Chapter One

Six years ago, almost to the day, Truly first spotted Justin Gallagher in all his dreamy, sun-kissed, green-eyed glory and thought, I'm gonna marry that guy. Now, bare from the waist down wearing nothing but a red muscle tee, her fiancé looked the furthest thing from dreamy she could imagine.

He looked like Winnie-the-Pooh.

If Pooh Bear were a lying, cheating bastard.

With one hand shielding her eyes from the tableau of bare skin she had zero desire to see, Truly braced for the inevitable crush of sadness to steal over her. Any second now, she was going to feel something other than this... distant mortification that she'd wasted six precious years on a dumbass who, when caught with his dick in another girl's mouth, said, this isn't what it looks like.

Any second now... any second...

"True, hon, whatever you're thinking, it's not that. Jessica's a vocal performance major. I was just helping her practice. You gotta believe me."

Her hand dropped and with it, her jaw, her mouth hanging open. That had to be, without a doubt, the worst, most half-baked excuse she'd ever had the displeasure of hearing. "With your dick out, Justin? Really? It's not a fucking microphone."

Maybe it was her withering glare that did it, but he gulped and cupped his package protectively. "We were just—we were working on her breath control. Tell her, Jess."

Breath control.Christ.

She wasn't sure what offended her more—that he had cheated, or that he honest to God thought she was stupid enough to believe that the pretty blonde frantically throwing her clothes on had been getting up close and personal with his dick in the name of music.

"I am so sorry." The girl—Jessica?—stole a furtive glance at Truly as she breezed past on her way out of Justin's front door. "This fuckwad told me he was single."

Fuckwad, indeed.

As soon as the front door slammed shut, Justin held up both hands, palms facing out, fingers spread, placating. "Honey, listen—"

"Don't."Truly snatched the throw blanket she'd crocheted him two Christmases ago off the back of the couch and hurled it at his head. Dicks looked weird on a good day; she really didn't want to keep seeing his out of the corner of her eye. "Do us both a favor and cover yourself."

He clutched the blanket around his shoulders like a cape. "It's nothing you haven't seen before."

"And it's nothing I have any desire to see ever again."

"Don't be like that," he whined. "You don't get to be mad at me. We're on a break, remember?"

A break she'd agreed to take against her better judgment, because Justin had sworn up and down that his desire to press pause had nothing to do with wanting to see other people.

"Because you told me you couldn't handle any distractions while you're on tour. Because you told me you were, and I quote, investing in our future. That when you hit it big with the band, it would all be worth it."

Privately, she'd believed it to be a classic case of cold feet. That with a little time apart, he'd realize, unequivocally, just how good he had it.

Had she known he wanted to sow some wild oats before even hitting the road, she never would've agreed to spend any time apart.

"Fine. You want the truth?" He stood, blanket falling and with it, any semblance of his dignity. "Have you ever stopped to think that maybe the fact that my girlfriend proposed to me might've been a little emasculating? Huh? You ever think about that?"

She didn't have the time nor inclination to unpack how sexist that was. "So, you're, what? Saying this is my fault? You're sleeping around to reestablish your masculinity? Prove to yourself you can still pull?"

"Now that sounds like a trap." Justin set his hands on his bare hips. "And speaking of traps, yeah, all right, that's how you made me feel. Trapped. Smothered. I needed space to get my head on straight. Sue me."

Her breath hitched, lungs constricting. "You are saying this is my fault."

Unbelievable.

"I'm saying that we shouldn't be throwing glass houses here."

"Stones," she said, faintly horrified. "It's stones, Justin."

"Well, yeah." He scoffed. "If you throw glass houses, someone's stones are bound to get hurt." He cupped his balls unabashedly. "Namely, mine."

She raked her fingers through her hair, messing up the curls she'd spent an hour and a quarter of a can of hair spray artfully constructing, earning herself an awful burn on her thumb from her curling iron in the process. "I can't believe this."

"You do look kind of pale." He patted the couch cushion nearest him. "Do you want to sit down?"

His living room smelled faintly of sex, all musk and sweat, and it made her stomach roll. "I don't have time for this."

In forty minutes she was due across town, guest starring on the fifth most popular podcast on Spotify. Unhinged offered listeners a blend of advice and lifestyle content, often irreverent but always real. Booking the podcast was a pinch me moment if there ever was one, only this dream opportunity now felt more like a nightmare because Truly? Truly wasn't just promoting her next book; as a self-professed romantic, and because she was such an expert, she had agreed to give relationship advice to Unhinged's four million listeners.

