But maybe that’s what I need.
Simple. Disposable.
A rebound from something I never even had the right to miss.
Tag watches me, his stare a needle threading straight through the bravado. “Don’t do it, man.”
My jaw tightens.
“Seriously,” he says. “Don’t. You’ll regret it.”
“Right.” I give a dry laugh. “Better to sit around like a lovesick fool.”
“Knock it off with the tragic hero bit. She kissed you because she wanted you. Still does. She just doesn’t know how to forgive herself for it.”
The burn in my chest isn’t the whiskey anymore.
It’s her.
Her laugh. Her eyes. The way she looked at me when she thought no one else could see. The way she saw me when I thought I was invisible.
I told her I’d wait.
Just hours ago, she was in my arms and I meant it. Every word.
But I already pushed her too far once. And now she’s the one paying for it.
Maybe we both are.
“Listen,” Tag says, resting the bottle on his knee. “Don’t screw it up now by doing something you’ll hate yourself for tomorrow.” He nods to where Annie is still laughing, face aglow under the bulb lights. “She’s not just any girl. She’s my sister. And if you break her heart, I’ll break your fucking face.”
When I look at him, I can tell he’s dead serious.
But then a smile flickers on his mouth. “Cheers.”
He clinks my empty champagne glass just before Kenna saunters over from the bathrooms.
“What did I miss? Why aren’t we dancing?” She dips underneath the rope, tugging down her thigh-length dress. “Ooh. Champagne.”
Tag stands, snagging her by the hand as she reaches for a flute. “Good point. Let’s dance.”
“Ew.” She pulls her arm free. “I’d rather grind on the balding bartender.”
He smirks. “He charges extra for emotional damage.”
“That reminds me, you owe me for the batch of shirts that say ‘Honey Moons Made Me Cry and I Paid for It.’”
Tag squints. “We approved that?”
Kenna sips her bubbly. “Technically, no. But the internet did.”
“I swear, you’re more trouble than the whole band combined.”
A warm body appears on my right, pulling my attention away from the banter. Glittering purple stripes flutter in my periphery as Annie nudges my shoulder with hers.
“Kenna’s right. We should dance,” she says, a soft smile blooming. “You look miserable.”
She looks fucking gorgeous.
