Free The Bachelorette Party by Karen McCullah Lutz Page B

black sweats was engrossed in a magazine.
    “He’s not checking me out.”
    “Not now , but he was.”
    Zadie lay back down on the machine and started lifting again. “Your attempt to build my confidence before my date is transparent, but appreciated.”
    “He just looked again.”
    “Stop—”
    “What? I’m just reporting the facts.”
    Zadie closed her eyes. The second leg-press orgasm was never as good. Too fleeting.
    “Oh, fuck.” Grey was still looking over at the cardio machines, but now he was frowning.
    “What?” Zadie asked.
    “The guy on the treadmill. I think it’s Jack.”
    Zadie let the weights slam down. “What?!”
    The vein on Grey’s temple was throbbing, like he was preparing for battle. “Should we leave or should I kick his ass?”
    Zadie started to panic. Why did Jack have to show up here? She looked like crap. Out of all the millions of times she fantasized about running into him and saying something pithy, and haughty, and Bette Davis-like, she never once imagined that she’d be red faced with a sweaty ponytail and wearing a T-shirt she’d had since college.
    “Don’t let him see me.” She hid behind Grey, grabbing him like a shield. What the hell would she say if he came over? Hi, remember me? The girl who was supposed to be your wife? Can I have my heart back?
    “Make sure it’s really him before I hit him,” Grey said.
    “You can’t hit him.” As much as Zadie would like to see Grey smack Jack upside the head with a dumbbell, she didn’t want him to get arrested for assault. Jack made a living with his face. He would surely press charges.
    “Here he comes. He’s heading for the ab machine.”
    Zadie steeled herself and peeked around Grey’s shoulder. She saw a guy with shaggy black hair and rock-solid delts sit down on the ab crunch machine and bend forward.
    It wasn’t Jack.
    She let herself breathe again and swatted Grey on the shoulder. “Jesus. Don’t do that to me.”
    “It’s not him?”
    “No, thank God.” Grey and Jack had only met twice. When Grey was still with his ex, Angela, they’d all gone to dinner at Koi. Jack instantly hated Angela because she said something degrading about actors before they even got their edamame, so he was sullen for the rest of the night. The second time was post-Angela and Grey had met Zadie and Jack at the Cat & Fiddle, where Jack was supposed to set Grey up with one of his costars, but apparently, she’d met George Clooney at a premiere the night before and was still in his bed. Jack had felt bad and tried to get the bartender interested in Grey, but Grey ended up going home with a makeup artist from Six Feet Under who made the dead people look pasty. Neither time had Grey been spectacularly impressed with Jack, Zadie found out later, but he also hadn’t foreseen that Jack would pull what he’d pulled. He’d merely thought Jack was a little too concerned with what people thought of him, and a little too handsome for his own good.
    “Sorry about that.” Grey squeezed Zadie’s shoulder. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”
    “Let’s go,” Zadie said. “You owe me a drink.”
    Her workout was over.

ten
    Some women enjoy trying on several outfits. Some women just pick the first one that looks decent. Zadie opted for the first thing she could find that was clean—jeans and a turquoise peasant blouse. She also opted for a glass of wine while she blow-dried her hair, which left her looking flushed. Maybe flushed was the new sexy.
    As she put on her makeup, she tried to keep herself from imagining how the night might turn out. Even though she was only going on a date to shut everyone up—a ploy that clearly hadn’t worked with her mother, who’d asked at least sixty-five questions about Doug before Zadie got off the phone—she was still vaguely nauseous at the thought of meeting a prospective suitor.
    When she was younger, first dates were always exciting. They held so much hope. The promise of a new and perfect