She'd laugh at the irony if it didn't make her want to cry.

"True, don't be like that." He followed her into the kitchen. "You know how much I hate it when you're passive-aggressive and shit."

She studied her keychain, trying to figure out the best way to get his key off it. "Honestly, Justin, what exactly is the proper response to walking in on your fiancé cheating on you? Would you rather I be aggressive-aggressive? Hm? Hm?"

"I resent that accusation."

Accusation? She scoffed, fighting with her metal O-ring keychain, trying to pry it apart with grip strength and sheer force of will. "I literally walked in on you with your dick in another girl's mouth. Where I come from, we call that cheating."

"Except we are on a break." He spoke slowly, as if she were the one struggling to grasp the gravity of this whole fucked-up situation. "And even if we weren't, it's, like, ethical non-monogamy."

She stared at him. "Are you shitting me?"

"I'm just saying." Justin shrugged. "You should look it up. Ethical non-monogamy."

"You think I should look it up? I think you should go fuck yourself."

He sighed. "Don't be like that."

"Like what? Like someone with standards? Self-respect?"

"Come on," he said. "We can fix this."

In theory, sure. Couples had persevered through much worse and plenty had come out the other side stronger than ever.

Except those couples all had one thing in common.

They all wanted to fix it.

And Truly?

Truly didn't.

Had anyone asked her this morning if she loved Justin, she'd have sworn she did. It was unequivocal. The sky was blue, the grass was green, and she, Truly Livingston, was going to spend the rest of her life with Justin Gallagher.

But now? She'd rather eat a bowl of her own hair than let Justin touch her. Maybe the slide from adoration to mounting frustration to outright vexation had been gradual, but the realization that she didn't care enough to try anymore was like flipping a switch.

Finally, Justin's key came free from her keychain. It must've only weighed a few ounces, but slapping it down on the counter felt like shedding pounds of dead weight. "Have a nice life, Justin."

She turned on her heel and made a beeline for the door, shoving her feet inside her sneakers, not caring that the tongues were tucked awkwardly inside.

Justin caught up to her in the hall. The dish towel clutched against his crotch afforded him a shred of modesty. He held up her old key.

"Who's gonna feed my betta fish?"

***

"Second circle of Hell, this is Lulu speaking."

"Aw, shucks. I figured they'd have promoted you by now."

Sharp, staticky laughter burst from the speakers as Truly's best friend laughed. "I'm kinda partial to this circle. Lust and all that jazz."

Great. Now she was going to be humming showtunes for the rest of the day. Mom and Dad would be so proud.

"If I tell you something, will you promise not to, like, have a conniption?" Truly pulled into the Starbucks drive-through behind a silver Tesla.

"Who the fuck your age even says conniption? Lord, people my age don't say that. I don't even think my mother's used that word. My grandma, maybe, but she's older than graveyard dirt."

"Lulu."

"True-True."

Fuck it. "I broke up with Justin."

A beat of silence passed, long enough that she dug her phone out of her cupholder to make sure her Bluetooth connection hadn't dropped. "Lu?"

"Sorry, I'm here. I'm just trying to find the right words to express my heartfelt sympathy because I know you were, like, in love with that sentient jar of mayo, but fuck, babe. I kind of want to bust out a bottle of Bollinger Brut and have a party." Lulu huffed. "And this? This is why I wasn't saying anything. You interrupted my thought gathering and now I've put my foot in my mouth. Don't hate me."

"A sentient jar of mayo?" Damn. As far as insults went, that was impressive. "Permission to use that in a book?"

"Granted," Lulu said. "Better put me in your acknowledgments, though."

"As if you aren't already in all of them in perpetuity."

Lulu hummed, pleased. "So, you're not mad at me for likening your ex to the most loathsome condiment on the planet?"

"As if I wasn't well aware you didn't approve." She eased off the brake as the car in front of her moved up to order. "You haven't exactly been subtle."

"I've tried! You've gotta admit, I've toned down the snark by, like, fifty percent in the last two years."

"You have, and I appreciate you trying to make nice. Or I did." Now she couldn't give less of a damn. "So no, I'm not mad at you. Justin, on the other hand..."

"What did the fucker do this time? It must've been something awful if it finally forced you to see the light. Do I need to rearrange his face? If you're good for bail money, I'm down. I've been itching to take a swing at that wannabe rockstar for ages."

Eight years of knowing Lulu and Truly could still only reliably tell if she was joking a good seventy-five percent of the time. "If you promise not to resort to violence, I'll tell you what happened as soon as I'm done ordering my coffee."

"Cross my heart."

