cans...’ She snorted at her own joke.
“What?” Sam asked eagerly. “What’s funny?”
“I’m just thinking about Aaron being a jerk.”
Sam and Tabby looked at each other, clearly delighted.
Nicole rolled her eyes. “Stop being so encouraged by the smallest—oof!”
But both her sisters had thrown their arms around her, hugging her with all their might.
“You’re going to be okay,” Sam said, sounding insanely close to tears. “You’re going to be fine.”
“I know!”
Tabby put the polaroid on her bedside table. “We need more champagne. Proper champagne.”
“We have sparkling, we don’t need champagne!”
But she had already dashed back out of the room.
“Oh well, better make room.” Sam drained her glass in one. Nicole hesitated, then followed suit. The bubbles burned in her nose and she suppressed a burp. “Tonight isn’t going to be too big of a thing, is it?”
“Nah, only the people who came over when I won Fadeout Festival.”
Nicole gaped at her sister. “Almost two hundred people came over when you won Fadeout Festival!”
“Oh...yeah. They did, didn’t they?”
“Sam! I don’t want heaps of people knowing I got dumped! I haven’t told my boss or any of my Adelaide friends...”
“So, think of this as a trial run for telling everyone else. Training wheels. Besides, these guys aren’t arseholes. They won’t drown you in fake-sympathy wanting to know all the gory details and secretly wondering if they could bag Aaron.”
“My Adelaide friends aren’t like that!”
Sam turned away, examining her eyelashes in the mirror.
“They’re not!”
Tabby re-entered the room carrying a bottle of Moët & Chandon. “Who’s not?”
“My Adelaide friends aren’t arseholes.”
“Ah.” Tabby raised the bottle. “Champagne?”
Nicole glared at her. “No. First you both have to admit that my Adelaide friends aren’t arseholes.”
“Isn’t it unkind to force people to say things that aren’t true?”
Nicole stamped her foot, the way she used to when she was little and Sam pretended she’d gone invisible. “It is true! Remember, you met Jackie and Taylor and Jennica and Chloe when we did that girls trip to the Barossa Valley for my birthday! We drank wine and talked about TV? We had fun! They were nice!”
Sam picked at her eyelashes in the mirror, pointedly ignoring her. Tabby winced. “Ah...Jennica did give me fifty bucks for a line. That was pretty nice. Although, maybe she just doesn’t know how much drugs cost?”
Nicole scowled at her. “My friends are nice.”
Tabby tilted her head to the side. “So why haven’t you told them you’ve chucked Aaron?”
“Because not the right time! But they do like me and they are nice!”
Her sisters were many things, but they weren’t unkind. They didn’t let the awkward silence fester. Instead, Sam plucked the Moët bottle out of Tabby’s hand. “Let’s get this thing open.”
“I wanted to open it!”
Tabby and Sam tussled over the bottle until Tabby succeeded in ripping away from Sam. She sprinted around the room unwrapping the foil, as Sam chased her.
“You’re shaking it up!” Nicole said, trying not to giggle.
Tabby dropped the foil and yanked off the little wire cage. “Who cares! You just escaped the shittiest relationship ever! I should pour it over your head like it’s the Formula One!”
Nicole put her hands on her hair. “Don’t do that.”
“Fine.” Tabby popped the cork into the ceiling and as the wine rose in a glut of foam, she drank straight from the neck.
“To our sister, Nixalopolous!” she shouted, holding it up for Sam. “She’s back and may she always stay back!”
Sam drank, and though she kept smiling, Nicole felt her happiness dim. She was grateful for all her sisters had done for her this week but she didn’t want to ‘stay back.’ She wanted to improve. Now she’d had her week of mourning, it was time to put her nose to the grindstone and make new plans. She wanted her perfect life and she wasn’t going to find it in her childhood bedroom or getting drunk with her sisters.
She touched her watch, thinking about the laser appointment she’d made for next week.
