Three splashes of cool water on my face and I'm still this awful mix of hot and cold. There are two other girls in this little bathroom. They teeter over the sink with their stripper heels, adding another round of lipstick to their already made-up lips.

One of them, the younger, blonder one, looks at me with pity in her eyes.

"Boy troubles?" she pouts.

Can't blame her for asking. Mascara is running down my cheeks. Eyeliner smudged beyond meaningful description. My lipstick isn't doing much better.

I grab a paper towel and wipe my face as clean as I can. "I'm fine, thanks." The most obvious lie in the history of lies, but it's not like blondie cares.

I hide out in the handicapped stall, resting my ass against the metal bar. There's a plentiful supply of toilet paper for wiping the smudged makeup from my eyes. I can't see it, but I'm sure it still looks like shit.

The main door open and all the noise—half a dozen different songs being sung off key—fills the room. The party girls teeter out and someone else comes in.

"Kara."

It's Meg.

She knocks on the stall door. "You want to talk about this?"

"Not really, no."

"You want to get blind drunk?"

It's a tempting offer. Certainly would help me forget that word that starts with a D and rhymes with screw.

But it will feel worse in the morning.

"No thank you," I say. "If it's all right with you, I'd like to find some way to disappear and never have to think about him again." I toss a mascara-stained piece of toilet paper into the trash can. "I'll take a cab... somewhere."

"You can spend the night at my place," she says. "Or we can go to the Malibu pad. Plenty of room and Miles always has a fridge full of food."

"No Miles right now," I say. "Your boyfriend is nice and all, but—"

"I get it." She taps the door. "Want to open up?"

"Not really, no."

"I've got your purse. We can leave right now and call a cab. You don't have to talk to anyone but me."

I go to open the door. "You swear no one else is in here?"

"On my love of sashimi."

A tiny laugh breaks up the tension in my throat. So it's possible to feel something good besides the desperate need Drew stirs inside me. That's a start.

I open the door. Meg steps inside. She squeezes me with a very tight hug.

"I blame myself," she says. "If I hadn't been in relationship land, you wouldn't be forced to spend so much time with Drew."

"Yeah, I really dreaded all that time with him." I tear a piece of toilet paper in half. "It was all awful. Not like I was desperate to be around him constantly."

"Still. I haven't been around as much as I should be. You've always been the world's best friend." She steps back and looks me in the eyes sympathetically. "I'm sorry. This sucks."

"You can say that again."

"This sucks."

I laugh and cry at the same time. "I was doomed from the start. He's so..."

"Oh, yeah, he's so... possessive and overprotective and unable to communicate."

"And caring."

"I'll take your word on it."

"And hot as the sun."

"Can't object to that one." She grabs a few sheets of toilet paper and wipes the messy makeup from my eyes. "I think I made it worse."

"Eyeliner was never your strong suit."

She leans down as if she's examining my face. "You want me to make sure Tom gets another black eye?"

"He was trying to help."

"Funny way of doing it."

"Same plan as you," I say. "Make Drew jealous. Pray that gets him talking."

"It worked a lot better when I did it."

"Yeah. He said he wanted to try."

She points me to the mirror. My makeup is mostly tamed. Still messy but not I've been crying over my not-boyfriend in the bathroom messy.

Meg hands me my purse. "We can sneak out now."

"Please."

* * *

Fuck my life. Tom is sitting in the lounge, checking his black eye with his cell phone camera.

And of course, Miles and Pete are next to him. An audience. Just what I need to shred whatever is left of my dignity.

Everyone looks at me like I am a poor, unfortunate creature. Poor, damaged Kara. What can we do to help her?

As crazy as Drew drives me, he never looks at me like I might break.

Meg points her finger at Tom. "If I don't hear an explanation or an apology in the next thirty seconds, I'm going to disembowel you with one of your drumsticks."

"How the hell would you?" He shakes his head. "Don't tell me. I'll have nightmares."

"You have about twenty seconds left," she says.

"Babe, I like this side of you but, maybe give him a chance to explain," Miles says.

"Forget it. Kara and I are going home by ourselves. We have had enough Sinful trouble for the night," she says.

Tom looks to Pete. "You think we'll ever find another guitarist as good as Drew?"

"No." Pete shakes his head. "Better hope he forgives you."

"Fuck that asshole. He better hope I forgive him." Tom's attention turns to me. "You all right?"

"Not really," I say.

Tom frowns. "He'll come around."

