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Karma is a nasty bitch.

“Foxy Foster,” Ash says, walking past me into my apartment.

Ash is the opposite of Jules—girly, tall, and voluptuous. She’s in a pink sweat-suit, the word
Juicy
plastered across her ass.

This is our pattern. I hang out at the bar when the guilt and loneliness are too much to handle, and Ashley comes by after her shift to help me forget. It’s been months since I’ve been drunk though; I know I should feel bad about it, but I don’t. Not after what happened to one of the kids at the Center—my secret place of penance. I needed something to take the edge off.

Even so, I know it was the easy way out. What can I say? I’m weak and destructive, and if I don’t want to destroy yet another person, I need to stop this shit with Ash too.

“I see you’re ready for my visit,” she says, tracing a finger down my bare chest to the opening in my jeans. She makes the mistake that my hard-on is for her. It’s for Jules. Always for Jules.

“About that,” I say to her, glancing down at the bulge in my jeans. “I can’t do this anymore, Ash. It’s not right.”

Ashley doesn’t relent. She leans in and pulls my zipper down all the way. “I disagree,” she says, backing me into the wall.

“Don’t,” I start to protest, but I can’t deny her touch feels good. I want to get lost again and this is the only thing that can take me away and help me forget for a few minutes.

“Foster.” Ash laughs. “Don’t be so dramatic. Don’t you think I know you’re thinking about
her
when we’re together?”

My mouth drops open. Surely, I’ve been a better actor than this. I’m the ultimate player—all suave and sweet-talking. Damn, I can’t even do
that
right.

She lifts my chin and plants the softest kiss on my lips—even though Ash doesn’t do soft. With us, it’s always been hard, fast, and frantic. “It’s okay,” she whispers on my lips. “You take away my pain too. And I need you.” Ash catches my bottom lip in her teeth and pulls. “Now.”

That’s all she needs to do. I capture her lips and devour them. Like I need her to breathe, to survive. In some ways, it’s exactly what I need. She is saving me. I pull her close and she wraps those long legs around my waist as I walk her to my kitchen counter. The bed is too intimate for us—always has been.

Ash unzips her sweatshirt and I do the rest. I yank, strip, and pull until she’s sitting on my counter, wearing only a thong. I cup her breasts and wrap my lips around her nipple, tasting, sucking, and pretending I’m with Jules. That it’s her tiny body writhing from my touch.

I think about what it’d be like to be with Jules completely. I’ve yet to make love to her. We’ve been drunk and we’ve fucked. It was fantastic, but I’ve never fully given myself to her. If I did, I could never go back to being just friends. She’d eventually learn the truth and leave me. For good.

So I settle for what we have right now. I only have one year left with Jules. One year together and then it’s over. She’ll go her way to her life, her future. And I’ll have mine—one where I float in the present, never moving forward, eating up time with girls like Ash—the fucked up and the low. I have one year to keep up this charade. One year to ignore the way my body responds to Jules. One year to pretend.

I quickly pull my jeans down to my thighs and roll on a condom.

I wrap Ashley’s hair around my fist and pull her head back so I can’t see her face.

Then I plunge into her and get lost.

Jules

Later in the evening, I drink my tea and take a few drags from my electronic cigarette, trying to forget about the depressing scene with Foster. I was hoping to be smoking this thing for another reason…ahem. Instead, I’m here alone, swearing off boys. Or at least one of their kind.

I guess I can’t really blame Foster though; maybe I just don’t do it for him. It’s not like I have the necessary experience to bring the goods for someone like him. Besides Foster, I’ve only had two other partners.

There was my first: Joey Freemont. It was a one-time deal my senior year and it sucked. Joey was a nice enough guy, but he smelled like Corn Nuts and he had no idea what he was doing downtown.

But nobody has a good first time, right? I wanted to check it off the list so I was prepared for the real thing—Foster.

Yep, he was my second.

