I’d rather combat a dozen hostile alien invasions than talk to Will right now. I think somewhere in my panic-scattered brain I have the idea that if I can just make it to my room and hide away in there, I’ll have escaped it. As if Will is somehow going to forget this revelation overnight. As if I don’t have to spend most of tomorrow in the same rooms as him.

But it doesn’t end up mattering that my strategy is totally illogical. Will catches up with me before I’ve even reached the steps leading to the pool deck.

“Ruby,” he says. I’ve never heard him sound so uncertain before. It wrenches at my heart. I make myself stop and turn around. Then I don’t know what to say.

He’s looking at me like he doesn’t recognize me.

I swallow hard. “Well, now you know.”

I’m aiming for nonchalance, but my voice comes out way too thin.

Will shakes his head as if trying to clear it. “So what Trevor said—Brad’s letter—”

“I didn’t write it for Brad.” I cross my arms over my chest, hugging myself. “I thought I was sticking it under your door. The guy I asked was obviously not a reliable source of information.”

“But . . . It said . . . Why the hell would you sign it as Deanna?”

“It was supposed to be cute,” I explain miserably. “A little inside joke. Because of my rant about Counselor Troi—the way you used to call back to that with me. It seemed like a good idea after a couple of back-to-back whiskey sours.”

“Troi,” Will repeats, and then the bewilderment in his expression fades a little. “Deanna Troi.”

“I would have used Troi instead,” I say, “but who signs a love letter with their last name?”

“Maybe the same kind of person who’d sign a love letter with a name that’s not even theirs in the first place?”

I throw my hands up in the air. “I thought you’d get the reference! I didn’t know it was going to end up with Brad.”

“Obviously.” His eyes catch mine again. “So . . . all those things you wrote . . .”

My arms tighten around me, but I manage to hold my gaze steady. “Yeah.”

He’s the one who looks away. “I had no idea. I really didn’t.”

“Obviously. I get it. I wasn’t really your type back then.”

Will looks stunned. “Ruby, you have always been my ‘type.’ I just didn’t—” He tries to explain. “We were friends. If I’m being honest, you were my closest friend. You weren’t just some girl, you were different.”

“Different from all the girls you banged and never called again?” I counter, not liking the way he’s talking. “I’m pretty sure all of them weren’t just some girl either.”

Will winces. “You’re right. But in my defense, I was young and regularly killing brain cells with more cheap beer than was wise, and my priorities were not exactly the same as they are now.” He pauses, and his tone turns sincere. “Why didn’t you say anything?” he asks quietly. “You must have realized I didn’t know.”

“No,” I gulp. “Up until the other night when Brad told his little story, all I knew was that I came by the next day, and my letter was pinned up on the bulletin board like a joke.”

Will blinks. “You couldn’t have thought that I would—”

“You were standing right there.” My throat still tightens at the memory. “You were reading it out loud, laughing at all the things I’d written. What else was I supposed to think?”

Will looks frustrated. “It was funny someone would have written about Brad that way, especially when he didn’t have a clue who it could be. I didn’t know you were going to overhear that. I didn’t know it was you who’d written it!” he exclaims. “You really believed I was capable of being that much of a jerk if I had known? You could have at least talked to me to find out what was going on.”

Is he really trying to make this all my fault? “It looked pretty cut and dried from where I was standing,” I say icily. “And in case you don’t remember, you were kind of a jerk to me when we first met. It’s not like you made much effort to stay friends. I never heard from you again. It seemed pretty clear you were done with me.”

“You blocked me on everything,” Will protests.

“So? You knew most of my class schedule. You knew where I lived. You could have tracked me down if you’d wanted to even ask me what was wrong.” My voice catches, and it all feels fresh and raw—like it was yesterday.

But Will just looks stubborn. “I wasn’t into stalking. And you were the one who cut me off. I figured our friendship couldn’t have been as close as I’d thought. I wasn’t going to go chasing after you.”

“That’s right,” I say, still feeling bitter. “The great Will Cassidy doesn’t chase anything. He just waits for women to fall into his lap.”

Will flinches. “That’s not fair.”

“You’re right,” I say, exhaling. “I’m sorry. It’s just . . . I spent a long time thinking that you hurt me. That you laughed at my feelings. It’s hard to just forget the past.”

“So what about the present?” Will asks, searching my face. “How do you feel about that?”

I pause. The million dollar question. I don’t even know where to begin.

“I’ve . . . been having a really good time, the last couple days,” I finally manage. “No, wait, excuse me—a great time. A wonderful time.”

A hint of a smile curves Will’s lips, but his eyes still look serious as they study my face. “So have I.”

And? I want to shout at him. Do you have anything to add to that? He just found out that I’ve already bared my heart to him once before. The least he could do is throw me a bone. Even if it’s just to confirm, And this is all it’s going to be.

“And finding out about the letter doesn’t change anything for you?” I say, as casually as I can manage.

He shrugs. “If it doesn’t for you, then I don’t see why it should for me.”

Maggie’s footsteps come tapping up the path behind us. “Hey, Ruby,” she said, a little hesitant. “Sorry to interrupt, but the van for the bachelorette party is here. We’re supposed to be heading out.”

I nod, relieved. “I better go,” I tell him.

“Will I see you later?” Will asks. “For . . . star-gazing?”

My chest feels tight, but I nod. A casual fling, that’s what I wanted—and that’s exactly what Will is delivering.

No less, and definitely not any more.

“Sure. Why not?”

He smiles. “Enjoy yourselves, ladies.”

“Oh, we will,” Maggie says with a smirk. She links her arm around mine to drag me away. “Trevor told Brooke he spilled the beans,” she mutters by my ear. “She’s really sorry. She only explained the situation to him so he could come up with an excuse to make sure Brad didn’t include that line in his speech.”

