Almost every night, I hung out with Chuey and Manolo. It seemed they were my only friends around here, and they didn’t mind that I tagged along. We became so close that, when the cast finally came off—thank goodness since I was on a verge of a meltdown—Manolo declared he would switch his schedule so we could go out and celebrate. Coming from someone I barely knew, though he was genuinely as happily relieved as I was, it meant a great deal to me. There was an emotional breakthrough that was about to happen, and to have someone there by my side meant more than words could say.

Right after the doctors, we headed straight to lunch in the cozy, boutique-esque little gem named Serendipity. Ever since I had seen that movie with the same namesake, I had always pictured Kate Beckinsale waiting like in the movie with her frozen hot chocolate.

“Have you heard from our boyfriend?” Manolo asked the moment we finished ordering.

Drew, since the night they had dropped me off, had been regarded as my “boyfriend.” He had apparently become our boyfriend the moment they’d decided they, too, found him just as irresistible. It was all sorts of funny. I bet there were tons of people who liked him as I did; what was two more flamboyant gays in the mix?

I shook my head. “No.” I hadn’t heard from Drew, and I didn’t expect him to reach out. He wasn’t that kind of guy.

“He keeps you in suspense. Es mui romantic,” Chuey giddily chirped as he clapped his hands. “He es so hot, I die.”

I couldn’t help smiling. Though he looked bulky and strong, his personality was the total opposite. He was all mushy and gooey on the inside and a hopeless romantic.

“It’s not romantic. He’s … well, you know. I honestly don’t think he likes me like that. We flirt and all, and at times, we get physical, but on his terms. When it comes down to it, he backs away. There’s a major reason for that. It’s hard to accept the truth after all these years, but he just won’t love me the way I love him.” A chaotic, tragic love story was what I had with him.

Manolo shook his head. “He’s blind. You’re a beautiful mamacita. Don’t let him think you’re not.”

It was sweet of him to take the effort to make me feel a bit better. Still, the fact remained the same, unchanged.

“He only goes for models—well, cheerleaders before he upgraded, but you know … He has a certain type.” Thin. Striking. And utterly gorgeous. Anyone with eyes could tell I was none of those.

Manolo took a sip of his iced tea before grabbing his phone and glancing my way. “What’s his Instagram?”

“I have no idea.”

“Que? What you mean you have no idea?” He seemed confused, outraged even.

Why did he find it so appalling?

“I have Facebook.” Which hasn’t been used in the past six to eight months.

He shook his head with his hand over his chest, eyes furiously blinking, acting like I had told him I had a penis. “Facebook is for boring cha-chas. Fun, pussy high in the sun is Instagram. Girl, you gotta upgrade that shit.”

Jesus, did he just imply my genitals were depressing? Whatever. Not that it mattered, not to me, anyway.

“I’ll check it out later.” Everyone had Facebook, so who needed Instagram, Twitter, or Snapchat? I mean, how many places did one need to connect with friends? You could only bombard them with what you had for breakfast, lunch, and dinner in your new shoes so many times before they clicked on that unfriend/unfollow button because they were sick of it.

Besides, I preferred to have a little mystery instead of someone knowing everything about me with just a click of a button. If a man wanted to get to know me and what I was made of, the dude had to work harder than that.

Manolo glared at me before raising that ultra-thick dark brow of his that put mine to shame. “What you mean ‘later’? Now, Chloe, now. We have to hunt boyfriend down and see if he’s being a good boy, sí?”

Must I? It made me a bit nauseous to be quite honest.

“I don’t think he even has one.” That, too, but I would rather not dig, because most of the time, those things bit back … hard, fangs and all.

Chuey nodded in agreement before taking my hand. “If he dates models, you bet his beautiful face and that sexy culo of his that he has it. Haay papi, culo de encanto…” He sighed, drawling and drooling at the thought of Drew’s butt. He was particularly obsessed with it.

It was funny how these two were just as invested as I was in Drew. The man simply had that effect.

“Yeah, yeah, but if he only hurts her, no sexy butt is worth it,” Manolo pointed out.

“Maybe es bad idea,” Chuey thought out loud, swiftly changing his stance. “You know, maybe there’s calaveras …” He shivered, looking as if he had drunk rotten milk.

Shaking my head, I decided to get through with it, so I downloaded the app. Then I typed in his name to no avail. I was almost convinced he wasn’t the kind to do social media.

Taking a chance with my brother’s name, I didn’t have difficulty finding his profile. There were tons of pictures, and I tapped on the one that had the Knicks photo and surprise, surprise, he had tagged the picture with someone who just happened to be Drew.

Upon tapping on his name, his page loaded with photos that catalogued bits and pieces of his life. And boy, was I in for a rude awakening. Biting my lip, I heard the men in the background, asking what I had found, but I couldn’t focus on anything except where my eyes were glued.

Everything in me pounded as I stared at the screen in disbelief and horror. His latest picture had been taken twelve hours ago. He was obviously out of it. You could tell by that dazed look in his eyes as he smiled at whoever had taken the pic while a woman nibbled on his earlobe.

Had they fucked? It was the first thought that entered my mind. Maybe not before this photo had been taken, but I was willing to bet with everything I had that they had right after.