It was great with him, even though we were both drunk. His breath was yummy, beer and all, and he knew exactly what he was doing in my nether region. It happened a week after the accident when we both needed comfort. I secretly hoped the sex would hold us together. It didn’t. Somehow we did get to the point of an understanding—a friends-with-occasional-benefits situation. Amazingly, it hasn’t ruined our friendship. Though I don’t think either one of us would ever let that happen.

And finally, my third and most important partner, Henry.

He’s exactly what I need tonight. Henry is my vibrator. He’s nothing fancy or crazy. He’s no Rabbit toy—those dildos with all the fancy apparatuses that get in and get you off in less than a minute.
Wham, bam, thank you, ma’am.
No, Henry is a take-your-time-and-enjoy-the-scenery battery-operated boyfriend. Good ol’ faithful.

Though I’m sure I could call up Corn Nuts to do the deed, Henry is guaranteed to satisfy.

Later that night, he does indeed.

~~~

In the morning, I sprawl out on Tabby’s purple velvet couch, drinking tea and smoking my new e-cig. I feel like a retro movie star.

“Those things are going to kill you,” Tabby says, walking out of the shower. “Noah just did an article about e-cigarettes in the paper. There’s still a surprisingly amount of nicotine in that vapor.”

Tabitha Kelly is my best friend and the bravest woman I know. I just met her last fall, but I’m pretty sure we’re soul mates. I can’t help but smile as she sashays into the living room while brushing her long blonde hair.

“Geez, one thing at a time,” I tell her. “It’s only been a few months since I quit. A little patience, please?”

Tab laughs. “Yeah, I guess it is better than those smelly menthol jobs you used to smoke. And you do look quite elegant lying there. Like a ’20s movie star or something.”

“I know, right?” I tip my head back for the full effect. “And look how beautiful my kimono looks against your couch.”

Tabby jumps on the sofa and envelopes me in a huge hug.

“Whoa,” I say, lifting my tea cup above my head. “Hot tea here.”

“I’m sorry,” Tabby says. “I’m just so happy you’re here.”

Though I play tough, I can’t believe I live here either. Anna, my boring but clean roommate, is going back home to Ohio for the summer, so Tab offered me her extra room. I was here all the time anyway, it only made sense.

I moved in before finals to beat the rush of the moving trucks.
Our
place already feels like home. It’s cool and comfy and in a great location, but the best thing about it is the little deck out by the fire escape. We have room for a small table and two café chairs—and my herb garden. I have mint for my tea. Basil, rosemary, and cilantro for cooking. And a bunch of lavender for my baths. I adore it out there.

Inside, the apartment is big and airy with high ceilings, exposed pipes, and brick walls, but Tabby’s made it feminine with all of her flea market finds: the huge distressed table for the dining room, an Asian screen in the corner, and a pretty nice collection of milk glass vases. The vases are currently on display in my armoire Tab helped me paint bright orange. She also let me bring my huge faux fur beanbag chair and even hung a bunch of my framed photography. The place looks amazing.

“We are going to have so much fun this summer,” Tab says with one more squeeze.

“Well, you will with all your dance shows, and your hot man-candy showing you a good time all summer. But remember, I’m joining the workforce, kid. So I don’t want you keeping me up with all your partying and wild sex. I need my beauty sleep.”

“Hey,” Tabby protests. “Don’t forget, I have a full load of classes this summer. And if I don’t do well, I won’t be graduating with you guys. So no partying for me.”

“And what about the wild sex?” I wiggle my eyebrows at her.

“We’ll go to Noah’s for that.” Tab winks. “Now, get out of your loungewear so we can make you look respectable for…what’s the name of the firm again?”

“Dunham and Dirk,” I answer with a wicked grin. “Or as I like to call it, Dildos and Dicks.”

“Classy.” Tab laughs.

Thank God I have Tabby. She used to be a country club princess, so she’ll know exactly what I need for a summer interning in a respectable law firm. She lent me clothes for the interview.

And I nailed it.

