She posed and vamped for the camera with him, automatically going to her ‘on’ personality. She chatted and flirted with him while he asked her a dozen questions, and signed his sleeve. Someone else noticed what they were doing, and then suddenly she was signing autographs and posing in pictures with several people, all while wearing the hideous wig. Figured.
By the time she actually got to touch the door, it had been twenty minutes and she was sure she was going to be all over the Internet in the morning. Nothing she could do about it, though. Daphne glanced back at the street before she went in, but the sedan was gone. Wesley was going to go off and do . . . well, she wasn’t sure. When he wasn’t shadowing her, he was sleeping or working out.
“So can I buy you a drink when you get inside?” Stripper Santa asked as he held the door open for her. The music was so loud the bass made her skin vibrate, and he had to yell to be heard. “Actually, can I buy all of them for you?”
She winked at him and wagged a finger. “Not drinking tonight, but thank you.”
He looked disappointed, but nodded.
The interior of the club was small, but crowded. A long, Y-shaped stage took up the center of the room, and there were booths in the back, along with a long bar, but she figured Gretchen and her group wouldn’t be there. For a bachelorette party? They’d want to be where the action was. She delicately pushed her way through the crowd of women while a man on stage gyrated and ran his hands over gleaming muscles. Daphne glanced up at him, but he wasn’t built nearly as well as Wesley was. Her taste in men had gotten a lot pickier after working out with someone as built as Wesley. Plus, he was supportive and had an amazing sense of humor that spoke to her. So yeah, lots pickier. Still, she’d brought some dollar bills with her and she was going to make sure it rained tonight. Her sister was going to have fun for her bachelorette party. She needed it; when Daphne had seen her last, Gretchen was incredibly stressed out.
A blur of bridal veil caught her attention as the music changed to a disco number. The guy on stage turned and bent, and then there was Gretchen, wearing a veil and shoving money into the dancer’s thong. A few other familiar faces were sandwiched near her, along with Daphne’s cringing twin, Audrey.
“There’s my sister,” Gretchen bellowed as Daphne approached. She flung her arms out for Daph, ignoring the stripper, who gyrated away to another group of calling women. “C’mere you!”
Daphne chuckled as Gretchen enveloped her into an overenthusiastic hug. “Already drunk, are we?”
“Juuuus’ haven’ fun,” Gretchen yelled in her ear. “Come sit by me!”
They sat down and Daphne squeezed in next to Gretchen. She slid off her jacket and glanced around. The tiny table was covered with drinks already, the women packed so close together that their thighs touched. Audrey was on the other side of Gretchen, a glass of water in front of her. “Pregnant again,” Gretchen bellowed as an explanation, then picked up her own fruity drink and chugged it. Across from her, Taylor, Chelsea, Brontë and Edie were slinging back their own drinks while Greer—heavily pregnant—typed into her phone.
Gretchen plucked an umbrella from her drink and put it behind Daphne’s ear. “You need to join the party, sis!”
“No, I’m good.” Daphne put her hands up, shaking her head. One of the things they’d talked about at rehab was avoiding all temptation. And while she’d been a hell of a lot more addicted to drugs than to booze, it was a slippery slope. She could just as easily get hooked to a new thing. That was how her personality worked—she went to extremes and she didn’t know when to stop. That was why Wesley was so hard on her—so she remained vigilant.
Tonight, however, didn’t seem to be about anything but partying. The girls laughed and drank, finishing one round and ordering another. Daphne requested a water with lime, and then the waiter spent several minutes trying to guilt her into doing shots with the others. Taylor spilled her drink all over the table, getting money and napkins sticky, and as a cherry slid toward Daphne, she was hit with the strong temptation to pick it up and just pop it into her mouth.
And she hated that it seemed so easy to do.
Then the shots arrived, and everyone clinked glasses except Daphne and the pregnant girls. The waiter winked and slipped a shot in Daphne’s direction, which filled her with even more despair. Why did everyone want her to drink? Couldn’t she have fun at a party without drinking? She found it hard to concentrate on the conversations, because between the strippers, the thumping music—some of which she was pretty sure was her own music—and the fact that the drinks were flying hard and fast? It was hard to concentrate. She found herself watching Gretchen raise her drink to her lips. She found herself watching every time Edie took a shot and grimaced at the taste. Her mouth watered when Taylor got another drink with those damn cherries.
She wanted a drink.
Her fingers itched for just one sip, her mouth felt like sawdust, and she craved one of those alcoholic treats with an intense yearning that surprised her. Just one drink wouldn’t hurt, right? Except when she reached for the shot that was sitting in front of her, she thought of Wesley and his fucking infernal carrot sticks and green tea.
Wesley would be so disappointed in her if she broke. If she relapsed.
A cold sweat broke out over her body. Gretchen laughed and shouted something in Daphne’s ear as the music changed, but the room got too claustrophobic for her. She shook her head and got to her feet, pushing away from the table. “I’m sorry. I can’t— I have to leave.”