“Oh, no. Not for me.” Her hands land on my shoulders and she turns me around. It takes me a minute to see him, but right near the door stands Nate.
I blink, trying to make sense of it.Whyis he so worried about me? Why does he follow me wherever I go when he can’t even stand to be near me?
“You should talk to him.” She urges me forward. “Enough running.”
I glare at her. Just the sight of him brings back all the hurt and fear that surrounds him. Instead of going right to him, I stop by the bar and get another drink, which I down immediately.
Then I go face him.
The third drink hits me harder. My head is spinning, but I feel like I can face things.
“Nate,” I say. “What are you doing here?”
“What are you wearing?” he asks, eyeing me up and down. I glance at myself. I’m in the teal dress I impulse bought with Scarlett. It’s not as short as her red one, but it’s a spaghetti strap, and I realize I’m in less than I usually would be.
“Just something new.” I shake my head and nearly topple over. Nate goes to steady me, but his hands stop before they touch me.
The sight nearly sets me off.
I was hoping drinking and dancing would make me forget all that’s happened, but now it’s concentrated, and my common sense is off the boat. It’s just me.
And my hurt has turned into something ugly. Nate’s not in the wrong. He doesn’thaveto touch me, but the way he jerks awayfrom me like I’m on fire has festered. And I hate that it’s like this. I hate that he feels this way about me.
So, I do something stupid. My hands lock around his wrists, and I finish the movement for him.
He jerks away. “What was that?”
There’s a part of me deep down that hopes I imagined it all.
I didn’t.
“Just go back to the room. You get a night off from me.”
“What?” he asks. “Maisie, what’s going on? You sent me a text saying you’re going dancing with Scarlett out of nowhere when you were supposed to be napping. What the hell happened?”
“I changed my mind. I’m fine.”
“Then why won’t you look me in the eye?”
I know that if I do, I’ll lose it. I can’t put all this in a box, especially not when tipsy.
But maybe I can’t when sober either.
“Don’t worry about it. I’m going back in there.” I crave the feeling I had before I saw Nate. I crave the person I was before I knew he had shown up.
Turning to leave, I’m ready to get back to the dance floor.
But Nate grabs my hand.
And it sets me off.
“Don’t,” I hiss, yanking my hand out of his. “Don’t you dare touch me.”
He steps back, green eyes wide. “Maisie, I?—”
“You don’t have to force yourself anymore.”
“Force myself? Who said I was forcing myself to do anything?”