His pictures were riddled with partying and models galore, all in the same black and white theme. They also showcased just how much I didn’t know about this part of his life. Of course, I knew he partied more often than not, but I had no idea how he partied. Heck, I’d had no idea he smoked, either. There was a picture of him blowing out smoke with a beautiful woman opening her mouth, capturing all of its intoxicating, cancer-laden essence. Playboy would be too mild to describe him.

I couldn’t take it anymore. I had to close the app and shut the screen off, beyond distraught and shattered.

“You found him, didn’t you?” Manolo curiously eyed me before gasping out loud as if he could see through me. “What did you find?”

“A lot.” Too much.

“It’s that juicy?” Chuey bit his lip with a facial expression that conveyed how much he hated how I had been hurt. At the same time, I could tell he was dying to know what Drew had been up to. “Ooh, papi’s been a bad boy.”

“Too juicy.” A saddened smile couldn’t ease the tightness in my chest. However, I had gotten so used to this feeling that I somehow wasn’t overwhelmed.

Manolo took a deep breath. “Don’t worry. We’ll make him pay.”

“With what?” I asked, smiling. How could I not smile at that?

“What you feel now.” Chuey nodded, as if conjuring a plan. “Mano a mano.”

They always used a lot of Spanish words. It was hard to follow sometimes.

“I don’t follow,” I said just as I took a careful sip of my iced lemon water.

“Chuey’s saying you should find a guy to get juicy with, too,” Manolo interjected with his eyebrows twitching up and down, as if it were the greatest of ideas.

I choked so hard some of the water almost went out of my nose. “You guys are adorable, but this chick doesn’t get juicy with anyone else, okay? I mean, I don’t even know how to do that. I suck at these things.”

“Forget boyfriend. We find you a fresh new papi.” Chuey clapped once again.

Manolo nodded. “I agree. You need to.”

My eyes flickered between the two Hispanics before me, looking at them as though their idea was going to suck big time. “Sure, that’s easy.” Not. But whatever. We would see.

Apparently, they wanted to go shopping right afterward, and I couldn’t very well decline them since I had been meaning to update my wardrobe. What I didn’t realize was how much this afternoon would be about me. Shopping, actually, was the least on their list. Their top priority was taking me to one of their stylist friends in Soho who’d agreed to take me at a moment’s notice. His appointment book usually was so full it would take someone weeks to get in. However, since he was trying to date Manolo, the poor guy had decided to skip his lunch break just to take care of me.

Hung—I kid you not that was his name—trimmed the ends of my hair for maintenance before changing my virgin natural brunette to auburn. At first, I wasn’t convinced, but after I saw the full effect, I had a monumental moment.

Not only did my skin look good, but my eyes, my amber eyes had never looked so alive, like golden, liquid honey. I couldn’t stop admiring myself with a new perspective. I look hot. The hottest I had ever been in my life.

“You look like a goddess,” Hung stated as he fluffed the ends of my hair. “Take her to get a great rouge lipstick that will go well with her hair and a good red dress that will accentuate her assets. There’ll be no straight man safe in the streets of New York when they see her walk by.”

Okay, the guy liked to exaggerate, but I wouldn’t lie. It felt marvelous to be spoken about like that.

Before we left, he instructed me to text him for appointments next time, preferably every three weeks to take care of the roots. Then, after the salon, we headed to MAC cosmetics and almost bought out every single artifice the quirky, talented artist recommended to me. By the time we got to shop for clothes, I was drained from all the madness of the afternoon. Since the gays weren’t sympathetic to my tired plight, they sat me down with a diet soda while they chose clothes for me.

Not only were they too ecstatic about it, but they seemed to run amuck with the whole “goddess in red”.

“You guys realize I do need to wear other clothes that aren’t red, right?”

“Yes, we do, but we’re on a mission.” Manolo smiled at me before all three of us headed to the counter so I could pay for the clothes, consisting of sexy tops and dresses and not much else.

My father had given me a budget for my shopping and strict orders that I should only go over that specified amount on his AMEX card if it were an emergency. Therefore, when the nice lady told me the glaring total amount, I silently prayed Dad wouldn’t be too pissed about it. I could always argue that I hadn’t shopped in forever.

For dinner, we ordered in pizza at Manolo and Chuey’s apartment located a few blocks away, so I didn’t bother going home to change for tonight. They intended to party while they hunted down men—yes, plural—as my potential juicy prospects. They had forever altered my view on the word “juicy.”

Their place was surprisingly understated and quite minimal when compared to them. I wasn’t sure what to really expect, but maybe a touch of animal print somewhere would be an idea. However, black leather and silver everywhere with sparing bold touch of crimson red in between dominated the place.

With dinner out of the way, the boys carried on with showering and getting ready while I busied myself with the new purchases. The makeup, I admitted, was something to get used to. Pink and soft was what I normally aimed for, but tonight was a whole new me, and the color red gave me quite the empowerment. It gave the saying “woman on the prowl” a whole new meaning.

It was bizarre, but I had never felt this confident, as if I were ready to command and conquer. It was all mental, of course. I had nothing to command nor conquer. Still, it felt good to feel bold and daring.

Still donning my black jeans, I simply had to change my top to a stretchy, red, tight-hugging top with a plunging neckline and a nonexistent back.

Tonight, I was introduced to a different world full of laughter, vibrant colors, and a new approach to seeing men. And mind you, I did get prospects. Lots of them.