Page 32 of Murder Notes

“Your ex was an asshole who doesn’t deserve another thought.”

“You just can’t imagine, Lilah.” She shakes her head. “I can still see his white, hairy ass hanging out of his pants while he banged away at that bitch he calls his secretary. And I can still hear her moans. Oh God. Those moans.”

“Better you found out before you married him.”

“I know, right?” She glances toward the end of the bar and grabs my arm. “Oh my God. Jensen Michaels is here.”

At the mention of the up-and-coming movie star who she’d turned down over Larry a few months back, my lips curve. “My birthday. Your wish.”

“My wish? No. I don’t—”

“You do.”

Her gaze lifts beyond my shoulder. “He’s motioning me over there.”

“Well, go. What are you waiting for?”

She looks at me. “It’s your birthday.”

“Tomorrow is my birthday, but”—I grab her hand—“remember. He wants to fuck. You want to fuck. This is about you. For you. I need you to say it. He wants to fuck. I want to fuck. Just fuck.”

She grimaces. “I don’t say that word. You say it enough for the entire town.”

I roll my eyes. “Say it or you’re staying with me. He wants to fuck.”

“Fine. He wants to . . . fuck.”

I laugh at how hard a time she has saying it. “Now say, ‘I want to fuck.’”

“No. Yes. I want to fuck. And I’m going to tell you about it in graphic detail in the morning.”

“Please don’t.”

She laughs. “Please, yes. I’m going. I’m really going.”

“Please do.”

She nods and takes off walking.

I blink and stare at my coffee cup again, and then I’m back in time once more, an hour later.

I sip the champagne I’ve been cautiously nursing in case Alexandra needs me when she and Jensen head for the door. She waves at me behind his back and mouths, “Happy Birthday to me.”

I laugh and wave before finishing off the last sip of my one glass of bubbly. When my phone beeps, I dig it from my purse to find a text from Kane: Lilah Love.

My lips curve and I type: Kane Mendez.

He types: Do you know what I’d do to you if I were there right now?

I laugh, and because I just love egging on this man, I type: Nothing original, I’m sure.

I can almost hear his deep, rough laugh as he reads that answer and replies with: Challenge accepted. I’m in New York about to get on a chopper. I’ll come to you. Adios for now.

It’s a good surprise, and I quickly stick my phone back in my purse and pay the tab. Alexandra will be appalled in the morning that she forgot, for no good reason. Standing up, I slip my purse on my shoulder and sway.

“Whoa,” I murmur, grabbing the barstool and giving myself a moment to steady. I shake my head and I’m fine. Clearly, I need that dinner I skipped. I head for the door and make my way to the parking lot when it happens again.

And that was the beginning of hell, I think, snapping back to the present. Inhaling on the rush of unwelcomed adrenaline pumping through me, I do the logical thing. I reach for my coffee, but before I drink, my gaze lands on Alexandra, who’s now staring at me. But what I see is not her but me, standing in my living room, naked and covered in blood.