*This was not how I pictured my life going. *

*Not even a little bit. A rat scurried by. I held my breath and closed my
eyes. The smell of sewer burned my nostrils and made me cringe when I
thought about how much money I’d spent on my LuLuLemon yoga pants. Yeah,
these stains weren’t coming out any time soon. I was the adult version of
Dora the Explorer crawling through the sewers of downtown LA like I was
searching for fabled alligators. When I was a little girl I wanted to be a
princess, so like I said, not how I pictured my life. I tried to stop
myself from gagging as something that looked like dirty toilet paper
floated past. I grunted and kept stumbling through the dark tunnel. I
hadn’t been close to my parents. Their deaths left this giant gaping hole
in my heart where I knew something was supposed to fit, but nothing ever
did. My brother poured himself into sports—and I poured myself into this
idyllic little fantasy that I would be the mom I never had. It seemed like
a good idea. Marry well. Be the mom I’d been denied. The mom I’d always
wanted. One who’d make casseroles on Mondays, pot roast on Sundays, have a
white picket fence—that was the dream. Or maybe the dream was just to be
loved. The sound of cars above me had me panicking, one earthquake and I’d
go splat beneath a semi hauling fish. Because that was the type of luck I
had. I checked the text message again and used the flashlight on my phone
to peer up at the ladder leading to the street. Isla: Downtown. Eleven p.m.
Shaggy’s Steakhouse. Alleyway “Bingo,” I whispered and quickly
plugged in
my fiber-optic camera. God bless iPhones and all the little gadgets that
come with them. As quietly as possible, I climbed the ladder and shoved the
camera up through the gritty metal hole. “Come to mama,” I whispered
as my
adrenaline spiked. Isla said she’d lure him out of the restaurant with the
promise of a quickie, and the cheating idiot—the one who really needed to
learn how to shop in his own garage, if you get my meaning—was clearly all
over it. What was it with men who thought that money made up for their
overactive sweat glands and jowls the size of my ass? “God, you’re a
beautiful woman,” lying, cheating bastard crooned in a gravelly voice that
reminded me of those antismoking commercials. My face twisted with disgust
while I recorded. The angle was perfect, and the street lights may as well
have been spotlights on his eager face. “Awww.” My best friend and
business
partner shrugged a shoulder and forced a laugh. She tugged down the front
of her dress, and the cheater took one look at her breasts and made a
choking noise. Apparently he had an overactive salivary gland too.
“You’re
such a nice guy. How are you not married?”“Just haven’t found the right
woman, I suppose.” He toyed with the black material near her shoulder,
flicking it with his swollen and heavily ringed pointer finger. I kept
myself from throwing up. “Is that so?” She leaned in. “How is that even
possible?” “No idea.” He leaned in. Oh, honey, I appreciate the
dedication
but he probably tastes like an ashtray. Don’t do it, don’t do it. I
briefly
contemplated closing my eyes so I wouldn’t have to witness any forthcoming
kiss. Only a best friend would notice the slight grimace Isla made before
backing up and sliding a manila envelope out of her bag and shoving it into
his chest. “What’s this?” He chuckled at the envelope while she made a
gagging noise and wiped her mouth. The guy hadn’t even kissed her, yet her
body was in distress, poor thing. “You got it?” She looked down at the
sewer cover. I moved the fiber-optic cable up and down in an affirmative
motion. She smirked at him. “You’ve just been served. You’re also on
camera, so say hi to your wife and the rest of the Dirty Exes, our live
Facebook group. And while you’re at it, you may as well say goodbye to half
of everything you own according to the prenup you signed three years ago.
But you know what? Half doesn’t seem nearly enough to put up with you.” I
cackled. His phone buzzed.“Better answer that, I’m pretty sure
that’s your
soon-to-be-ex-wife just making sure you’re aware that she saw the live
video.” She smiled triumphantly. “Oh, and nice doing business with
you.”
