The Breakup Support Group - Page 31

Nate is massive, to

wering a foot taller than me. He fills the room with his presence and isn’t afraid to make himself the center of attention. Emory is an enigmatic presence; always watching quietly or caught up in his own world that you wish you were a part of. He doesn’t seek assurance from anyone but himself.

“Hi,” I say, realizing that staring at him for an eternity is considered bad social etiquette.

My body seems to heat up under his scrutinizing gaze. “Decent job on looking hot. Personally, I would have suggested that you do something with your hair, but, it’ll do.”

I touch my hair on instinct. It’s in a ponytail and feels like all the hair is where it should be. “What’s wrong with a ponytail?”

“It’s just …” he says, gesturing his hand in the air. “Boring. Not seductive.”

“Why do you care what I look like?” I snap, glancing back down at my phone. There’s nothing worthwhile there, but he doesn’t need to know that.

He shrugs. “I don’t care. Just helping out a fellow support group member. So, have you seen him yet? Flirted? Made him regret leaving you?”

“No,” I say, biting my bottom lip. “My friends aren’t here so I’m not sure I’ll even stay.”

“You have to stay,” he says, his voice low and so sexy I want to scream. “This is an official support group order. You don’t want to disappoint Bastian, do you?”

I shake my head. “We could just lie and say I stayed when I didn’t.”

“Now that sounds counter-intuitive to your recovery.”

“I’m not some kind of drug addict,” I say, swinging my arm to punch him in the shoulder. His hand grabs mine inches before I make contact. My skin sears underneath his touch, and it’s probably my imagination, but I swear he holds on to my fist so much longer than necessary before he lets me go.

“Love is worse than a drug.” He nods, head dipped low. “You might want to move forward, snowflake.”

I glance back and find that I’m next in line, behind the woman with a bunch of newly germ-free kids. Closing the distance between me and the woman, I turn back to Emory and act like being near him doesn’t make my palms sweat.

He is only a few inches taller than me, with shoulders I could lean against without needing to be on my tip toes. All it would take is one step forward, one dip of my head, and I’d be nestled perfectly against his neck.

I blink, pushing those thoughts out of my mind.

“Where’s your date?” I ask, choosing to diffuse the tingles in my stomach by bringing up the girl Emory is actually interested in.

“I don’t have a date,” he says as casually as if that were true.

I lift an eyebrow. “So … what do you call those two girls I saw you laughing with by the bleachers?” Then, because I’m officially mortified that I’ve outed myself as a stalker, I cover it up with, “What would Bastian say about that?”

His grin twists my stomach into knots. “Talking to someone doesn’t make them my date,” he says, peering at me with those gorgeous dark eyes. “If that were true, this little conversation would be your first date since the breakup.”

I press my lips together, and he winks so quickly I almost miss it.

“You’re really annoying, you know.” I turn back around. The woman in front of me leaves, and now I’m next in line. I order nachos and a bottled water, digging in my pocket for some cash.

Emory steps next to me and slides a ten dollar bill across the counter. “Make that two nachos and waters, please.”

“Sure thing,” the woman says, taking his cash and slipping it into the register.

I turn to him with a glare. “I can pay for my own food, you know.”

“I’m sure you can, but this one’s on me.” He peers into my eyes while the woman behind the counter shuffles around in the back, making our nachos. I can’t seem to look away from him for a solid five seconds.

“Well … thanks,” I say, unable to come up with a witty reply.

“So where are we going?” he asks, shoving a chip in his mouth as we turn to leave the concession stand a few minutes later. “You want to go sit on the home side so Dumbass will be sure to see you?”

We walk slowly while I make up my mind. “I don’t know. I mean, I’m finally getting over him, so I don’t know why it’d be helpful to purposely see him. I kind of just wanted to come tonight to hang out with my friends but they ditched me so this whole thing is pointless.”

Tags: Cheyanne Young
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