Page 9 of Nash

A sec turns into minutes of me fixing Alena’s makeup, and her smoothing my long, black braids, praising me, “Only you can look like a sexy Wednesday Addams at an Isle of Palms party and make it look chic.”

I glance down at my usual murderous, black minidress, matching thigh-highs with white bows, and my clunky Mary Janes.Whoops.As the maid of honor, I clash with her demure ivory cardigan, emerald sundress, and nude heels.

Yes, I love Alena, but I won’t change my style for anyone. I can’t. So, I gently nudge her toward the door and her waiting fiancé.

An hour later, the night is getting late, guests are leaving, and I’ve renewed my taste for spicy margaritas. I sip, watching Alena dance with her dad on the deck of his palatial beach house with stars twinkling above.

It’s magical. It’s sweet. Alena is so happy.

Mr. Allen waltzes her around, beaming at her. He won’t stop being the perfect father. He won’t stop looking so damn sexy doing it. And he won’t stop making my fantasy hurt…

I wish a man would dance with me like that. Would love me like that. I wish it were …him.

Whoops! Scratch that.

I’m a horrible person.

Ban me from best-friend status and maid-of-honor duties. All the years I’ve tried to stop them, I can’t. These feelings for Mr. Allen erupt. They’re my greatest guilt and darkest secret. They make me remember our night by this very pool and…

Suddenly, he glances up and busts me swooning. Shit, I’m probably drooling, too; it must be the tequila.

Why is he staring at me like that? Like he knows what I did that night?

He doesn’t know. Hecan’tknow.

If you’re the only one who knows your secret, it’s safe. Right?

So why does he glare at me like he hates me?

There’s no way he can know what I did, and it was years ago, so why is he such an asshole to me now? Why, when we work together, does he act like he doesn’t care anymore?

I used to love that Mr. Allen cared.

I needed him to, even though I gave him shit about it. I complained that my tulips were wilted. That his burgers were dry. I was a teenage brat to him because I didn’t know how else to hide my feelings for him.

Confession: I still do it. But now my brattiness has matured to snark.

Snark that masks how I love that Mr. Allen was the only man who cared for me like a father, but then again…

No.

That’s not this scorching pull to him. That’s not this ache in my chest. These feelings have always confused me, but I’m used to them.

Right?

So why, as he slices his stare away from me with such disgust, am I suddenly twisting my lips? Why am I biting them? Why are my nostrils flaring while tears bite at my eyes?

What the hell?

A stupid, hard lump chokes my throat, but I force a smile like nothing’s wrong.

Because …nothing’s wrong.

It’s right how Loch cuts in to dance with his fiancée as Mr. Allen pecks Alena’s cheek. It’s right how her father is a polite host, greeting his guests but ignoring me.

It’s right how I’m standing alone. How no one dances with me. How people see me and walk the other way. I’m odd, I know. I dress this way on purpose.

If I can intimidate you, you can’t hurt me.

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