Page 2 of Play Nice

He doesn’t react.

“The drinks here are free.”

“And?” he asks.

“So, what do you have to lose?”

He downs the rest of his beer. “All right. Another champagne?”

“Yes, please.”

He takes my near-empty coupe. “You better be here when I get back.”

I cross my heart.

—

We step onto the sidewalk, the click of my heels echoing, harmonizing with the rest of the city sounds—traffic and drunken gossip and subway squeals and club bass. Ethan is warm, which is convenient, because it’s early April, and the night air carries a tenacious chill, winter dragging its feet.

“What time is it?” I ask him. He’s the CEO of a cool, successful watch company. He used to date my friend Veronica’s friend Laurie before the cursed launch of her lipstick line. She named the shades stupid things like “Get Him Back” and “Divorcée” and the supremely controversial “Jailbait.” Then customers found hair and a mysterious gritty substance in the product, and just like that, her career was over. She moved to Florida, and now she does makeup for Disney weddings.

I’m not sure if Ethan broke up with her before or after the fiasco. Not sure it matters.

“Clio?”

“Sorry,” I say. “What time?”

“One twelve,” he huffs, annoyed at having to repeat himself.

“Amazing,” I say, spinning. “I didn’t turn into a pumpkin.”

“Do you want to get an Uber?” he asks. “We can’t walk to Brooklyn.”

He thinks he’s coming home with me. I suppose it’s a fair assumption since we left the party together, but I still haven’t made up my mind.

I like that he’s warm. I like that he’s good-looking.

I don’t like that he’s got on so much cologne. I don’t like how he thinks he’s so successful that he’s above a dress code. And I don’t like that I’ll forever associate him with poor Lipstick Laurie. Maybe it isn’t his cologne that I’m smelling but the persistent stink of someone else’s failure.

“Your phone’s ringing,” he says. “It’s been ringing.”

“Mm.” I hear it—my phone—I’m just keen to ignore it. I watch a group of girls in short dresses stumble out of Scorpio, a nightmare of a club no one goes to if they know better.

“Are you going to answer it?” he asks.

“Nah,” I say, swinging my gift bag from the party. “Nobody calling this late has anything good to say.”

“What if it’s important?” he asks.

“Relax, Daddy.”

“I don’t get you,” he says, shaking his head. He’s not mad, just disappointed.

“All right, all right,” I say, unclasping my clutch to get to my phone. My hand shimmers, covered in glitter from the party, which is to be expected since the theme was “All That Glitters.” A jewelry-line launch, Veronica’s partnership with Shine Inc. Gold charms. Cute but nothing special. I take out my phone to discover I have seventeen missed calls, all from my sisters. “Uh-oh.”

“What is it?” Ethan asks. “Everything okay?”

“I’m about to find out,” I say as my phone rings again. It’s Leda. I hit ignore and call Daphne instead. Whatever the reason they’re calling, I’d rather hear it from Daphne.