“I was…” He stammers, his cheeks flushing red. “I was thinking that maybe you’d want to come with me.”
Wait…What?
I blink in shock because this has to be a joke, right?
“Me?” I choke on my own breath. “To the wedding?”
“Damn,” he replies with a boyish grin, “you make it sound like it’s such a terrible idea.”
Because it is. How could he not see it? How does he not know that I’ve spent years obsessing over him like a schoolgirl?
“Are you asking me to come as your fake date or something?” I try my best to sound nonchalant.
He shakes his head, quickly shutting down the thought. I guess I’ve read one too many romance novels with the fake dating trope.
“No,” he responds. “Not a fake date. Just as a friend. If you go with me, people won’t feel as inclined to ask a million questions about why my ex isn’t there.”
Oh.
Great.
So I’m just a seat filler.
The words affect me more than they should. Not only does Owen want menotto come as a date, but not a fake one either. I’d just be there for convenience. An uncomfortable ball forms in my throat.
“Wow,” I croak, forcing a smile. “How could I possibly say no to being your human distraction?”
His expression shifts the second he realizes he’s offended me. His face softens as he leans in, his voice dropping to a gentle tone.
Owen’s palm lands on my forearm, and it’s infuriating how my body still responds to him, like it doesn’t care that I’m hurt.
“Meadow…” he rasps. “You know I didn’t mean it like that. You’re one of my closest friends. I just thought it’d be a fun getaway for both of us. Plus,” he adds, “it’d be a free vacation for you. Everything is already paid for. A week in the Caribbean without making a dent in your wallet.”
The logical part of me knows he means well. But the sensitive part—the side of me that’s been quietly pining after him from across the office—can’t help but feel like a wounded puppy.
I stare at the salt rimming my glass for a long beat before turning to meet his searching gaze.
“I’ll think about it,” I finally murmur, my voice low and unsure.
A half-smile curves his lips, easing the worry etched across his face as if he thinks that my hesitation might be a yes.
“That’s all I ask,” he breathes. “And Meadow, I really didn’t mean it like that. I hope you know that.”
“I know,” I lie, my tone unconvincing.
I tear my eyes away from him and take a hefty sip of my margarita, doing my best to ignore the pit in my stomach. He has no idea how much he affects me. How can he make my heart flutter and nose-dive all at once?
The bartender wipes down the counter as the crowd grows thin, the loud chatter fading away. Owen tosses a few bills onto the counter before I have a chance to reach for my wallet.
“I got it,” he says, paying the tab like he’s done so many times before.
I open my mouth to protest, but his stupid grin is already there, basically daring me to try. After the day I’ve had, I don’t have the energy to argue over a margarita, so I say thank you and smile.
Minutes later, we’re stepping out into the frigid February air. Now that I think about it, nothing sounds better than getting out of Chicago during the coldest time of the year.
Snow flurries fall from the night sky like glitter before melting on my cheeks.
Owen shoves his hands into his coat pockets and turns toward me with a serious expression, his breath visible in the icy air.
