I feel my fingers start to shake at my sides, and I close them into fists, and I press my fists against my thighs.
“Melly?” Mila’s voice, far away, at my elbow. “Hey. You okay?”
I look at her, and it takes me a moment to remember where I am.
“Yeah,” I answer, gulping. It’s an autopilot response because my mind is miles back in the past right now, specifically in highschool when I’d give anything ––and I mean anything–– for his attention.
“Yeah,” I say again. “I’m good.” My voice comes out level. I’m almost proud of it.
Chase puts his hand on the small of my back. I don’t turn around to look at him.
I’m too busy looking at the man across the room who has not seen me yet.
The worst thing about loving someone who doesn’t want you isn’t the rejection. It’s realizing that they’re perfectly happy without you.
Chapter 2
Blue
Bensonhasbotharmswrapped around Lucy from behind, his chin on top of her head, and he’s smiling like the world is a good place to be. Then something catches his attention, and he nods towards the door.
“What’s the deal with those girls that just walked in?” he asks Lucy.
Lucy turns her head against his chest. Her eyes find the front hall.
“Oh — that must be Penelope’s new roommate.” She does a small breath through her nose. “Oh my God, she’s striking. Look at her eyes.”
She stares for a second too long. The kind of stare girls do when they’re cataloging another girl. The first ping goes offbehind my ribs. There has only ever been one girl in my life with eyes that can do that across a room.
“Blue,” Benson says.
I turn my head.
He’s not calling my name. He’s saying the color.
Blue.
Lucy says, “I think her name is Melly.”
My fucking heart drops out of my chest, hits the floor, gets back up, and tries to walk it off. I look down at the label of my beer and read it like there’s going to be information on it.
I am not going to look up.
I am not going to look up.
“Isn’t that the girl who came over to drop something off for you?” Stanley says, materializing on my other side. Stanley has a nose for moments I don’t want him in.
“Yeah,” I say. To the beer.
“Oh, shit.” A pause. “She’s got a boyfriend.”
I tip the bottle. Take a pull. Swallow.
Good.
I let the word sit in my chest like a swallowed coin. Cold. Round. Hard to ignore.
Good.She has a boyfriend. That is good. That is the first piece of legitimately good news that has involved her name in three years. She’s got somebody. She’s somebody else’s problem. I don’t have to keep walking through every room of my life with my shoulders up and hat down.
