“I was sitting here trying to imagine being single again. Trying to figure out how I’m supposed to move on when there’s not a single guy in here who even sparks my interest. No offense.” I glance at him. “Present company included.”
“Ouch,” he says with a laugh.
“Hey, you asked.” I shrug and keep digging my own grave. “I was thinking, maybe if I could just go home with someone—anyone—they could make me forget about him. Just for one damn night, you know? Have some meaningless fun. Feel good… That’d be nice.”
His expression’s unreadable, and he doesn’t say anything.
So I keep talking. Because why stop now? “And then you showed up,” I say, forcing a half-smile. “And I thought,maybe Adam could be the backup plan.You know, if we’re both still single in five years.” I glance at him as I reach for my water, sipping through the straw, anything to lighten the weight of what I just admitted. “And that’s when I shook my head.”
He lets out a long breath. “Whoa. Okay. First of all, a backup? That’s brutal. Come on. I deserve better than that,” he teases. “Second, we tried that once. Didn’t go well, remember? I seem to recall a very drunk, very sad Adam at Michael’s birthday party who made out with his best friend’s little sister after five tequila shots.”
He grimaces, and I can’t help but laugh.
“And third—now this one’s important, so listen up.” He points a finger at me. “All the guys in here—the idea of going home with one of them? That’s not you. You’re just lonely. You’re hurting. But you don’t actually want any of them.” He grins, nudging my shoulder. “Or me, for that matter.”
He takes a sip of his drink. “Trust me. I’ve been there. Cue the birthday party make-out session.”
I laugh softly and glance down, fingers fidgeting with the edge of my napkin.
“It’s supposed to hurt, you know.” His voice drops, almost a whisper. “That’s how you know it was real. If it wasn’t, it wouldn’t be this hard. Wouldn’t hurt. Wouldn’t mean anything.”
Then he meets my eyes. “You don’t want someone to make you forget, Alley. You just want the guy who broke your heart to fix it.”
His words knock the air from my lungs. “God,” I whisper, shaking my head, the tears falling too fast to stop. “I feel like such an idiot.”
“You’re not,” he says gently. “You’re just sad.”
“I just… miss him so much.” I press a hand to my chest. “It hurts.”
“Yeah,” he murmurs. “I’m sure it does.” He pulls me in for a side hug—steady, quiet, grounding.
I dab at the tears with a napkin, trying to gain composure. The last thing I want is to break down here with all my friends.
“I think I’m going to go,” I say quietly. “Would you mind telling Leo and Vivian?”
He hesitates, clearly wanting to say something, maybe talk me into staying, but then he just nods. “Sure. I can do that. Let me get you an Uber. I’ll walk you out.”
I give a tight-lipped smile. “Thanks.”
We make our way to coat check, and a comfortable silence settles between us. My thoughts spin, circling the mess I made of tonight.He probably thinks I’m crazy.
“I’m sorry,” I say finally, breaking the quiet. “I don’t know what that was all about.”
“I do,” he says, voice soft.
“Yeah. I guess I do too.”
“You don’t need to be sorry, Al.” He pauses, then grins. “Well, maybe for the whole backup plan thing. That was pretty rude.”
I give him a shove, laughing. “Shut up. It was a worst-case scenario.”
“Stop. You’re making it worse. Now I’m a worst-case scenario?”
“No.” I press a hand to my forehead, which is now pounding from the mojitos and the crying. “Shit. This isn’t coming out right. Damn those mojitos.”
“Oh, sure. Blame the mojitos.” He chuckles, then tips his head. “Alright, fine. I’ll make you a deal. In ten years, if we’re both still single, we can be each other’s worst-case scenarios. How’s that?”
Grinning, I tip my head back. “Oh my God. You’re the worst.”
