I wait two more days before replying to Drake. Not because I want to punish him—okay, well, maybe a little—but mostly because I don’t know what to say. And maybe I’m not ready to hear what he has to say. If he tells me he and Kelly are a thing, it will kill me.

Gah! If he tells me they’re together, that means she’ll inevitably start coming around, and I’ll have to plaster a fake smile across my face and make nice with the woman who has my man. Because that totally won’t ruin the dynamics of our little group. I’m honestly not sure if I could even manage to fake my way through it.

I voiced all of these concerns to Myla Rose before I messaged him back—yes, a text, because I was too chicken-shit to call him and hear his voice—but she told me I’d never know if I didn’t take a chance.

So, I did, and now here I am, a week and a day post “The Incident,” laid back in the shampoo bowl at the salon while Magnolia works my hair into a rich lather so that she can blow it out to perfection. If he’s gonna let me down and break my heart, I’m sure as hell gonna look my best so that he knows just what he’s missing out on.

“Whatcha gonna wear tonight?” Seraphine asks as Magnolia towels my hair.

“Red.”

“Red what?” Magnolia asks as she nibbles her bottom lip.

“Red everything. A red dress. Red lingerie. Red lips. He’s gonna swallow his tongue when he sees me.”

“I’m sure he will, but . . . what if he doesn’t?” Seraphine sounds uneasy asking the question, as if she’s worried I’m gonna lash out, and God, I want to, but she doesn’t deserve my ire.

“Well, if that’s the case, then so be it.” I take a deep breath, steeling my resolve. “It’ll be his loss.”

Our conversation tapers off once Magnolia switches on the blow dryer. She takes her time, smoothing my hair with an oversized round brush before using a big-barrel curling iron to set my hair in glamorous waves. “Please be careful when you put your makeup on,” she says quietly as I head for the door.

Once I’m home, I begin the process of putting on my face, starting with primer and working my way through the rest of it. By the time I’m finished, my face is contoured and highlighted like a pro, and my lips are painted with my most favorite shade of red, F-Bomb by Urban Decay. I’m not typically one to toot my own horn, but I look damn good.

My candy-apple red dress hugs my curves in all the right spots, and my nude heels make my legs look at least a mile long. I look so hot that I’m almost positive that the cold outside won’t even bother me.

As I look at my reflection, I can’t help the sense of foreboding washing over me. This almost feels like déjà vu. Me, in a red dress, ready for Drake Collins. I can only pray this time around he doesn’t break my heart. I glance at the clock on my nightstand and realize I’m running late. Really late.

I dash down the stairs and miss the last step, nearly spraining my ankle, but I manage to make it to my car unscathed. I’m in such a rush to make it to Drake that I don’t realize my phone is sitting inside my clutch on my dresser at home.

“God, please let him still be there,” I repeat, again and again, all the way to Big O’s. By the time I make it, it’s almost an hour past when I said I’d be here. But, praise be, his truck’s still in the lot.

Now, I just have to hope he’s not too mad.

I make my way to the entrance, practicing my apology in my head the entire way. “Just tell him you lost track of time. He’ll understand,” I reassure myself as I adjust my dress before pulling open the door.

My eyes rapidly scan the room, searching him out. When they finally land on him, he’s seated at the bar, nestled between a brunette and a man old enough to be his daddy, peeling the label on his bottle of beer. I square my shoulders and make my way toward him, and he pivots in his seat, his eyes connecting with mine immediately.

His stare is hard and unrelenting. I wobble a bit in my heels, but keep my pace and my course. I’m on a mission, and I’m not stopping until I’m at his side.

By the time I make it across the bar to Drake, he’s turned completely on his stool to face me. I stop directly in front of him and revel in the way his eyes blaze a trail from one end of my body to the other. “Where were you?” he asks in way of a greeting.

“I’m so sorry, truly. I lost track of time—”

He nods like he understands, but before either of us can open our mouths to speak another word, the brunette to his right swivels around and butts into our conversation.

“How nice of you to finally show up.” Oh, God. That voice. I know that voice, even though I haven’t heard it in years. I cut my eyes from Drake to the woman next to him. It’s Kelly. She’s here with him, and . . .

How could he do this? How could he bring her here, for this? Does he even care? At all?

“I’m sorry, what?” I’m proud when my voice only trembles a little.

She tilts her head, appraising me. “He’s been waiting on you for over an hour—you know that, right? Don’t worry though, hun. I kept him real good company.”

Her words hit me like a physical blow, causing me to rock back on my heels. “Wait, what? Y’all are h–here t–together?”

Shaking his head, Drake moves to answer me, but Kelly beats him to it. “You leave a man like him unattended too long, and someone else is bound to swoop in. You get that, right?” Her saccharine smile doesn’t match her words, and my brain is having trouble processing everything.

I stand there, slack-jawed and staring, my eyes pinging between them as a lethal mixture of anger, hurt, and confusion floods my bloodstream. Kelly wraps herself around Drake’s arm, causing his eyes to widen further. He opens his mouth to hopefully tell me they aren’t there together, but he clamps it back shut when he sees the look on my face.

Ignoring her, I focus all of my attention and anger on Drake. “Are you fucking serious?” My voice is hoarse and reflects every bit of pain coursing through me. “You all but begged me to hear you out, and my God, do I hear you loud and clear.”

“Let’s take this outside,” he tells me.

“Let’s not. What the fuck do you think’s gonna change between outside and here? Do you think I’m gonna magically forget that I came here to talk to you, only to find you cozied up to the very source of our problems?” My voice is rising, right along with my temper, but I’d rather everyone in this bar hear my yell than for Kelly to see me cry. Fuck her and him. They deserve each other.

“You don’t have a clue what you’re talking about, Azalea.” Drake stands from his stool and grips my arm roughly. “Outside, now. Not gonna ask again.”

“Better listen, little girl,” Kelly murmurs, and that’s when I lose it.