“Nix!” Tabby rushed over holding up the bottle and she tilted her head back obediently but she kept her hand on her watch. For years she’d used her silver Cartier timepiece to cover her tattoo, but if she went through with her appointments, she’d need to cover her bare skin. If Sam and Tabby knew what she was planning, they’d shave her in her sleep.
Sam wiped her mouth with her tattooed forearm. “We need music. Everyone cool with Alison Wonderland?”
“Fuck no, we need my revenge playlist,” Tabby said.
“Revenge playlist?”
Tabby sprinted out of the room, returning with her portable speakers, Rhianna’s Needed Me blaring. “I found every single song about dumping trash and put it on the Silver Daughters Spotify. The playlist is called ‘Dumping Trash.’ It’s already got fifty-three listens!”
Nicole frowned. “Dumping Trash?”
“Silver Daughters Spotify?” Sam raised a palm to the ceiling. “When the fuck did that happen?”
Tabby ignored both of them as she put the speakers on the dresser and pulled her phone from between her tits. “Right, photo time. Everyone say, ‘Aaron’s a fuckwit and I hope he falls into an abandoned mineshaft and dies.’”
“Tabby!” Nicole protested as her little sister pulled her into her side.
Sam laughed and wrapped her arm around Tabby’s other shoulder. “Aaron’s a fuckwit and I hope he falls into an abandoned mineshaft and dies.”
The camera flashed. The resulting image showed her scowling at the camera, stuck between her two radiant, heavily tattooed sisters. So, just normal life.
There was a loud knock at the door and Tabby let out a scream. “That’ll be Toby and Scott! Hurry up, pound back the bubbles so we don’t have to share.”
“Maybe we should share,” Nicole suggested, but Tabby had already taken a long swallow and handed the bottle to Sam. “Hurry up, Tobes is huge. He could finish this whole thing himself.”
Sam cast her a suspicious look. “You’re not doing him, are you?”
“No! We’re just hanging out. I’m showing him how to walk on the wild side.”
Sam’s face creased with suspicion and Tabby laughed. “Not like that. We’re mates.”
“You better just be mates,” Sam said, swigging champagne. “He’s Scott’s PA. If you wreck his head, you’ll have me to answer to.”
“Should Scott be going to parties with his PA?” Nicole asked Sam. “I know he and Toby get along, but isn’t it unprofessional?”
Sam shrugged. “It doesn’t matter as long as someone doesn’t dick him around under the guise of being his mate.”
“I’m not going to dick anyone,” Tabby protested. “I’m taking a break from sex. Trying to get my chakras in line. Come on, Nix, have a big drink and then we’ll take some pre-party snaps.”
Nicole made a face. “We don’t need snaps.”
“We absolutely do. Your eyelashes still look lit despite the buckets of tears you’ve cried this week. I have no idea how that happened, but it needs to be documented for the ages.”
****
It was midnight and Nicole was dancing with Tabby. She didn’t know the song or who’d bought the peach cocktail in her hand, but she was having fun. The whole night had been fun. They’d gone for chicken and margaritas at Bellville, then to a drag show in Collingwood where a queen named Bitchney Sneers had pulled Nicole onto the glittering stage. She’d serenaded her with I Will Survive and Nicole had almost cried with laughter and amazement.
“That was amazing,” Tabby had said afterward. “This vid is going straight to the ‘gram. I’ll tag you!”
“No!” she’d said, but she was secretly thrilled when Tabby did it anyway. Her engagement shot up ten-fold whenever her Instagram famous little sister tagged her in anything.
At 10pm the five of them had headed to Emerald Bar for her ‘official’ party. Tabby steered her right past the bouncers and into the VIP section where two dozen vaguely familiar hot people were waiting. They cheered when they saw her, like she was a visiting celebrity.
“Did you tell them I got dumped?” Nicole hissed but Tabby had already ducked away to the bar.
“How can she afford all this?” Sam yelled over the music. “She better not be selling gak.”
“She’s not,” Toby shouted. “She offered the owners free tattoos. And a couple of the bartenders at Bellville. And the drag queen, I think.”
