My gaze drifts to the door. It’s a straight line from here. I could run for it. Cover my mouth and heave like I’m about to barf. People believe that act all the time.
“Koren,” he calls my name softly again, and I make the mistake of looking up—and see that slow, cocky grin. The one I most recently saw on the front page of a sports magazine.
Before I can stop myself, my heart does something uncalled for. It should be illegal, but there it is—a tiny flutter, like muscle memory kicking in. My heart beats a treasonous pattern.
Just for a breath, his eyes sparkle the way they used to at me. Everyone else in the room fades.
“Lauren,” he calls, gaze steady.
Ah, that’s not my name.
I blink, following his line of sight over my shoulder. A tall, stunning woman is floating toward us. Yes, floating is the correct verb. The air is transporting her effortlessly. She doesn’t stop until she’s next to Elijah.
“This is awkward,” Elijah says, bouncing his gaze from her to me. “I was trying to tell Koren she took your seat. I saved it for you, but she wouldn’t look at me.”
My heart plummets into a freefall with no parachute.
It all makes sense.
He brought a date.
And just like that, I’ve been transported to a distant memory…
When I was ten years old, I threw a hairbrush at his head on purpose. It was the summer my grandma hired him to mow our little lawn on the lake house, and he mowed right over my lavender. It was always my favorite flower. My grandma had a whole garden of it, and he just sawed it all off. I didn’t think I’d ever be madder at him than I was that summer. Boy, was I wrong. So many nights I bawled over him—what we were, what we could have been. All the embarrassment comes swirling back.
Lauren leans over, whispering something in his ear. He laughs and places a hand on her lower back. I blink, watching his hand move in slow motion all the way across her back, drawing her to his side.Claiming her.The way he used to claim me.
My self-esteem just peed a little.
I didn’t even know that was a thing!
With a sharp inhale, I manage to miraculously shove the fragmented pieces of my pride deep into my gut. I smile, a big, fat, showbiz whopper of a grin, square my shoulders, and waltz out of the room as if I hadn’t relived the hormonal highs and lows of our entire relationship in two minutes.
Don’t cry, I order to myself as I stride down the hall.
What I wouldn’t give for a hairbrush right now.
“I hate him,” I seethe over the bathroom sink, crying like one of those dramatic girls who just fought with their boyfriends at prom. I’m not that girl. I’m not the girl who cries over her ex who’s clearly moved on—many, many times, according to social media.
“No offense, but I don’t think these tears are hate,” Kaci says, quirking her head to the side, in what I assume is an attempt at empathy. I don’t care that she cares. She’s the one who put me in this position.
“Why don’t you feel them?” I dramatically swipe my eyes for theatrics. “They’re like one hundred eighty degrees of pure fury.”
“Fury doesn’t have a temperature. That might be a fever.”
I crank the faucet to its coldest setting and let water flow into my hands. I’m so enraged, I’m not even fazed when I splash it all over my face. Yes, it’s extreme to ruin the perfectly good makeup I spent forever on, but it’s either freeze this fury off or scream, “Ihate Elijah Jonas” at the top of my lungs. And I’ve already ruined this dinner enough.
Kaci seems lost. She raises her hand, places it on my back, then removes it a moment later to tuck a loose tendril of hair behind my ear. “Are you going to be okay?”
“No.” It’s the quickest word to ever fly out of my mouth. “My ex-fiancé is here, and he brought a model as a date. Why didn’t I know we were bringing dates?” I glare at her, visualizing the dream date I could have brought. No, I’m not seeing anyone, but there are definitely fate-dates for situations like this. I’ve read about them in romance novels, and they are always beyond dreamy.
“Oh, right,” she murmurs as she looks at the floor. “Now isn’t the best time to mention this, but since we’re running out of time—well, all the groomsmen are married or engaged already. So, they’re paired with their wives. And, um, well, you two are the only singles. So, yeah, I know you stated very loudly this morning that you didn’t want to walk down the aisle with him, but … you’re aisle partners. Then you’ll never have to see him again,” she blurts out that last part so fast, I choke.
And by choke, I mean I actually gag. My body revolts. Dramatically. And I bend at my waist, dry heaving around the bathroom like I’ve been poisoned and can’t figure out which way the toilet is.
Kaci has the audacity to laugh.
“How are you laughing?” I gasp. “I’m being poisoned to death by Eljah’s mere presence, and you giggle?”
