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“Perfect.” Maeve gave me a side hug. “Trust me, you’re gorgeous. Don’t let yourself worry about Jackson. He’s just another asshole in a city of many. You’re going to have a phenomenal time tonight, and it means so much to me that you’re coming. Tyson said it’s important.”
I laughed. “Right.” I gave her a little wave as she slipped out of my bedroom—the same one that Jackson had slept in, before he ghosted me. I swallowed hard, not sure why the thought still stung. We hadn’t gotten along from the get-go, there was no reason for it to do anything other than confirm that it was better off that way.
Still, he was all I could think about.
And I still had his stupid shirt.
My shoulders slumped as I exited the room, grabbing my purse and heading toward the living room. My hair was fashioned in sideswept waves, my lips a dark red, and honestly, I did look good. I needed to focus on getting to know the guy who Maeve had been determined to set me up with…
Even if I didn’t feel like it.
I sat down on the couch, tempted to just text Maeve right then and there, telling her I’d suddenly gotten sick and couldn’t make it—but she’d know I was lying.
And that wasn’t the kind of friend I was.
Maybe Jackson will have a date.
The thought was bothersome, but I ignored it. I knew I had no right to worry about it. He could do whatever—and whoever—he wanted.
Gross.
The doorbell chiming was a welcomed distraction, and I stood to my feet, walking to the front door and peeking through the peephole. There, on the front stoop, was my date—and he was handsome. His dirty-blond hair was fashioned with a hard part, and his muscles were obvious through his tux.
But it didn’t make my stomach flutter.
Oh well.
I opened the door, a smile on my face. “Hey, you must be Colt.”
“That’s me,” he said in a Texas drawl. “And you’re Lena.”
“Guilty.” I held up a hand in the dorkiest way.
He held out his arm, and I took it, letting him guide me to the car parked just outside. “I have to say I was surprised that Tyson’s party is this kind of dress code.” Colt opened the door for me, his six-foot frame hovering a solid six inches over me.
“I’ve only ever been to one of his parties,” I said sheepishly, sliding into the passenger seat. And I spent the night locked in with Jackson Whiss.
“Not necessarily a bad thing,” Colt laughed before trotting around to the driver’s side. “You look beautiful, by the way,” he added as we pulled away from the curb.
“Thanks.”
And that was the extent of the conversation for the entire drive to Tyson’s mansion. I had never been more relieved to be at Tyson’s, and nearly flung the door open as soon as Colt had parked alongside a black Ferrari. I eyed the car as Colt joined me on the passenger side.
“That’s Jackson’s,” he commented, offering his arm. “It’s kind of surprising he drove himself here. Usually, he has a driver so he can get shit-faced.”
“Naturally,” I muttered under my breath.
“What was that?” Colt asked, furrowing his brow at me.
“Nothing.” I smiled up at him, walking as confidently as I could toward the party. My stomach was churning, and I couldn’t decide if it was the awkward tension between Colt and me—or the fact that Jackson’s car was almost as handsome as he was.
Ugh.
I wanted to facepalm at the reminder that I was so hung up on a guy who couldn’t care less if I existed. Not to mention, he probably had tons of women who felt exactly like I did…
And that only made it that much more embarrassing.
“Thanks for coming,” Tyson greeted the two of us, dressed in his best. It suddenly felt like I was at a formal event, which was the polar opposite of the party I had gone to weeks ago.
