No, I must have heard him wrong.
I finally reach the table, where I find that there are only two chairs. Spinning around on my heel, I search for available chairs, but instead, my eyes snag on Gus. He’s playing darts with Eloise on the other side of the bar. They’re laughing, looking like something out of a rom-com movie montage, the ones where the couple is falling in love over lattes and reaching for the samebook in the bookstore. Where they’re making dinner together in a much-too-large-for-their-budget NYC apartment.
It feels like a knife between my ribs, but not for the reason I would have expected. It’s not seeing them together that hurts. Or maybe it is. But it’s seeing themtogether. Seeing how they interact, how effortless it looks when everything between us felt like work. Fun work, work I enjoyed, but it wasn’t the kind of ease I see between them.
Not enough.
Grey sidles up next to me, drinks in hand, Wren and Holden on his heels. Wren’s eyes settle on the table. “Oh no, there are only two chairs. I guess I’ll have to sit on your lap.” She says this with dramatic regret, flashing Holden a wide smile.
When I peer up at Grey to laugh at her antics, he’s already watching me. It makes that weird feeling in my stomach start up again. I take the drink he’s extending in my direction and nod toward an empty seat at the bar. “I’ll just go sit over there.”
His eyes flick up, and I know the moment he notices Gus and Eloise, because that muscle flickers in his jaw again. When his gaze lands back on mine, there’s something hard in it—almost predatory. So unlike the easygoing man I’ve known for the last twenty years, and it makes my heart pound faster. But then the look dissolves, disappearing into that charming facade I’ve seen him use on so many women.
Before I can head to the bar, he’s sitting in the chair beside me, pulling me down onto his lap. His hand is heavy on my stomach, tugging me back into his chest. I feel his lips on the shell of my ear, hear the gravel in his voice as he says, “I don’t think so, sweetheart. We’ve got a show to put on.”
Finley stiffens against mefor a long moment. I’m sure she’s going to get up, ask me what the hell I’m doing, then kick me in the balls. A heavy exhale saws out of me when she relaxes, the stiffness in her shoulders melting into my chest. We fit together perfectly, just like we did that night in her bed. I equally love and hate how right this feels.
“What’s going on here?” Wren asks in a saccharine sweet voice, watching us with wide, excited eyes.
Finley chances a glance in Gus’s direction, and I know when I feel her tense against me for another second that he’s still there. “Gus and Eloise are here.”
Wren’s face softens into something like concern, and I wonder how much she knows about the breakup, about how Finley has been doing since. The two of them have gotten close since Wren and Holden started dating two years ago. And after the breakup and wedding, I know Wren and Finley spent even more time together. I’ve always wondered if Finley told Wren about that night, and I wonder how much of it she remembers. If it was as important to her as it was to me.
I shake myself out of the thoughts, loosening my grip on Finley when her hand lands on where mine is pressed to her stomach. I hadn’t realized I’d tensed up, that I’d unintentionally pulled her closer while I zoned out. But she doesn’t seem to be paying attention to it. She just placed her palm over the back of my hand while talking to Wren, keeping it there until the tension melted out of me.
When my shoulders relax against the back of the chair once more, she flashes me a look over her shoulder, eyebrow raised as if to question if I’m all right. It feels sorealthat it makes my throat burn. As much as we pick on and tease each other, there’s an understanding there, buried deep, that we will always have each other’s backs.Friends, I think, though the word tastes sour.
My chin dips in a nod, and she takes a sip of her drink, tongue darting out to catch the salt on the rim. I have to look away.
I scan Matty’s. The band is still playing on the stage in the corner, and there’s a group of people making the scant space in front of it into a dance floor, bumping into each other and moving on the single floor tile they each have to stand on. All the tables are taken, and I even see a few people sitting on top of them since there aren’t enough chairs. I hope Finley doesn’t take their idea. She feels good here—right.
I glance back up at her, and her whiskey-colored eyes are already focused on me, a divot between her eyebrows. There’s flaky salt on the corner of her lip, and before I can think better of it, I reach up, swiping it away with my thumb.
“Salt,” I say, and she opens her mouth to respond, but stops short when I lick it from the tip of my thumb.
Something in her eyes changes then, going hot and dark all at once. Whiskey in the fire, making it flare brighter.
“Oh my goodness!” someone yells directly into our ears. Our gazes snap apart, focusing on the woman standing close enough that I can count the freckles on her cheeks. She’s familiar,someone from Finley’s graduating class, but I can’t recall her name or anything about her.
“Sarah,” Finley says, a fake smile affixed to her face. “How good to see you.” To anyone else, this would sound sincere, but to me, this sounds more likeI would rather be seeing anyone else right now.
“I cannot believe y’all are together!” Sarah fairly shouts again. I can already tell she’s one of those people who only speaks in exclamation points.
Finley’s smile wobbles at the edges, taking effort to stay in place.
Sarah looks between us, and at the incredulity in her expression, my hand flares wider, splaying out just shy of indecent over Finley’s stomach. “You always had such a crush on him in high school,” Sarah says, tracking the movement, and I go still.
“Yes, well, I’m proof that dreams do come true, I guess,” Finley says. “Speaking of, how’s your MLM going?”
Sarah’s face brightens, not sensing the jab. Finley is like that. She’s so kind, so bubbly and light, that even her insults come off like compliments. At least, to everyone but me. To me, she’s openly hostile, but I prefer it that way. It may drive me crazy that she always thinks the worst of me, but at least she’s open about it. At least she feels comfortable enough to call me out on my bullshit.
“It’s great,” Sarah says. Her voice is high-pitched, grating. “I’m so close to leveling up. Only three more levels before I qualify for the Milwaukee trip.”
“Milwaukee?” Finley asks with a tilt of her head. It sends her bob of blonde hair into my face, a wave of her floral perfume with it.
Sarah’s smile stretches farther. “It’s where the headquarters are. I’ll get to see the fit tea being made.”
“Fascinating,” I say, and I feel Finley jerk against me. When I glance in her direction, her smile has rolled inward, holding back a laugh.
