Ugh, our friends.
When we first got to the restaurant, the group ordered fancy-sounding drinks with complicated ingredients and erotic names that sounded like titles of romance novels. I, on the other hand, went straight for three shots of the cheapest tequila, which has now made my arms feel unbearably heavy.
A sparkling diamond engagement ring flashed on Marissa’s finger that she couldn’t stop staring at. Neither could I. It wasn’t that I wanted Jonathan to ask me; it was more about the confusion, the questions gnawing at me. What had happened between us? Why had I suddenly become the one who wasn’t right? What made me too hard to handle? Why hadn’t he told me his feelings about my job before? Why could I sleep with any man, but never be truly loved by any of them?
I lower my gaze, letting it trail along Hayes’s shoulders, down his arm. The edge of his tattoo peeks out from beneath his sleeve—a snake winding around his bicep and up over his shoulder. I was with him when he got most of it done. The tattoo artist was another one of my failed attempts at a relationship. I can’t even remember his name now.
“Remember the first time we met?” I ask, my voice soft, tinged with nostalgia.
“I remember the second time more,” he says, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. I think I even see a bit of a blush coloring his cheeks. Cute.
“When was that?” I tilt my head slightly, curiosity piqued, half-expecting him to bring up some embarrassing moment I’ve conveniently blocked out.
“You were in the library. Stack of library books laid out in front of you. Messy bun, with a pencil stabbed through the top pile of the curls.” It’s the way he’s looking at me. Looks like that can make any girl forget about broken hearts and engagement rings.
“What are you?—”
“Your jeans were ripped at both knees. And you had this oversized pale pink sweater on, it fell off your shoulder all the way down to your elbow.”
“You’re making that up,” I laugh. I know he isn’t though, I remember the sweater, can still feel the rough wool against my skin.
“You wore dark red lipstick. You were the sexiest thing I’d ever seen.”
“I was always in that library. Or the book store. I’d lose all track of time in there.”
“Anywhere there were books involved.”
He chuckles, the sound low and warm, stirring something deep inside me. “Do you remember right before winter break there was that party. You know, the one where you tried to teach me how to do a body shot.”
I laugh, the memory flooding back. “Oh, right. You were so bad at it.” For some reason we thought adding flames to the alcohol would make it so much cooler. Pro tip: it doesn’t.
“I was distracted,” he says, his voice dropping as his gaze locks onto mine. “By the fire, but mostly by you.”
Heat flares in my chest, and I bite my lip, trying to suppress the smile that tugs at the corners of my mouth. “You never told me that.”
“There was a lot of stuff going on back then.”
We stare at each other a bit more. I want him to kiss me. I want him to make me forget how shitty I feel.
“You were always so strong; with everything you were dealing with…”
I lean forward, a rush of irritation and shame flooding through me. If he says anything else along those lines, I could throw myself off this balcony, splatter wetly onto the rocks andcobblestones below. “You were dating Casey,” I say, steering him away from the edge of that conversational cliff.
“Her I barely remember.”
“Oh, really? You followed her to that college.”
“But I stayed because you told me to.”
“When did I tell you to?”
“We were all drinking at Boozer’s.”
“God, I remember that place,” I say, leaning back against the railing. “They had a great house band, didn’t they?”
“You told me I shouldn’t leave with her,” he replies softly, running a hand through his hair. “You told me to stay and finish my degree, forget about her. Not to give up on school and settle for some mediocre life back home.”
“And look at you now,” I say, smiling up at him, heart fluttering in some strange new dance.
