And then, when I’d heard she’d married none other than one of my favorite authors of all time, Graham Forrester, I hadn’t known what to believe anymore. Surely someone like him wouldn’t be with someone like her unless she really had changed her ways. When they’d divorced, I’d wondered what happened. There had been surprisingly little in the papers. Hearing now that she’d cheated on him made me sad. Even if he had dragged me in an article, no one deserved that.
I glanced across the room again but he and the man he’d been talking to were gone.
“Hey,” Greta said, snapping her fingers in front of my face, her glittery nails flashing under the strobe lights. “We’re gonna go dance some more. You coming?”
I smiled and gave her a sticky hug. “I’m going to finish this glass of wine and then crawl back to my little corner of the bar and hang for a bit longer before heading home. I have an early flight to Seattle tomorrow to see Addie. But happiest birthday wishes to you. Let’s have lunch when I’m back in town.”
I hugged Lane next and then waved as they disappeared into the crowd, Greta’s head bouncing to the beat.
Turning to face the bar again, I took a long, slow sip of my wine, watching the party-goers in the long mirror that faced the room.
“Hey there,” a male voice said, a warm hand sliding across my back. “Buy you another drink?”
I froze, my teeth clenching as I turned my head to take in a man I’d never seen before, his eyes staring south of my eyes.
“Please take your hand off of me,” I said, my voice measured as I tried to keep from making a scene at my friend’s party.
“Come on, love,” he said, leaning closer, hand tightening, his thumb rubbing against my ribcage. “You look lonely. I could keep you company.”
I just didn’t understand it. How did one see a person and just decide it was okay to put their hands on them?
Holding tight to my glass, I raised my foot and put it down on his, the sharp edge of my Jimmy Choo’s digging into the top of his shoe. His eyes widened and he tried to move away. But now I had him.
“I said,” I repeated. “Take your hand off me.”
This time he did as I said. I removed my foot, turned, and weaved through the crowd, heading to the end of the bar and furious that tears were welling in my eyes.
I stopped as two women blocked my path, then wound my way around them and stopped again when I saw the space I’d staked as my own for the night was occupied.
By Graham Forrester.
He looked up from his phone and stared back at me, his expression turning from a friendly smile, to one of resignment, to concern.
“Hey. Are you okay?” he asked, getting to his feet.
I nodded quickly, gave him a tight grin, and turned away. I had to get out of here. But as I took a step in the other direction, his hand caught my arm.
I spun around, glaring.
“Don’t,” I said
He raised his hands, as if in surrender.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I just… Are you sure you’re okay? Do you want to sit here? I can move.”
“I’m fine.” But as I said it, my eyes betrayed me, a tear falling to my cheek. I swiped it away angrily.
“Lior—”
I was tired and upset and I wanted to go home. But if anyone saw me in this state, there would inevitably be pictures online tomorrow. I exhaled, my shoulders sagging.
“I’m too old for this bullshit,” I said.
“This bullshit?” He motioned to us. “Or that bullshit.” He gestured to the rest of the club.
“Both.”
“You seemed to be having a good time a little while ago.”
