Rebound Read Free Page A

drawer at my place or asks for the security code on my phone, which Julia recently did, it’s the beginning of the end. I’m not interested in anything deep or lasting or even . . . real.
    Chloe ruined that for me. She destroyed the part of me that ever wants real again.
    Damn, I need to get laid.
    Looking around the room, I consider Army Girl again until I see that she’s doing some Irish Riverdancing. While she’s taking a shot.
    Hilarious, but she’s not for me.
    I look toward the door and stop.
    Stepping into the living room with a whip in one hand and a tail gathered in the other is the epitome of my every fantasy.
    I don’t know where to look first. There’s just too much I want to focus on. Her long legs. Narrow waist. Perfect breasts. The way her hips roll as she weaves through the crowd. The girl’s got everything. Everything about the way she looks is perfect.
    Catwoman.

Chapter 3
Alison
    I ’ve skied double black diamond runs and been kicked in the chest by a horse, but walking up a steep hill in five-inch heels and skintight leather might take the prize for the most challenging physical experience of my life. Finally, though, I’ve made it and am swept in through the wide open door of the Gallianos’ home.
    Even though I’m masked and costumed head-to-toe, I feel strangely naked. Or, I realize, incomplete. It occurs to me that it’s because my hands are empty. I’ve got my cell phone and a lipstick tucked into the sleek Catwoman utility belt hanging low across my hips, but I have no briefcase, no horse bridle or gym bag. And most of all, I have no hostess gift. I never show up without a gift. My mom taught me that.
    I guess the prospect of this night had me more rattled than I let myself believe. But I can’t do anything about it now unless I want togo back outside and dig into the lush pathway landscaping to present the Gallianos with their own wildflowers.
    Instead, I follow a blonde in a long gown with miniature dragons perched on her shoulders into the chaos of the party. We move through a short entryway into a massive living room, with towering windows that meet a high ceiling crossed by sleek ebony beams. The furniture is luxe, a combination of midcentury and art deco, and the walls are decorated with photographs, some I recognize from art appreciation classes in college and a few I assume to be Pearl Bertram’s: bold, impressionistic, and hugely riveting.
    People fill the space, but I spot Ethan right away. Amazing after more than a year that I’m still so tuned into him, like I have some automatic sensor still calibrated to his frequency. He’s wearing an old-fashioned baseball uniform and stands in a cluster with some other people—a muscular guy in a loincloth and two petite girls in what look like red pajamas. Well, sexy Lycra pajamas with cute blue fur cuffs at the ankles.
    He’s got his arm around a petite blonde, and it takes me a second to register that it’s his new girlfriend, Mia, dressed as Marilyn Monroe to what I now realize is his Joe DiMaggio. Every bit of her fills out the classic white halter dress. She looks amazing in the platinum wig, too, though I can see she’s having trouble containing her unruly dark hair, which she has to keep tucking back beneath the blond waves.
    The music and conversation fade away as I watch them together. They’re each talking to other people, but they’re connected too, their bodies touching, his hand absently brushing the bare skin of her shoulder as he laughs at someone’s joke.
    I know I should go to them, say hello and meet the others, who may be coworkers at Boomerang. But something keeps me riveted to my spot. Suddenly, I feel shy and stuck outside what seems to be Ethan’s contented little circle.
    The way he stands, so aware of her, so grounded and firm, makes my throat tighten. The disastrous last few months of college rush back to me. Not only Ethan and the night I betrayed him but the crashing spiral that followed.
    I