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I have a clear view of Nic and Simone. His suit coat is draped over his chair and he’s rolled the sleeves of his crisp white shirt up to his elbows, the slut, showing off the corded muscles of his forearms. Simone is eating it up.
It should be me eating him up, right now, back in the bridal suite or failing that, a supply closet.
Disappointed doesn’t begin to cover how I feel.
He leans over to say something that makes her laugh, the little lines around his eyes crinkling as he smiles. She touches his arm and Nic picks that moment to turn and catch me glaring. Whatever it is he tries to communicate with me before he brings his attention back to his date goes over my head.
It’s just sex, and we didn’t agree to be exclusive. It’s good we have dates—that’ll keep my family from catching on and me from catching feelings. Last night and this morning, it was too easy and too comfortable with Nic. I could start to like the guy. This is the shot of reality I need.
Still…it shouldn’t feel this shitty.
Simone seems lovely too. What if Nic falls for her? I don’t want to lose my sex buddy.
Colton abruptly stops bitching about the salad dressing to tap his knife on my untouched chicken. “That’s overcooked. Try my salmon.” He shoves a forkful in my face.
Is this supposed to be sexy? I push his fork away before the urge to stab him with it can overpower me.
“Excuse me,” I say, dropping my napkin onto my plate and heading to the bar.
The swanky ballroom is decked out in silver and gold, with pine boughs covered in red berries everywhere. Candles and white seed lights twinkle off the glass, casting warm shadows across thick white table cloths. It’s breathtakingly romantic and I hate it.
Not as much as I hate Colton Craig. The man is as shallow as a baking sheet and as interesting as a ladle. He’s a pretentious hipster foodie Karen. With nasty cologne. Who thinks he deserves sex because he has a handsome-ish face and a show on TV.
Nic has depth. I like that I can’t tell what he’s thinking. Everyone in my family wears everything on their sleeves, so Nic’s reserve—even when it felt cold—has always been a reprieve. Plus, he smells nice, overall he’s a decent human being, and he can fuck.
I order a drink and stare at the dark wood grain of the bar. I’m not eccentric like Timothy and Mom, organized and driven like Amanda, or smart like Dad. I’m not as pretty as Addison or Simone. I am average and unremarkable in every way, and I thought I was happy with that.
I’m not.
I want to paint. I want recognition for my work and for who I am. I want to be with Nic tonight. For once in my goddamn life, I just want to be the center of some positive attention from someone. Anyone.
I slam my drink as my cousin Lauren joins me.
“Men are awful.” I proclaim, waving my empty glass about.
Lauren snorts and brushes her strawberry blonde hair away from her face. “Your date sure is. You were gone for thirty seconds and he made a pass at me.”
I set my glass on the bar and cover my face. “Ugh, I can’t believe I slept with him.”
“What?” Her voice rings out. “Today? When? And—ew,why?”
“Five years ago,” I say, dropping my hands and turning to signal the bartender. I’m going to need another drink.
It was at the Foley Folly—our Christmas Eve party. I’d already endured meeting Addison in my filthy cow onesie. I already heard her judgment of my art. I sat silently while Nic announced their engagement to everyone. Three days, having to watch Addison simper and cling to Nic while getting progressively colder toward the rest of us. I was half-drunk, flirting with Colton, when I saw Nic and Addison kissing in a quiet little corner. My heart was still broken from Camden and here was this perfect couple, engaged, happy, and awful, with all their glamour, sparkle, and style.
It hurt. I needed a distraction, some other feeling to push out all the heartbreak. I’d turned to Colton and asked if he wanted to go upstairs. He was too sweaty, and the sex was awful—poke-poke-poke-done awful. I felt worse after, so I got plastered and when that shockingly didn’t help, I asked Timothy to drive me home. He did, without prying, which was a true Christmas miracle.
He would’ve spent the holiday with me, but I’d insisted he go home. Someone had to keep Mom from murdering Addison. That was the excuse I gave him, but really I wanted him to leave so I could spend the day drinking in my pajamas and binging reality TV and crying.
I didn’t crawl out of that place for months.
It was Timothy who came to New York to pull me out of it. He introduced me to his ex-girlfriend Elle, who gave me a job. He helped me get my shit together, even though I resented the hell out of him for it back then. That’s Timothy though. He’d do anything for the people he loves, even meddle when they just want to be left in broken, sharp pieces.
The bartender sets my drink down, and this needs to be my last one. If I get drunk enough to hook up with Colton Craig again, I’m Googling ‘chastity belts that don’t unlock without passing a breathalyzer.’
A group of relatives, including my sister and Hazel, are gathered at the other end of the bar, huddled over what I’m guessing is Amanda’s phone. Since I slept in and spent my morning getting ready with Mina, I’ve missed out on the chance to place a bet.
Betting on big family gatherings—weddings, funerals, holidays—is a tradition. The cash isn’t the biggest prize. Bragging rights are. There’s also a fair amount of cheating and attempts at finding loopholes.