Sam pressed a hand to her eyes. “Why do I ever ask? Someone get me a drink.”
Scott smoothed a hand over her shoulder. “I’m on it, darling. Nicole, would you like a drink?”
Not as much as she wanted everyone to stop deferring to her, but she knew they were only being nice. “A vodka soda, please.”
“You got it.”
That drink had been hours ago and though people kept handing her fresh ones, Nicole didn’t feel drunk. Maybe because she was dancing. Time had always felt slippery when she was dancing. She loved it. When she was younger, she’d fantasied about doing burlesque like Sam, or maybe even being a stripper, moving so well that men fell over themselves to book her for private dances. Maybe even men like—
Don’t.
If there was one thing she’d gotten good at since Aaron left, it was ignoring thoughts of Noah. She had a life to rebuild and he had no role to play in her shiny new future. Her focus was firmly on removing her tattoo, getting an even better job in Melbourne, and finding the father of her children.
Only, now she’d been drinking, thoughts of his shoulders and big tattooed hands kept coming unbidden. She felt a heat washing through her body as she danced and realised, with some surprise, she wanted to be touched. It had been so long since—
“Want another drink?” Tabby shouted as Ocean Park Standoff bled into a trance-y cover of Pumped Up Kicks. “I’m pretty sure Anthony’ll get you one.”
Nicole laughed. Anthony was one of Tabby’s friends. He was indie boy cute and had flirted with her in a way that made her feel charming rather than pressured. “He’s too young for me. I’ve got next.”
“Cheers. Rum and ginger, please.”
Nicole finished the last of her peach drink and headed for the bar, weaving around young, never-been-engaged people. Where was Aaron tonight? Trying to chat up every girl in the world, probably. A few weeks of debauchery, then he’d buckle down and find her replacement.
She paused, letting other people jostle past her. Who would Aaron’s next fiancée be? He was the only man she’d met whose standards were even higher than hers. Once upon a time, he’d called her ‘the closest thing to perfect’ but she’d failed, hadn’t she? And she was vain enough to care.
“Excuse me,” a girl said. “Can I get past?”
“Oh sorry.” Nicole stepped aside. She wasn’t going to the bar; she’d find Tabby and tell her she was tired and—
She felt him a split second before she saw him. An electrical fizz down her back made her shift, squinting through the crowd until she spotted him sitting beside the bar, beer in hand.
Her first thought was that Noah Newcomb was so not handsome. His bent nose and forehead were exaggerated by the strobe lights and he looked so menacing, she’d have picked him for a bouncer. But her second thought was that she was glad he’d come. More than glad. Relieved. Her insides warmed like she’d been drinking Christmas brandy and all she wanted was for him to look up. To see her.
As though he could hear her thoughts, Noah turned. Their eyes met, green into blue, and the heat in her middle became something akin to burning. She waved, because she didn’t know what else to do. “Hi!” she mouthed. “Thanks for coming!”
Idiotic. So, so dorky.
Noah didn’t deign to reply. Instead he smirked, that familiar, ‘you want it, don’t you?’ leer. He studied Sam’s dress with lazy approval, gaze lingering on her hemline.
She wanted to be disgusted, but sparks skittered across her skin. She stood in the spotlight of his attention, her body tingling as though his hands were on her, stroking gently. She couldn’t remember a man ever looking at her like that. Like she was Marilyn Monroe, swirling her white skirt; the epitome of feminine attractiveness. The crowd surged around her, but she didn’t pay them any mind. She needed to stay here, keep him watching her—
An elbow clipped her side.
“Oof!” Nicole turned to see a man in a pinstripe shirt grinning. “Sorry. Shit place to stand though.”
Nicole rubbed where his elbow had caught her ribs. “Jerk.”
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Noah rise to his feet, his expression murderous. He looked like a stone giant brought to life by an evil wizard.
She waved both hands at him. “No! Please don’t come over.”
