In the name of pre-gaming before Brendan's party, I've squeezed myself into a purple bodycon dress that keeps riding up and I am now holding a nearly empty fifteen-dollar cocktail at Tryst nightclub. Charity, Natalie, and Peyton round out the group clustered around our tiny cocktail table.

Normally, I'd be all over this, but I'm in a bad mood for some reason and tonight, this isn't my scene. The music is deafening, the strobe lights are blinding, the dance floor is crammed... and I'm miserable.

"You guys save the table. We're going to go get more drinks," Natalie yells over the music. "The usual?"

"Sure, thanks." I nod, finishing the last of my watered-down gin and tonic.

As soon as Natalie and Peyton step away, leaving me and Charity alone, a younger guy from a neighboring table seizes the opportunity to pounce.

"Can I buy you ladies a drink?" Our would-be suitor is wearing a pink polo with a popped collar and seems to have bathed in Armani Code. He definitely owns a pair of white sunglasses, and he would have been a Delta Chi in college.

Back then, here's how it would have gone down: I would have let him buy the drink, because he's not actually too bad looking, orange fake tan and taste in fashion aside. Then I would have flirted with him for a while, grown bored of his stories about his fraternity's antics, and cut him loose before he came even close to sealing the deal. But I'm older, slightly less broke, and a whole lot less patient. Plus, there's a good chance this guy is still in college.

"Thanks, but no thanks." I flash him a broad smile. "We're good. Girls night." He seems surprised by my refusal, but recovers quickly and sidles on over to the next group of potential companions, three tables down.

Charity takes a sip of her vodka cran, watching him walk away. "Oh, come on. He wasn't that bad. He did have a nice body..." She purses her glossy magenta lips, considering.

"He was 20 years old. Tops. I'm not even sure how he got in here."

"Perfectly legal."

"Not to drink."

She laughs, raking a hand through her white-blonde hair. "Not what I meant."

"He wouldn't even know what he was doing."

"Only one way to find out." She turns to face me, expression somewhere between concerned and reproachful. I brace myself, knowing what's coming next. "Plus, it could be a good way to move on."

I let out the breath I'd been holding. "No."

I'm on a self-imposed dating hiatus. All I need is some kind of recorded message I can broadcast to the world: I'm sorry, the woman you're hitting on is emotionally unavailable right now. Please terminate your pickup attempt and never try again.

Before Charity can say anything more, Natalie and Peyton walk up with our drinks in hand.

Peyton slides into her seat, handing me a fresh gin and tonic with two limes, extra ice. "I'm so glad you decided to come out. It wasn't healthy, you know, moping around in that apartment of yours all alone."

To be fair, I haven't exactly been moping. I've been extremely busy. Drafting half-baked Instagram posts, deciding they suck, and shelving them for later. Helping Brendan and Vidya finalize a bunch of highly important wedding details, like which shade of eggplant to use for chair covers. Eating cookie dough ice cream while watching The Bachelor. And obsessively checking Jade's Instagram follower count while lamenting the fact that it's more than double mine, despite the fact that she's a backstabbing plagiarist.

Okay, maybe I've been moping a little.

Natalie nods, leaning in to be heard over the DJ. "I kind of suspected Travis was a closet dick. But I still can't believe Jade did that to you. I mean, I know you're not close anymore. But still. Total violation of Girl Code. She should ha-"

"Nat," Charity hisses, kicking me under the table with her pointy-toed stiletto. Pain shoots up my right leg.

"Ow!" I reach down, rubbing my throbbing shin. "That was me."

Charity shoots Natalie a reproachful look and Natalie's eyes widen, looking chastened.

"Sorry," Charity says. "Wrong person."

I look at the three of them, searching their faces. "What were you saying, Nat?"

A painful silence falls over the table. Peyton fidgets with her straw, suddenly fascinated with her vodka soda. Natalie freezes, wide-eyed, like a deer in headlights. And Charity stares at the table, nodding slightly as if rehearsing what to say.

My stomach does a backflip. "Will someone just tell me what everyone else clearly already knows?"

After another awkward moment, Peyton speaks up reluctantly. "Jade is, um... with Travis in Thailand. I saw pictures of them on his Instagram." She winces, sucking her teeth. "I'm so sorry, Brooke. I don't even know why I still have him on my Insta. I guess I forgot to unfollow him when you two broke up. I've unfollowed him now. Actually, I blocked them both for good measure."

Peyton's Instagram situation is the least problematic thing about this. She's trustworthy to a fault; I have no doubts about where her loyalties lay in all this.

"So they met up and they're traveling together?" I swallow the lump in my throat, trying to reconcile the facts. I heard through the grapevine Jade was off on another backpacking trip, but she was supposed to be in Vietnam. I didn't realize her itinerary would be overlapping with Travis's. Okay, so my ex-boyfriend and my ex-friend ran into each other while traveling overseas. It could happen. Asia isn't that big...

Charity draws in a breath and her lips press into a grim line. "They're together, together."

"What's that?" I clutch my drink a little more tightly.