But it’s not like I can raid her wardrobe all summer. My internship starts in a few days and I don’t have a thing to wear so Tab’s helping with my hair and taking me shopping. An entire girls-gone-boring day.

I turn off my e-cig and drag myself off the sofa. It’s the one thing in the apartment that cost big bucks. The purple beauty is from a little boutique in Uptown, and Tabby bought it with pleasure.

She has quite a bit of hush money after a huge sex scandal at her school in Illinois. Some rich asshole got her so drunk and high that she lost the whole night—with only pictures as documentation of the events. She was assaulted, embarrassed, and ruined. Still, her parents forced her to take the payoff. I so wish I knew her back then. I would’ve nailed that asshole’s balls to the wall.

It’s situations like this that remind me why I want to be an attorney in the first place, though this summer I’m working at a family law practice. It was either law or photography. I think I’m making the right choice. If I can look the part.

Unfortunately, it’s not only my clothes that are an issue for this internship. My hair also has to go. I managed to pin my colorful stripes under my thick mane for the interview. I wasn’t gonna go a’changing until I knew I had the position.

Well, now I know.

Tabby knows how much my hair means to me. It’s my
thing.
So we hold a memorial service for my highlights.

Poor little guys.

I hold the scissors out for Tabby. She’s almost giddy.

The demon.

“How much are you going to take off the length?”

“At least four or five inches, so get a good chunk,” I tell her. “I want a lock of each color.”

“Ew.” Tab cringes. “Why Jules? That is really repulsive.”

“Locks of hair are considered holy in many cultures,” I argue.

“Whatev, Rainbow Brite.” She giggles before taking my streak of fuchsia gorgeousness, tying it off with a ribbon, and cutting the bejesus out of it.

When she finally hands it to me, I stroke it like a pet.

Tabby rolls her eyes.

She makes her way through every color, blowing out dramatic breaths with each snip.

After she’s done, we head to Foiled—Tab’s favorite salon—to finish my cut and color. Rafi does a great job. He keeps it pretty long. And I leave with a shoulder-length, layered bob.

Then, it’s partner mani-pedi time. I don’t think I’ve ever had such a chick day in my life. Normally not my deal, but Tab makes it fun.

Next up is shopping. The part I’ve been dreading most of all.

We go to the godforsaken Mall of America so we can hit Nordstrom’s, Bloomingdale’s, and Macy’s. Tabby’s quite the efficient shopper. A few hours and a few poplin shirts, dresses, and slacks (I can’t believe I’m using the term
slacks
) later, I think we have a wardrobe. We even found a few pieces with a tiny, minuscule edge to them. With the more conservative pieces, I’m able to add a twist: funky earrings or a spiked belt. Tabby made the score of the day: a pair of smoking black platform pumps with a silver-capped toe. She did, however, make me promise to only wear ONE Jules piece per outfit. And that is nothing but a travesty because I’m telling you, the shoes, belt, and funked-out earrings are screaming to go out as a package deal.

By the time we make our way home, I’m completely spent. All I want is a bath and my bed.

But plans take a turn once we see a familiar hot piece of ass on a motorcycle in front of us.

Foster

Jules passes by my bike in her boat of a car. Tabby’s in the passenger seat.

Looks like it’s time to man up.

At the stoplight, I catch up to them, moving close to Tabby’s window. I circle my hand so she’ll roll down the window.

“Hey.” I lean in so I can get a look at Jules. She looks cute, and younger somehow—carefree. All of the color is gone in her long locks, which I personally loved. I like my Jules with an edge. Still, this version of her looks good enough to eat.

“Hey,” the girls answer in unison.

“What are you ladies up to on this fine afternoon?”

“We went shopping for Jules’ attorney-wear,” Tabby answers.

I lean in to see Jules again. “You didn’t tell me you got the internship.”

“Last time I saw you, you were too shitfaced to talk,” she says with a glare.

“I—” I start to explain, but Jules points at the light that’s now changed to green and she begins to accelerate.