Noah glared after pinstripe guy and she could see the anger thrumming inside him. Panic shot through her, its taste metallic on her tongue. He looked so—she hated herself for thinking it—mean. It was the easiest thing in the world to imagine Noah taking the pinstripe man outside and cracking him open like an egg. And not because of her, though that would be the excuse, but because he could. Because it would be easy.
For the millionth time, she wondered who Noah Newcomb was. Sam and Tabby knew so little about him. She knew so little about him. All around him men moved aside, tucked their girlfriends under their arms. How would it feel to have that power? To be so intimidating? Did it make you mean just on principle?
Noah’s nostrils flared and he sat down. Relief swamped her and, not wanting another excuse for him to get up, she turned and headed for the bar. He watched her leave. She could feel it. Her ass tingled like eyesight had a touch.
“How’d you go?” Tabby shouted when she returned to the dance floor with their drinks.
“Fine,” she lied. “Noah’s here. Did you invite him?”
“Yeah, but I didn’t think he’d show.” Tabby took a long sip of ginger rum. “Did you know he’s fucking Kelly?”
Time did a little stop-reverse. “What?”
“Noah’s drilling Kelly. You know, Sam’s model.”
Oh, she knew Kelly. Five-eleven, blonde, pretty tattoos all over her tanned skin. She’d been on the cover of FHM and had twenty thousand Instagram followers. Sexy, sensual, sexpot Kelly. And she was having sex with Noah. Her gut twisted like a fish on a hook. She had no right to be upset, none whatsoever, but why had he made her feel...? How could she have ever thought...?
Tabby pounded her back. “Nix, brah. You cool?”
“How could he do that?”
Tabby raised a brow. “Eh?”
She swallowed, trying not to imagine Noah and Kelly in bed together, tall and tattooed and groaning in unison. “How could Noah do that to Sam? Kelly’s her favourite tattoo model. What if it ends badly and Sam can’t use her anymore?”
“Sam’ll live. And it won’t end badly. The dark horse knows what he’s doing.”
“Excuse me?” She could hear herself becoming prim. She always did that when she was upset.
Tabby drank more ginger rum, oblivious to her panic. “Uh, pretty much what I said. Noah gets laid like it’s his job.”
Nicole gaped at her sister. “But why? He’s so quiet and he’s covered in blackwork and he always looks angry and he’s just so not the kind of guy anyone fantasises about!”
She blurted it out like a confession, as though she wanted Tabby to solve the crime of her infatuation. But she just shrugged. “He’s big, man. He’s big and he’s mean and he looks like he could tear a boar apart with his bare hands.”
“So?”
Tabby rolled her eyes. “Christ, you’re naïve. Hey, I think that’s Murphy. Murph! Murph! Over here!”
Tabby darted away like a silverfish, leaving Nicole to her confusion. Noah and Kelly. Kelly and Noah. Her jealousy was so sharp she could have cut someone with it. Kelly. She could have cut Kelly with it. God, she needed help processing this. She looked around for Sam, but she and Scott were dancing to a Britney song in a way that said they were leaving as soon as it ended. She lined up for the bathroom and peed. When she got out of the stall, she splashed cold water on her wrists while she studied herself in the mirror. She looked fine. Good, even. But she didn’t look sexy. She’d always struggled with sexy. It wasn’t about looks—Sam was her genetic double and she was sexy. It was her personality that was wrong. She couldn’t show she was turned on in a non-embarrassing way. The sluttiest lingerie looked girly on her and she made dumb faces during sex. Aaron said she looked like was sitting on a pincushion. She’d cried and he’d apologised, but only because he’d hurt her feelings, not because it wasn’t true.
She looked at the bare finger where the ring used to be. If there was a time to give being sexy another try, the week she got dumped was a good bet. And if Noah really was a dark horse and definitely wasn’t ‘father of her children’ material, was there any harm in exploring...that, with him?
She looked into her own eyes, silently asking if Noah Newcomb made her feel sexy.
I don’t know, came the answer. He makes me feel exposed. Is that the same?
