“Thank you for a nice evening,” I said, stepping into the car.
On the ride home, I texted Meredith.
Natalie: Need to talk ASAP.
She called me the second I walked through the door. “What’s going on?”
I told her everything.
“What if I can’t get over Will?” I asked, my voice cracking. “Seeing him with Blake was maddening.”
Meredith was calm, as always. “Take a breath. Remember, he’d take you back if you were all in. But you have to decide, Natalie.”
“I think I should stick it out with the Brit,” I said half-heartedly.
“I think you need therapy,” she teased, laughing softly. “I’ll be there in two weeks. We’ll figure this out together.”
I laughed, despite the lump in my throat. “I love you. Thanks for letting me vent.”
After we hung up, I saw a text from Lucas.
Lucas: Listening to a record with Pete. He was hoping to meet you.
He was sweet. Perfect, really.
But with Will crashing in on every step I took, I didn’t know where my heart was anymore.
CHAPTER 14
BEHIND THE EIGHT BALL
WILL
The evening went exactly how I thought it would, I crashed Natalie’s date with the British guy. But I didn’t expect to catch them at the worst possible moment. She was getting into an uber, and he kissed her.
I wanted to die.
Blake didn’t seem to notice. She was busy chatting about another bar she wanted to go to. I nodded along, but my mind was miles away. As if the universe was playing a cruel joke on me, she took me to the same bar I’d gone to with Natalie, her sister, and Camille—the night Natalie and I had sex in the ballroom at Bourbon House.
God, that was so hot.
It was the same place I was planning on meeting Evan tomorrow night. I wanted to be somewhere I could remember Natalie. I know I was just torturing myself but being here with Blake was a different kind of torture. I needed to get out of my own head.
I needed to let Natalie go. She was dating someone else. I had a girlfriend who wanted to be part of my life. Blake was great on paper, and I was the one holding back.
At the bar, I grabbed us a couple of beers. Blake suggested we play pool, and I agreed, hoping it would distract me from my spiraling thoughts. She was surprisingly good—flirty and confident, talking smack the entire game while nearly kicking my ass.
She was gorgeous, no doubt about it. She had a lot going for her. I needed to stick with this.
After the game, she leaned into me, brushing her hand lightly over my chest.
“Want to come back to my place?” she asked, her voice low and inviting.
I hesitated. “I’m not sure,” I said. “I don’t really have anything with me.”
“You don’t need anything,” she said with a playful smile.
Her hand lingered on my arm, and I couldn’t come up with a good excuse fast enough.