Pete stares at Tom with incredulity. "You wanted to help Kara."

"No way," Tom says. "Just don't like seeing women get jerked around."

Pete's jaw drops. "You cared more about her feelings than about the band. This has never happened."

Miles nods. "Never."

Tom looks away like he's embarrassed.

"I appreciate the sentiment," I say. "But please don't help me anymore."

Miles waves Tom away. He looks at Meg. "You need a cab?"

"I've got it." She kisses him goodbye. "If you do kill Tom, call me. I want to hear him scream for mercy."

* * *

The cab ride to Meg's place is fast and mercifully silent. Her building still smells vaguely like sushi, but hey, there's no one here to interrogate me or kiss me or drive me out of my damn mind.

I look to the bed and its soft, inviting comforter. "Are your sheets clean?"

"Changed them this morning."

I flop onto the mattress with a tiny thud. Not as soft as it looks.

Meg sits next to me. She pokes my shoulder. When I roll over, she points to a can of green tea like it's supposed to tempt me. Fine. I take it and pop the top open.

"You hungry?" she asks.

"No."

"I have Frosted Flakes."

"I'm not a monster."

She gets up, pours a bowl of cereal, and hands it to me.

"I sent Miles to your place," she says. "To get your stuff, tell Drew he's an asshole. That kind of thing."

"I doubt he's there." I crunch my cereal loudly. "Probably driving around trying to think because it's just so hard for him." I focus my attention on my snack. "Are Miles and Drew close?"

"As far as I can tell." She steals a flake. "But I don't have any intel. I don’t think Drew talks to anyone except you."

"It doesn't matter." I make eye contact with Meg. "Drew and I are supposed to drive to the bay tomorrow."

"Not on my watch, sweet pea. I'll drive you before I let you do that."

"I'll manage."

"Screw that. If our roles were reversed, you'd drive me to the airport and watch while I went through security. You're such a good friend, Kara. Way better than what Drew deserves. I don't care how awful his ex was. I don't care how massive his cock is or how good he is with his hands. You deserve better than the shit he pulled tonight."

She's right. But it doesn't do anything to change the way I feel about him.

"I know that look."

"Yeah?" I ask.

"Only thing you want is for him to realize he's an asshole and try to make it up to you."

I nod.

Her phone buzzes. She looks at the screen, her brow furrowing.

"What?"

"Tom bought you a ticket from LAX to SFO. For tomorrow afternoon. It's first class."

"What's the catch?"

"He wants to take you to the airport." She stares at her phone like she's looking for some hidden meaning. "He didn't phrase it like an offer."

There goes any potential that this won't be hanging over my head all week. A first-class ticket is a decent way to travel. If things weren't all fucked, I'd prefer being in the car with Drew, even for eight hours.

But they are fucked.

First class is worth thirty minutes in Tom's car.

"Okay," I say. "What time?"

"Two. He'll pick you up at noon and buy you lunch. There's nothing to eat here and Miles and I are leaving first thing for Hawaii." She presses her fingers into her phone. "Unless... we can go in a few days."

"No way. You're not delaying your trip for me. I'll feel a million times worse."

"You sure? You'd probably do it for me."

"Not if Drew looked at me the way Miles looks at you."

"He does. He's just stupid. Miles is stupid too. It takes guys time to pull their heads out of their asses. Especially when they're used to being idolized."

"I want to leave tomorrow." I leave the cereal on Meg's desk. Then it's back to the bed that's not quite as soft as it looks. "I need to see my mom and get this whole telling her I'm not working for her company thing over with."

She looks down at her phone. "You want anything specific in your suitcase?"

"A coat, I guess. It's probably fifty degrees in San Francisco."

"Condoms?"

"Why would you ask that?"

"Miles asked." She squints. "Why did he ask?" She taps a reply. A moment later she's laughing and shaking her head. "That's how you know an ex-player."

"Yeah?"

"He says the best way to get over someone is to get under someone else."

"He's probably right."

"I’ll tell him you’d rather be on top." She taps a reply. "He says Pete could use the rebound fuck. But you need to be really into dirty talk."

"Is he serious?"

She looks closely at the phone. "I'm ninety percent sure he's not. Pete's pretty cute. Has that dark hair. Also good with his hands—"

"Are you serious?"

She shakes her head. "Do you want the condoms?"

"I want Drew."

She taps a reply and tosses her phone on her desk. "How about an action movie to drown your thoughts?"

"One with really loud explosions, please."