I dumped Travis. Why do I even care? Then I realize, I wouldn't—if it didn't involve Jade. It feels like she's trying to assume my old life.

"I only found out today. We were going to tell you," Peyton adds. Natalie and Charity nod solemnly. "Tonight just didn't seem like the right time."

She's right, but there is no right time for that news.

"So this is why you told me I should move on," I murmur. "Because Travis already did."

"Good thing you were the one who ended things, right?" Natalie forces a smile on her magenta lips. "You told us you were sick of his bullshit, and now someone else has to deal with it instead."

She's not wrong. When I ended things, I was operating under the assumption that he would come to his senses, realize how good he had it, and come begging for me back. But two days later, he went on an impromptu hiking trip across southeast Asia claiming the need to 'find himself'. He didn't mention he would also be finding his way into Jade's sleeping bag.

And after what Jade did to me, this is her really twisting the knife.

Then it hits me: this was in the works before I cut the cord. In the time leading up to the demise of our relationship, Jade had been 'helping' Travis with photography for his website—supposedly. Since I don't have any photography skills, I bought the excuse at first, but the arrangement had led to them spending an excessive amount of time together.

It all makes sense now. Something was happening between them—emotionally or otherwise—long before we split. No wonder he'd turned into such a dud of a boyfriend.

First, Jade nearly ruined my career and now, she's banging my ex across Bangkok. Lovely.

"Are you sure you're okay?" Charity studies me with concern. She's the nurturer of our friends, while Peyton is more the type to drag me up for shots to forget my woes. Natalie falls somewhere in between.

I don't care about Travis. I don't want him back. Jade can keep him. Good luck with that, because she'll need it.

What I do want is my reputation repaired, career fully intact like it once was, and for Jade to disappear off the face of the Internet.

When I don't respond, Peyton reaches over and gently touches me on the arm. "Brooke?"

I hold up a hand, fending them off. "I mean, obviously it's a bit of a slap in the face. But I'm fine. Practically over it already. Let's go dance."

*

Streetlights pass in a blur as our Uber flies down the freeway, carrying us to Brendan's. I've been trying to keep my mind off things—and failing miserably.

It's one thing to do the time for a crime you actually committed; it's another thing entirely to pay for someone else's wrongdoing. Especially while Jade is gallivanting around Asia like nothing ever happened.

This situation has been nothing but stress layered with more stress with a sprinkle of stress on top, and my income has tanked because of it. I'm lucky Brendan is an understanding landlord.

Sadly, the internet mobs are a lot less reasonable. I'm not sure whether my career is ever going to recover.

"Is Dean going to be there tonight?" Charity's voice breaks my thought spiral.

I turn away from the window to find her studying me in the dark light of the back seat. Why is she asking me about Dean? Charity knows me pretty well, which means I need to tread carefully.

"Not sure." It's a lie. Brendan already told he's coming, not that Dean would ever miss Brendan's party to begin with. Aside from Vidya, Dean is the biggest person in Brendan's life. I guess I'm probably up there somewhere too, but we don't hang out as often as the inseparable Dean and Brendan duo.

"Hmm..." Charity murmurs, nodding.

I cross my legs and shift to face her. "Why?"

Peyton turns around and chimes in from the front seat. Her long dark hair hangs in a curtain framing her face. "Because he's fucking hot?"

He is. He really, really is. But it's Dean, so it doesn't count.

"So hot," Natalie agrees. "He's like a real-life Harvey Spector."

"No," I say. "Dean is an asshole."

Peyton laughs. "So? I didn't say I wanted to marry the guy. I bet he'd be a good time for one night, that's all."

This makes me feel vaguely ill for reasons I can't explain. I love Peyton and hate Dean, so why does the idea of them together feel like sandpaper against my brain?

"Probably not even then," I tell her. My argument feels oily on my tongue, like I'm being disingenuous.

Despite my many issues with Dean—and the fact that he's fatally allergic to commitment—at the crux of it, he isn't a creep. In fact, Peyton is right: Dean would be the perfect guy for a casual fling. He's incredibly hot, doesn't want more than a hookup, and isn't a serial killer.

"I think you may be protesting too much." Charity's blonde brows furrow. She ducks her head and her eyes search mine, ice-cold fingers landing on my forearm. I suck in a sharp breath; she always feels like a walking popsicle. "Wait... are you into him?"

Prickly heat floods my cheeks and I'm thankful it's dim inside the backseat of the black sedan. Averting my gaze, I unzip my clutch and fumble around for my lipgloss and a compact.

"No." I pop open the compact, carefully reapplying a coat of Peony Pink vinyl gloss.

"Mmm-hmm," Charity hums. "Sure you're not."

Snapping the compact shut, I toss the tube back into my purse and rub my lips together. "Not at all."

But if I'm not, then I can't explain why the mere mention of one of my friends hooking up with him is so off-putting.

What I also can't explain is the quicksand in my gut when we pull up to the curb at Brendan and Vidya's, and Dean's car isn't there.

Poor Brooke!