As the song ended, a strong pair of hands whirled me around. It was my boyfriend, Wes. He must have just gotten here. I flung my arms around him.
“Can you believe it?” I pointed to the stage. “Derek Riggs.”
Wes wore his signature bored-to-irritated expression as he briefly glanced toward the grungy singer. My shoulders slumped.Couldn’t he at least pretend to be excited for me?It wasn’t just any night at the club. It was special, and this performance tonight was like a birthday gift just for me.
“I’m going to get some drinks!” Nora shouted into my ear before sneering at Wes.
She was not a fan and didn’t quite understand what I saw in him, not that it was surprising. We had opposite tastes inmen. Nora was into more of the perfectly-polished business guys and Wes, with his hipster vibes, offered her nothing.
“Did you just arrive?” I asked, overlooking that he was more than an hour late and came with his coworkers. Wes had mentioned a big project at work, and tonight wasn’t easy for him to come to, so I told him to bring the gang along. I even begged and said, “Take a break for a bit and relax.” I recalled telling him it would help rejuvenate the team.
Nora rolled her eyes and mouthed,Seriously?
I knew already what she was thinking,As if you have to coax him to come out for your birthday.
I brushed it off, because he at least showed up. As I wobbled on my heels, I noticed Wes was stiff and shoved his hands in his pockets like my touch was off-putting. Something was wrong.Maybe it was work?I reached for his hand.
“What’s wrong?”
He pulled away. “I gotta go. This place gives me a headache and I have stuff to do.”
“Seriously? Go? You just got here,” I protested.
He cocked his head, his annoyance evident. “Don’t do that. I told you I was busy tonight.”
Busy? It wasn't as if I just wanted a night out. It was my goddamn birthday. My hurt took over. “Sorry. Next time, I’ll reschedule my birthday to fit your plans.”
“You won’t need to,” he mumbled, just as the band stopped.
I stepped back. “What does that mean?”
“Look, I didn’t want to do this tonight.” He sighed. “But,” he paused, rubbing the back of his neck, “I think I’m just done. I’m gonna bounce.”
“Because of a headache?”
He pinched the bridge of his nose.
“No. This.” He waved his hand between us.
My jaw dropped open in shock. “Are you freaking kidding me?”
He remained indifferent. Like my birthday, my feelings, or hell, me as a person didn’t matter. Was he for real?
Because I was a sucker for punishment, I asked, “You’re breaking up with me in a club, on mybirthday?”
I hated how the pitch of my voice shot up two octaves. And that a few people had turned their heads to watch the drama I was creating.
“It’s only a birthday. You’ll have another one next year,” he responded dryly.
I stared at him blankly. Not wanting to believe he’d just said that.
He shifted on his stupidly expensive loafers that had no business in a place like this. He scrubbed a polished hand down his face and, in a softer tone, said, “It’s not working. We’re too different.”
“Different?” I stammered. “I thought you liked that?”
“Sure, in the beginning. But now...” He shrugged. “Besides, it’s not like we even spend time together. Your schedule is ridiculous. I don't want to book time to see you two weeks in advance. I need someone who’s available.”
“Iamavailable!” I screeched.