“It’s fine.” I swallow back the hurt. “It’s done now. I don’t want to think about it anymore. Let’s party!”

* * *

All us wedding guests between the ages of twenty-one and forty pile into the “party van,” which is basically a half-sized party bus. The playlist I sent on before leaving LA starts up, and blue lights flash through the space as the engine kicks into gear.

Brooke groans, sinking back in her seat. “What have you got planned?”

“You’ll see.” I grab a beer from the ice-filled bucket at the back and take a long gulp. Putting Will out of my mind is going to be much easier with a buzz. I sit down beside Brooke on one of the long cushioned seats, catch Maggie’s eye, and tap my purse. She nods with a grin and nudges Lulu, who passes the unspoken message down the line.

“So, Brooke.” I lean my shoulder against my bestie’s. “You made me promise no strippers, and first off I want you to know that I kept that promise.”

Brooke eyes me warily. “Why do I have the feeling there’s a ‘but’ about to follow.”

“Oh, there will be many butts,” I reply gleefully. “Because there’s absolutely no way you’re having a bachelorette without being showered with a whole lot of naked men.”

We all toss up the handfuls of paper we readied. Playgirl clippings, raunchy post cards, and internet printouts flutter down over Brooke. I told everyone to aim for a variety, and it looks like we succeeded: modern spreads and vintage hotties, some totally steamy and others of the goofy variety. I even managed to include a couple of Star Trek cast members in the lot.

“Oh my God,” Brooke says, pawing through them. “Ruby!” Then she cracks up, so hard that in a few seconds she’s wiping tears from her eyes. A little knot of tension in my stomach releases.

She’s okay. She’s happy. There’s nothing to worry about here.

“And, there’s more!” We tie on our Brooke’s Buds neon pink sashes, and I help Brooke position hers, which says, Brooke the Bride, so the tiny attached veil hangs down her back.

“I love it!” she laughs, stroking the cheap fabric. “I wonder if Trevor’s getting the same treatment for his bachelors.”

“I hope not,” Maggie cracks. “Pink’s not his color.”

When we reach the club, I do two shots before I’ve gotten ten feet onto the dance floor. The place is full of gyrating bodies. Soon we’re just more of them, forming a protective circle around Brooke as we sway and spin and cheer her on. We tramp up to the karaoke room where Brooke and I sing a duet that I suspect it’s better I don’t remember. After a full group rendition of “Wannabe,” we charge back downstairs for another round of drinks and dancing.

By the time we pile back into the van, all my memories of the day’s events have been softened by the hum of alcohol in my bloodstream. We dance on the seats to my party music until someone shouts out, “Marry, Fuck, Kill!” We sit Brooke down and grab spreads of the nudie photos still scattered across the floor for her to choose from.

“Um, kill them all?” she says with a laugh, looking at Fabio in a haughty pose, a bearded dude in a coonskin cap, and a guy who looks like Yanni but I’m guessing isn’t.

“Not allowed!” Lulu declares.

“Okay, okay . . . Marry hat guy, fuck Fabio, and kill Yanni.”

I hand her Brad Pitt, Jude Law, and Michael Fassbender. She groans. “This is impossible for the complete opposite reason! Can’t I just have a harem of all three? Um . . . Marry Jude, Fuck Michael, Kill Brad.”

“You can’t kill Brad,” Maggie says.

“I just did!” Brooke declares defiantly, and we all burst out laughing.

The game winds down as the van’s tires start to bump along the dirt road that’s the last stretch before the resort. Brooke wraps her hand around my arm and rests her head against mine.

“You’re the best friend ever, Ruby,” she murmurs. “The bestest friend. Don’t forget that, all right?”

“I have to disagree,” I inform her. “Clearly you are the bestest best friend.”

“I’m sorry about Trevor, and the letter—telling Will—”

“Don’t be silly,” I say. “It’s fine. I’m glad he knows now.”

“Yeah,” she says with a sloppy nod. “Of course.”

Then “Girls Just Want to Have Fun” comes on over the speakers. Maggie plops down at Brooke’s other side.

“Come on, cuz, we’ve got to sing along with this one!”

We all escort Brooke back to the bridal suite. I almost trip over her open suitcase beside the couch. Maggie, Lulu, and I are all crashing in here for the night—sleepover!—but I remember as I catch my balance that we can’t skip an important tradition that wouldn’t have fit well on the bus.

“Presents!” I call out. “Everyone go get yours and be back here in ten.”

I dash down the hall to my room and take a moment remembering where I stashed the gift bag. For good measure, I chug a glass of water to reduce the impact of tomorrow’s hangover. Thank God for Advil.

Maggie lets me back into the room. As the other girls turn up, I direct them into a circle around the chair that will be the bridal seat. Only when everyone’s turned up, it’s still empty. I glance around, my head hazy. “Where’s Brooke?”

“I thought she was with you,” Maggie frowns.

“We’ve lost the bride!” Lulu cries, totally wasted.

I go over to the bathroom. The door’s ajar. My gaze darts across the room—and sticks.

There’s nothing on the counters or the bathtub ledges except the complimentary toiletries. No cosmetics bag, none of Brooke’s assorted creams and lotions. Frowning, I step back out into the main room. Why would she have packed that stuff up when she’ll just have to pull it out of her suitcase again tomorrow . . . ?

Her suitcase is missing too. The spot where I nearly tripped by the couch is now empty. I jerk my head around in one last survey of the room, but my heart is already plummeting.

Brooke is gone. And not just for a quick walk. She’s taken all her things with her.