She didn’t think so, but maybe it was the start of sexy; that flaying, nowhere-to-hide sensation. Maybe if she followed it, sexy would pursue.
A girl gang burst into the bathroom, chatting and laughing. Nicole left the bathroom, not thinking, just moving. She found Noah in the same place, drinking a different beer and interacting with no one. She slipped into the seat beside him.
“Hello. You’re sleeping with Kelly.”
Noah squinted, as though unsure she was there. “You drunk?”
“No!”
A raised brow.
“Yes! But that’s not the point,” she said, louder than she intended. God, of all the times for the alcohol to kick in...she focused hard on Noah’s face, determined to keep her train of thought on track. “Do you want to know something?”
“Am I gonna hear it regardless?”
“Probably!” She leaned closer and his scent hit her in a rush of warm cedar. Was that cologne beneath the laundry detergent and fresh tobacco? Noah didn’t seem like the kind of guy who wore Giorgio Armani but then why did he smell so delicious? Was it his sweat? Some kind of pheromone? She leaned closer, trying to subtly inhale and almost toppled off her stool.
Noah gripped her arm, holding her in place. “Do you want me to get Sam?”
“Please, no. If they know I’m drunk, she and Tabby will start mothering me intensely.”
“And that’s your job, isn’t it?”
If she hadn’t seen his mouth move, she wouldn’t have believed he’d talked. Noah Newcomb saying something personal—and mildly bitchy—about her behaviour?
“I have to mother them,” she said with all the dignity her drunk tongue could muster. “Our mother left, you know, when Sam and I were eight and Tabby was four.”
His face softened. “I know. Sorry, Nikki.”
Her heart pulsed so hard it was like her weight was shifting. She looked at him, and the pure, unadulterated beauty of his irises made her say it. “Noah, do you know I’ve only slept with three guys?”
The corners of his mouth twitched. “Three more than me.”
“You know what I mean. That’s not enough. The first two were when I was in high school. That’s not normal.”
God he was so close, so close and his eyes were the colour of a football field, so green and lovely and his lips were nice too, fuller than she’d realised. She remembered that night in the hallway, when they’d almost, kind of kissed, and a zap wove itself down her stomach and between her legs.
“Nicole.” Noah’s face wavered in front of her like Christmas lights. “You want some water?”
She shook her head, wanting to say it so bad, it was almost scary. She bit her cheeks and the pain incited action. “I want you...us...to...you know. Tonight.”
Noah face grew stony. He looked as angry as he had when pinstripe shirt elbowed her. “Not gonna happen.”
It was lucky she’d taken so many blows to her emotional system this week. The rejection hurt, but it was a dull ache, not a sting. Not anything that would make her cry. She’d go home and examine her bruises tomorrow. She stood, feeling delicate but steady. “Okay, bye.”
She turned and walked away and it would have been fine, only her heel caught on a slippery thing—lime wedge?—and then she was on the floor, her knees, chin, and palms throbbing with the impact of her fall. There was a collective gasp over the music and fifty hands seemed to pull her to her feet.
“Are you okay?” a redhead asked.
“I’m fine.” She brushed her hands down Sam’s dress, hoping Noah hadn’t seen her. That he’d had a heart attack. That she’d been imagining him this whole time and he didn’t really exist. Without looking back at him, she headed for the exit, pretending she couldn’t feel her throbbing skin.
A warm hand closed around her shoulder. “You okay?”
Nicole felt her eyes prickle. “Don’t. Please, just don’t.”
Noah didn’t let go. He turned her to face him, gentle but unrelenting. Nicole kept her gaze on his shoes. If he was laughing, even slightly amused, she’d die from embarrassment.
“Nikki...” He slid a finger under her chin, tilting her face up.
He wasn’t smiling. His expression was as sternly neutral as it always was and that was a comfort, as real and warm as his hands.
“I’ll take you back to yours,” he said. “Come on.”
He slid an arm around her and her whole body tingled with beautiful electricity.
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