“It wasn’t Nick,” I said, my voice flat.
She studied me for a second longer, then shrugged. “All right. I believe you.”
“Thanks.”
“But you could tell me. You know that, right?”
“I know. Nothing happened. I’m just tired.”
“Promise?”
That, at least, was easy. “Promise.”
“And you promise nothing will ever happen with, like, anyone even orbiting my brother’s weird, womanizer, backpacking-around-Europe-for-enlightenment vibe?”
My heart stuttered. I raised my eyebrows in mock offense.
“I already have enough Josh in my life,” she muttered. “I don’t need you becoming my honorary sister-in-law to some douche canoe he dragged home from a yoga retreat in Costa Rica.”
“Nothing will ever happen,” I said. “Ever.”
“Good. Because gag. Right?”
Right.
That night, we all went to bed. Gina passed out almost immediately. I lay there, staring at the ceiling, twisting the blankets in my fists, listening to the faint murmur of the television downstairs.
Josh was probably still down there—half watching another movie, stretched out on the couch like nothing had happened. Like I hadn’t tried to kiss him. Like I hadn’t told him the truth.
I thought about sneaking down and asking him what his deal was. I wanted to. But what I really wanted was to go back in time—to two nights ago, when I hadn’t said anything, hadn’t tried, hadn’t made a fool of myself in a cramped laundry room with someone who would never look at me the way I looked at him.
This is better,I told myself.
Josh? He dated girls who wore matching pajama sets and made vision boards. Girls who wanted to be teachers or lawyers.Girls who volunteered at shelters or had been to Greece on mission trips.
Not girls like me.
Not Brielle, who was known mostly for being the smart one. The decent writer. The overachiever. The girl who read quietly in the back seat while everyone else paired off at high-school dances.
I was proud of all that. I was. I was building something real for myself. Bigger than crushes.
Bigger than this moment.
So, what was I thinking?
How could I ever think that Josh Hutton would ever like me?
five
It had been years.Years.
Yet the moment Josh held the door to the bar open for me like some kind of rom-com gentleman, the weight of that laundry room crushed me all over again.
I stepped inside anyway, chin up, shoulders squared. Pretending I hadn’t just spent the last fifteen minutes in a spiral as we made our way to our next location about the last time we had technically been alone together. That had ended with me wanting to disappear into a lint trap and him reminding me that I was just his “little sister’s kid best friend.”
Nothing was ever going to happen.
The bar was cozy and dimly lit with old-fashioned bulbs strung along the ceiling and a wall of scratched vinyl records behind the bar between televisions blaring the live sports games. The background music was a low, steady hum.