She pulled up to the drive-through and ordered her usual, plus an extra shot of espresso for good measure.

"Okay, you remember how Justin practically begged me to drop by and feed his fish while he's on tour? And how I didn't want his fish to die just because he didn't have anyone else who could do it, so I said yes?"

"Do I remember being pissed to high heaven that he had the audacity to ask you for a favor a mere week after telling you he wanted to take a break? Sounds familiar. Go on."

"He must've gotten his dates screwed up because I let myself into his apartment today and was greeted by the lovely sight of Justin getting his dick sucked by a pretty, leggy blonde with really fantastic tits."

As a lifelong card-carrying member of the Itty-Bitty Titty Committee, she wasn't going to lie and say it didn't sting that Justin had chosen a girl to cheat with who was her aesthetic opposite in almost every way.

"His mother should've swallowed, I swear." Lulu paused. "Are you okay?"

Sorely undercaffeinated and a little emotionally bruised, but when she did a quick self-diagnostic, it was her ego that had taken the hit, not her heart. "I'm fine."

"Truly."

"I mean it. Just a sec." She pulled up to the next window and handed her card to the cashier before accepting her receipt and coffee. "Okay, fine. I'm pissed, but more about how it went down and less that we're over. He had the nerve to tell me that my proposing to him made him feel emasculated."

"God, I hate that son of a bitch."

"Don't get me wrong, I'm livid. But mostly? I'm... God, I'm so over it." Sick and tired of Justin's waffling, waiting for him to grow up, being put through the emotional wringer, putting effort into a relationship and being met with the bare minimum. "I'm honestly more concerned with what the hell I'm supposed to post on Instagram."

A pitfall of having two hundred thousand followers who'd witnessed your relationship milestones and very public engagement announcement meant being unable to let that relationship go quietly into the good night. She couldn't just stop posting about Justin. Not without an explanation.

Lulu made a soft, sympathetic sound. "Fuck Instagram. You can worry about that later. Look, I'm not trying to tell you that you don't know what you're feeling, but do you think it's possible you're in shock? Like, maybe you haven't fully processed?"

She made a right onto Denny Way. "I don't think so?"

Lulu sighed. "Okay, let me call Benny and see if he minds if I close early. You go home, get comfy, get that weird-ass potato peel book club movie you love queued up on Netflix, and I'll head over to yours with a bottle or three as soon as I get off. We can get wine drunk and you can tell Mama Lulu all about how over it you really are. Sound good?"

"It's The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society and you know it." She smiled. "And yeah, that sounds great except you've got Mai's recital tonight at seven, remember?"

"Shit... do you want me to call Dan?"

Truly recoiled in horror, accidentally tapping her brake. Lulu's ex? God no. "I wouldn't dream of asking you to miss out on your weekend with Mai. I'm not heartless."

Lulu grumbled. "You weren't asking, I was offering. But hey, if you're good with a PG night, I could bring the kids over later and we could, I don't know, have a sleepover and binge Paw Patrol. I probably shouldn't drink too much, but you could, like, take a shot every time Mayor Humdinger comes up with an evil plan. With enough episodes, I can guarantee you'll black out."

As much as Truly adored her godchildren, the fact that she, a childless twenty-seven-year-old, knew who Mayor Humdinger was verged on tragic.

"No offense, but I have zero desire to turn a children's show into a drinking game." Again. Been there, done that, spent the night praying to the porcelain goddess. "Rain check? Don't feel bad—I've got that podcast I told you about and I'm almost at the studio. Plus, I've got brunch with my parents tomorrow and despite it happening over a year ago, Dad still hasn't stopped teasing me about the last time I showed up hungover."

"I must've heard you wrong, because it sounded like you said you were going to work, but I know that can't be right since you just found out your fiancé's been dicking around on you."

"Yeah, and?" She wasn't hemorrhaging or concussed or experiencing a family emergency; she had no reason to cancel a professional engagement less than an hour in advance.

"Cancel! Go home!"

"And do what? Wallow? No thank you."

Lulu sighed. "Next weekend? I'm taking you out on the town so we can find you some pretty little piece of ass because the best way to get over someone is to get your back blown out by someone new."

"It's a date." She had zero intention of rebounding with anyone, but she wasn't about to argue with Lulu when she was on a schedule. "Give the kids a hug from Auntie Truly, okay?"

"Of course. And good luck with your podcast. Break a leg or whatever? I don't know. Try to have a good time."

"Thanks, Lu." Truly ended the call.

A good time was probably a reach, but at least there was no way this day could get any worse.