“It’s not bad, exactly.” I watch the familiar storefronts slide past. “It’s just strange being back. I ran into a classmate just now, super sweet, nothing against her, but she asked if I was married. And after being in my old high school, memories keephitting me out of nowhere. It’s all making me uncomfortably introspective and I keep thinking about...”
I trail off.
“Your hot nemesis?” Dara supplies.
“That’s not what I was going to say.” It is absolutely what I was going to say. “Also I’m pretty sure you can only have a nemesis if you’re a superhero or a Shakespearean king. The rest of us just have ‘that asshole’ or something.”
“Mhmm, I’ll file that distinction away for future use,” Dara says, clearly not buying any of it. “And I’ll forgive that little lie about not thinking about him. So is he still making you want to commit felonies?”
“Still.” I grip the steering wheel tighter. “He’s an arrogant, stubborn hardass who looks at me like I’m something unpleasant he found on the bottom of his shoe.”
“But a hot-looking arrogant, stubborn hardass.”
“Dara.”
“What?” she asks innocently. “Listen, hate him all you want but I’m of the opinion that a good hate fuck would help you work through some of that tension.”
I snort. “Even if I were desperate enough to consider it, and I’m not, I’d need a lobotomy first. The man is insufferable.”
“If you say so,” she says, sounding utterly unconvinced. “Well, I’m sorry the trip home is confusing.”
“Eh, it’s alright,” I say, turning onto Main Street. “Parts have been nice. Seeing my parents, eating my mom’s cooking. Weirdly I think I’m going to miss it when I get back to New York. It’s a cute town. Relaxing. Though I could do without the questions about marriage and kids.”
“Ah yes, the home-town interrogation,” Dara says. “Are you married, why aren’t you married, when will you be married, have you tried being less intimidating?—“
“Exactly.” I laugh despite myself. “And I wouldn’t even mind a sexy husband! But my last date was that finance guy who spent two hours explaining cryptocurrency to me and then tried to split the check.”
“God, I remember him. Didn’t he also say you were ‘a lot’?”
“Yep,” I say. “That’s the one.”
Dara’s married to a genuinely good man who adores her. A unicorn in a sea of donkeys, I always tell her. My luck has been less magical. Every guy I’ve dated in the last five years has either wanted me to dial it down or wanted a combination personal assistant and therapist who also sleeps with them. Neither job posting interests me.
“Well, if it makes you feel any better,” Dara says, “my mother called earlier this week and yet again asked about grandchildren. So even if you do get married, the questions never stop.”
“The gift that keeps on giving,” I say dryly.
“You doing okay though? For real?”
“Yeah.” I watch the storefronts pass. “It’s just a lot of memories I wasn’t prepared for. I’ll be fine once I settle into the work.”
“Well, if any of those ghosts need punching, I’m only a flight away,” she says. “I should go. I have a meeting. Call me tomorrow?”
“I will.”
“Talk soon, babe.”
The line goes dead and the car fills with silence again. Just me and the road and all the thoughts I shoved into a box five minutes ago already clawing their way back out.
The hotel parking lot appears on my right and I start to turn in, then change my mind at the last second. I don’t want to sit in my room alone with my thoughts, so I pull back onto the road and head toward downtown with no real plan, just the need to be somewhere with noise and people and a drink in my hand.Something to drown out the silence and the memories and the inconvenient feelings I don’t have time for.
The Black Lantern catches my eye as I pass, warm light spilling from the windows, and I’m turning into the parking lot before I’ve even fully decided to.
I remember this place from growing up. Back when Dominic and I were sneaking around, his mom Susan owned it, which meant I avoided it like the plague. Getting spotted at my so-called nemesis’s family bar would have blown our cover in about five minutes. We always stuck to back seats and empty parking lots and places no one would think to look.
My car rolls into a spot near the entrance and I cut the engine. The place looks different than I remember, warmer and more polished, but it’s still got that small-town charm Susan always cultivated.
I tap my fingers on the steering wheel, weighing my options. There’s a chance someone in there will recognize me. There’s a chance this will lead to awkward conversations and questions about what I’m doing back in town. There’s a chance this is a terrible idea on multiple levels.
