Page 85 of Hot Girl Summer

“I never have been—nor will I ever be—her, and I won’t apologise for being who I am.”

“I said drop it.”

“I’m not a fucking child.”

“Then stop acting like one,” he spits, pausing to compose himself.

Something in his body language tells me he’s already defeated; he isn’t going to fight for me. The realisation cuts worse than any spoken word could. It’s too late, anyway. My internal controller has already selected party girl mode, and my proverbial walls assemble faster than a fuckboys finishing time.

“It’s cool. I’m out of here,” I say, defeated.

I throw my hands up and walk away. I don’t wait for him to speak, because I fear that he won’t, and I can’t take any more blows to my heart.

Outside, his parents fawn over a beautifully presented seafood platter, and the nausea hits worse than before.

“I’m so sorry, I’m really not feeling well. I’m going to head home. It was lovely to meet you both.”

“Oh, darling. Maybe you just need to eat something.” Christine gestures to the platter. The sight of the food turns my stomach.

It’s not that I think Christine is a bad person, or that she had intentionally tried to humiliate me. But the fact that Danny didn’t come to my defence made me feel small, cheap and insignificant.

“I would offer to take you home, but I’ve had a couple of vinos. I’d be happy to call you a taxi?” Richard asks, retrieving his phone.

“Thank you, but it’s fine, I don’t live too far.”

An hour of walking in heels is nothing compared to innate urge I have to take flight. I need to get the hell out of here.“Enjoy your night.”

Turning on my heel to leave, I catch sight of Danny in the corner of my eye, the weight of his gaze forcing me to pick up speed.

I stop when he calls my name. But the battle between my head and heart insists that I carry on. I haven’t the strength to fight, not when the rejection is a constant pummel in my gut.

Thanks to him, I finally know my worth, and I’ll never be somebody’s second choice. But I never thought he’d be the one to make me feel completely worthless. A tear rolls down my cheek with only the sound of my heels pounding the boardwalk for company. Alone again, naturally.

Chapter Twenty-Four

WhenIthrowopenthe doors of Lilura forty minutes later, I’m barefoot, holding these ridiculous heels, and my hair is a wild mess from the humidity. The first person I spot is Lonely Guy nursing his usual. I check myself in one of the many mirrors on the wall. I look like shit.

Still wary, I perch a few stools away from him and swing my legs around to see Luke leaning across the bar. Aside from a couple of businesspeople types, we’re the only ones there. Sunday evenings are eerily quiet, it doesn’t even look like the same place.

“Changed your mind?” Luke smirks, leaning across the bar.

I eye him up and down, and roll my eyes. The old me definitely would have, but too much has happened now. He holds up his hands in mock defence. “I’m messing. What can I get you?”

I cock my head towards Lonely Guy. “I’ll have what he’s having.”

I may as well join him in feeling sorry for myself. When I do, I realise I’ve gone full circle. Lonely Guy and I are pretty much the same person.

“Whiskey? Really?” he asks, eyebrows raised and arms folded.

I shrug. “Sure, why not.”

He swipes a bottle of Lagavulin from the bar and serves it neat alongside a glass of water, with a packet of baked cheese-flavoured crisps.

“This one goes nicely with Roquefort, but these will have to do. The general idea is to taste it neat first, then—”

Before he can continue, the amber liquid is down my throat. It’s disgusting. How do people drink this stuff? I grimace, then chase it with the entire glass of water. “Nope. Never doing that again.”

“I’ll get you the bartender special.”

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