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He just left his girlfriend for a reason that I will never know and given the pain that can be read on his face, hedidn’twant to.
Me in all this? I’m always relegated to the same place.
And I have extra memories to fuel my impossible fantasies about an unattainable crush.
A classic day in the life of Scarlett Martin.
24
Nolan
“Who is the guy, do you know him?”
I take a sip of my jack and coke, looking discreetly at the group that Edgar points with his chin. He doesn’t take his eyes off a tall, athletic, brown-haired man who has been chatting for more than twenty minutes with Scarlett and his friends. Installed around a few tables, they keep drinking and each time I glance in their direction, the guy makes them laugh out loud.All, without exception.
“Never seen him,” I confess. “An Ivy League guy, you think?”
“Did you see his shoulders? He looks like he’s cut from marble.”
Edgar stares at the stranger without embarrassment, detailing him from every angle as mystery man continues to put on his show to the girls. It’s impossible to know precisely what he’s telling them. The music is deafening and the nightclub in which we have chosen for the evening is overcrowded. In addition to students from Boston University, others from neighboring universities made the trip, celebrating our triumphant entry into the hockey championship. Irony of fate! We smashed the Harvard Crimsons and if that guy was on the ice tonight, he must have been crying in the locker room.
“Do you think it was number twenty?”
I raise my head a little more, trying to see more of his face despite the darkness. The spotlights hit his profile, but from where I’m sitting, I can’t tell. He would have to get his ass off the couch he’s slumped on and come onto the dance floor. But he seems far too absorbed in his little act with the girls to leave his place of choice.
“I don’t know, and you know what? I’ll go find out.”
I grab Ed by the arm, stopping him from taking a step.
“Man, if you go, Scar will kill you.”
“Do you have a better idea? If I don’t give him a warning, he’s going to flirt with her all night long.”
I purse my lips. I’m not sure I’m thrilled with the idea either. When I got here, Scarlett and her girlfriends were already there. They came to watch us at the game, seated as usual in the reserved seats closest to the ice. Although I was acutely aware of the presence of my buddy’s sister in the stands, I ignored her as I have done since the day before yesterday. Ever since I left Harriet on the doorstep and a whole load of memories have rotted my mind. I frown as I see Mr. Shoulders-in-Marble lean in further and brush against the blonde sitting next to him. She laughs. My chest tightens. I look away, sighing.
“Leave her alone, I’ll ask around to see if I can get any information. Try to enjoy your evening.”
The main idea is to get out of here to get some fresh air and stop watching Scarlett Martin. I swore to myself to let go, to forget everything that happened, everything that I felt and everything that it still causes in me. I’m not going to screw up my good resolution tonight. I arrive at the bar and order a second drink, stronger this time. The pretty brunette behind winks at me, and when she gives me the change, I find her number between two bills. I smile, stuff the piece of paper into the back pocket of my jeans, and lean back against the counter to take a few sips.
It can still be used. If one evening I’m torn between calling my ex back or slipping into the room next to mine. Two shitty ideas, one perfect solution that comes at the right time.
“Barely available, already back on track?”
I almost choke on the sound of her soft voice ringing in my ear despite the music. Instinctively I look at the table I was watching a few minutes ago with Edgar to realize that she’s no longer there. My body tenses, and I turn to Scar.
“What do you want, mini-Martin?”
My voice is deep, and I get lost in her gaze. She sketches a smile and pushes my shoulder. Her face is red, her hair slightly messy, and I force myself not to observe her outfit. I think she’s wearing the jeans she had on earlier this week. High-waisted Levi’s that gives her a peach-like ass. The thing that brings you to attention with disconcerting ease and from which you have a terrible time turning away.
I know this because it had that effect on me when I accidentally watched it as she was crossing the living room to go to class. I stopped for a long minute on her slender legs, then all my senses focused on her ass. I lost track of time and only regained my mental faculties when she walked through the front door.
“Celebrate your victory,number twelve. Unless you have other plans?”
She gazes lower, and I see very well what she is looking at. My jeans, where I put the piece of paper given by the waitress two minutes earlier. I take a sip from my drink, avoiding looking at the rest of her body.
“Jealous?”
I look at her cockily, using her own words. The ones she told me the last time she and I did shit. Because when I see her in front of me, that’s all I think about, and my willpower is slowly crumbling.
