We were supposed to be here together.
We weresupposedto be heading to the Amalfi coast, having sunset cocktails and couple’s massages and his-and-her bathrobes in Positano that I could have never afforded myself without Ryan’s connections and wallet.
But instead, I was sitting alone in Atlanta’s Hartsfield-Jackson International terminal.
Pretending like I hadn’t found him balls-deep in my best friend four weeks ago.
A month.
A goddamnmonth.
But the vacation was already paid for.
And if he thought I was going to stay home and cry into a pint of mint chocolate chip ice cream while he got laid on a private yacht off the coast of Italy, he could eat shit.
So, I’d convinced him to let me keep the trip.
At least I was taking backsomething.
I tugged at the hem of my sundress — yellow, cute,too short for first class.
Definitely not in the dress code of what everyone else in the lounge seemed to be following.
But I’d told myself I wouldn’t care about it.
Even if it was a lie.
Even if the woman with a face sharp enough to cut glass glared at me over the rim of her espresso martini like I’d tracked in mud.
I gave her a sweet smile and picked up my champagne again, swallowing down the knot at the back of my throat.
The plush seat seemed to swallow me just that little bit more as I sank further.
I just had to keep my thoughts off him.
That was all.
A voice came over the intercom, announcing boarding for a flight that wasn’t mine, and I let my head tip back on the cushion.
I closed my eyes and tried not to imagine Lauren’s face when I’d opened that door.
I was almost relaxed, almostconvincedI could make it through the next five days pretending none of it mattered.
Then a low voice behind me cut through the silence.
“Mind if I sit here?”
It made me jump.
And drop the champagne flute.
Shards of crystal glinted like ice on the little table beside me.
I stared at them for half a second too long, body locked, heat creeping up my cheeks, heart beating like a drum in my ears.
“Shit,” I muttered, instinctually reaching to clear it up myself, shards be damned.
But a large, warm hand locked around my wrist before I could make contact.
