An awkward lump takes root in my stomach. For the first time since that night so long ago, I kind of regret sleeping with him.
Penn was so sweet when I stumbled upon him by the lake. He distracted me with fishing stories and tales of small-town life and then listened as I ranted about my problems. We laughed and commiserated, and as the sun set and the stars came out, I found myself in his arms.
By the time the sun kissed the horizon on its way back up, I had walked to my car, grabbed my things from Harper’s, and was at the airport.
I never saw him again, and I’ve always been okay with that. It’s been this special moment that was just for me. No one knew about it. No one could taint it for me. There wasn’t a soul in the world who could guilt me for my actions or tell me he was desperate—or worse, that I was.
I’ve never wished that night to be any different.
Until now.
“I could tell him he knew me before,” I think aloud. Even as the words leave my mouth, I know there’s no way I can. The lump grows in my stomach and turns into a rock. It grows heavier as I imagine mentioning our history—and that he forgot and I clearly didn’t—and trying to wash over it all with some kind of silly laugh.
Embarrassment creeps up my cheeks.
“Yeah, no thanks.”
Walking across the room, I look at myself in the mirror. My face is a bit flushed, my pupils large, black dots.
I take my hair down from a ponytail and smooth it out. I wonder how many calls I’ve missed from my friends in Los Angeles. Probably none. They’ve moved on by now.
My fingers go through my tresses as I think about my old crowd. They love the ladder-climbing lifestyle. Running into and with celebrities, hitting the hot locales, taking the perfect snaps for social media at the right spots—that is their life. It was never truly mine. The older I got, the more I felt like I was let into their circle because of my mother. There’s little doubt they’ve filled my spot in their circle with someone else who can bring something to the table.
I pause and look at my reflection. My eyes are so clear, like a weight has been lifted from my shoulders, and I realize that I feel that way. Lighter. Intuitively happier.
My hair goes back up again as I smile to myself. I check myself out from all sides, making sure I don’t have little fins of hair sticking every which way. Even though I roll my eyes at my antics, I don’t stop.
“You just go back out there and pretend like he’s another guy,” I say to my reflection. “You can flirt. Flirting with cute boys isn’t against the law and is great for the ego. Just remember he’s not for you.” I twist my lips. “Or he would’ve remembered the first time.”
After giving my hands a quick wash and dry, I take a piece of paper towel to the door. I use it to unlatch the lock and twist the knob before throwing it away.
The music is mellow, a pop song from the nineties, as I hesitate behind the little bar. It’s his laugh that makes a beeline to my ears. Despite the oregano in the air and odor of spilled beer, it’s Penn’s cologne I gravitate toward.
I need a drink.
“Hey, Avery.”
I jump at the sound of Harper’s voice. My hand clutches my chest. “You scared the crap out of me,” I tell her.
She laughs. “I see that. You okay?”
“Yeah. Just zoned out a little, I guess.”
Harper bites her bottom lip and eyes me suspiciously. “Are you joining us, or are you hanging out with Penn and Matt?”
“I’ll be joining you. Thanks.”
“Well, if something happens and you end up with the boys, don’t worry about me. And if you get back to the house and I’m not there—again, don’t worry about me.” She shimmies her hips. “I’m working on a little dessert, if you know what I mean.”
I laugh. “Well, good luck to you. With the cleavage you’re toting tonight, I have a hard time believing you’ll get turned down.”
She cups her breasts and squeezes them together. “I’m quite proud of these babies.”
“I can tell.”
“Now, you go out there and make friends. Just try not to burn the place down with all the heat between you and Penn.”
“Harper, please,” I hiss. “Stop it.”
“I know sparks when I see them.”
I blow out a breath and ensure she catches my annoyance. “There’s no smoke. No fire. There’s not anything to make a big deal about. He’s not even my type,” I add. “I told you that.”
There’s not a piece of her that believes me. She just stands there in her billowy blue dress and waits for me to laugh or say I’m kidding.