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Now, I’m searching for Larson’s social media accounts, knowing damn well that he had blocked me days ago. As if I’m the one who caused our engagement to crumble.
After failing to find his account, I scoff and feel even more upset than I already do. At this point, I’m just soaking in all the pain in hopes of getting used to it. Or I’m just a little bit too tipsy to avoid getting hurt.
Resisting the urge to fling my phone across the room, I turn my attention to the crowd of guys coming in through the bar’s entrance.
Four of them seem about my age. They’re laughing as they walk in and navigate to an empty table. As they do so, one guy catches me looking at them. So, I look back down at my table as casually as possible.
But I’m too late.
I can see the same guy walking in my direction from my periphery.
Okay, play it cool.
For some reason, I glance at the hoodie I’m wearing; not exactly presentable or worthy of a good first impression.
Of all the days some handsome guy decides to approach me, he chosetoday.
“Excuse me?” The guy in the brown denim jacket, white shirt, and washed-down pants calls my attention. I look up, and his green eyes shine at me in recognition. He’s smiling at me—almost coquettish. “Didn’t we go to the same high school together?”
I study his remarkable face. Surely, this is the face of someone you’d definitely remember. But I don’t remember him.
Alcohol brain or poor memory?
Uncertain, I spend a few more seconds taking in his defined jawline and brushed-up almond hair.
Nope, I definitely don’t know him. But, boy, I’d love to.
I ignore my pheromone-ridden brain. Except my mouth didn’t participate. One, because he’s a Greek god reincarnated, and two, because I’m lonely. I answer, “Oh, yes. We did, didn’t we?”
The guy—whoever he is—smiles further. I can see his friends watching us from another table.
He tells me, “I knew it! But here’s the thing, I’m bad at names. So, if you could tell me your name, I’ll buy you a drink.”
Is he serious, or am I just lucky? Has the universe sent me company in the guise of a gorgeous guy with strong shoulders? And is he really flirting with me? So, I give it a shot. “It’s… Estelle Gibbs. We had American History and Chemistry together?”
Although I’m nervous he’ll catch on to the lie, his face lights up as he chuckles. “Right! Well, Estelle, since you helped me jog my memory, I owe you a drink.” He looks at the bottle of tequila on my table. “Do you… want to join us at our table?”
I look over his shoulder, and the three other guys nod, wave, and smile at me. They seem welcoming. And for a good reason.
I mean, I’m in a public space drinking a bottle of tequila alone. And before me is a good-looking guy who wishes to ease me of my loneliness, so what the hell.
“Yeah, sure,” I reply. “That sounds like a good idea.”
The guy offers his hand for a shake. “In case you forgot, it’s Carter. Carter Davison.”
I lie, “No, I didn’t forget, Carter.”
Because how could I forget something I didn’t know in the first place?
Carter and I proceed to their table, bringing the half-filled bottle with me. He introduces me to each of them, and I don’t bother remembering their names because this will be one of those fleeting memories that won’t happen again.
We’ll share a few drinks throughout the night and never see each other again. It doesn’t have to be anything else. We don’t even have to exchange numbers after this.
At first, we reluctantly go around the table, pouring each other some drinks. They ask me basic questions like where I live, what I do, how Carter was in high school—and, of course, I say he was a darling.
He probably was, judging by the innocence etched on his face.
As the night deepens, the group starts teasing me with Carter, saying that we look good together and we probably had a thing back in high school.