With great effort, I removed the sewer lid then heaved myself up the rest
of the way. The cover felt like it weighed twenty-five pounds, and I nearly
smashed my fingers in the name of catching another cheater. I’d do it again
in a heartbeat. “You smell.” Isla scrunched up her nose when she waltzed
over to me. “But you’re dedicated, I like it.” “It was the only
way to get
close enough,” I grumbled and made an effort to dust off my damp clothes
even though I knew it was in vain. When she’d texted she’d be meeting the
target, I’d been headed back to my apartment, so I was ill prepared for
sewer sightseeing even though I knew it was a possibility, considering the
location. Can one ever be completely prepared to do something like that?
The answer is no. Just. No. “You bitches!” The Cheater ran toward both of
us—lips curled in disgust, his eyes beady, angry little lasers, hand
raised—like he was seconds away from attacking us with his cell phone.
Instinctively, I reared back and let my fist fly. Knuckles connected with
flesh, and he whimpered and went down like the loser he was. “Blaire!”
Isla
groaned. “You can’t just punch our clients’ husbands.” “I
slipped,” I lied.
“Besides, it was self-defense! He’s twice my size and he made a
threat!”
Isla just shook her head at me.“He charged us! With his phone! That’s not
normal behavior, plus it looked like he intended to use it as a weapon.” I
may have anger issues. “Who are you people?” Cheater was on the ground,
covering his face with his hands. Oh hell, was he crying? I stepped over
his sad, pathetic body and grinned. “The Exes.” Isla looped her arm
through
mine and then dropped our black-and-white calling card on the ground. It
was our final punch to the gut. Not only did it serve to warn our targets
that we were watching … always watching, future clients who randomly found
our cards called us based on curiosity alone. We grew our social media
presence by being selective and only taking high-profile clients. Business
was booming. “Have a good night.” I waved and shoved my phone back in my
pocket. Isla sucked in a breath. “So, pizza?” “Fries,” I countered.
“Pizza.” She narrowed her eyes like she was thinking. “Wine,” we
said in
unison. “Oh, looky here.” She pulled a bottle out of her giant Mary
Poppins
purse and waved it in front of my face like it was totally legal to drink
while walking down the street. “You have glasses in there too?” I
laughed,
poking my head in her giant bag. She was already pulling them out. Of
course.Always prepared, Isla was. “And a screw top.” I pointed.
“Best date
of my life.” “Isn’t it though?” A couple passed us by. As I
watched them
kiss, I ignored the pang in my heart. Just like I ignored the longing that
came with it. Stupid heart.“You’re happy, right?” Isla asked. She
was my
other half. If the other half oozed sexuality and confidence. Most days I
was lucky I even put on mascara and remembered to wash my hair. I was so
focused on retribution, on not focusing on the past, that I was barely
staying sane. I wanted to be that woman, the one who told the world where
to stick it—I just didn’t know how to do it without acknowledging all the
parts of myself that were still broken, still hurting. Because that meant I
had to actually admit it happened, it was real, and I was alone. An
impasse, that’s where I was at. “Of course!” I said loudly,
realizing she
was waiting for my response, and like an idiot I was peering into my wine
cup like it was a Magic 8 Ball that would give me all life’s secrets if I
just stared hard enough. Her eyebrow arched, and I could tell she wasn’t
convinced. I took a deep breath, forced a soft smile, and said it again.
“I’m really, really happy.” I just had to repeat it. And then add in
two
reallys. She gave me a confident nod and wrapped her arm around me.
“Good.”
And that was it. Except it wasn’t. Because a part of me was still thinking
about that couple, about the look in her eyes when he kissed her, and about
the way it felt to be kissed. A really good kiss. One that stunned you into
silence. One that stole your breath and made you swear that if you died in
that minute, it would be okay. A kiss that made you believe that maybe,
just maybe, the world wasn’t all bad. That maybe love existed. It was that
kind of kiss. And I realized in that moment, with a jarring sense of
insecurity, that I’d only ever been kissed like that once in my entire
life. And it wasn’t my ex-husband who had done it.*