Page 74 of Best I Never Had

I slump onto the sofa in my living room as soon as I walk through the front door, physically restless but emotionally drained. I drop the six-pack of beer I picked up on the way home on the coffee table before kicking off my shoes and letting my head fall back against the soft cushions. My gaze lingers on a small chocolate stain on my sleeve and I can’t decide if the memory of that stain makes me happy or sad.

“Hey,” Dexter calls when he walks out of his room. “You’re home early.”

I look at the clock hanging above the TV. It’s close to midnight. “This is early?”

He looks like he’s about to go out, dressed in a casual dress shirt with the top two buttons undone and fitted jeans.

“I’m going to get some drinks with some work people. You want to come?”

I sigh. The way I see it, I have two choices. Sit at home, drinking alone and wallowing in my newfound realization that I’m falling for the closest thing to a best friend I’ve ever had. Or go out and drink with people to distract myself from the wallowing I’m going to do regardless.

I stand from the couch. “Sure,” I answer through a light groan, eyeing the loose, relaxed clothes that I wore to Natalia’s. “Let me just change.”

Once I’m dressed in something more fitting for a night of drinking, notto lighten my mood but rather to numb the sour state of it, Dexter and I leave our apartment.

“I think you might have some fun tonight.” He grins at me.

I eye him curiously as he locks our door, and I pull my arms through the sleeves of my jacket.

The walk to the bar is quick, taking us no more than fifteen minutes. It’s loud inside. And sticky. Everywhere I step, it seems to take an extra ounce of strength to peel my feet off the floor. But Dexter’s friends are nice. Welcoming and energetic as they order a round of drinks. We allsurround a small table in the middle of the bar, the noise and bustling chatter distracting my thoughts.

I turn away from the group and walk the three steps it takes to reach the bar to order another drink. Something stronger than the two beers I downed within the half hour since we’d arrived. I see Dexter approach me as I take a sip of the fresh glass of whiskey I ordered, his face already flushed and a half-empty tumbler carrying something clear and fizzy in his hand.

“This is Brittany,” Dexter shouts over the noise, the same grin he gave me before we walked out of our apartment plastered across his face. “We work together.”

Next to him, a young blonde woman that I would normally talk to and flirt shamelessly with stands expectantly. She shouldered her way through the crowd behind Dexter, settling herself beside him. Her flirty smile exposing teeth that are too white flickers as she looks at me, then at Dexter when I don’t say anything.

I clear my throat before realizing that I’m being rude and extend my hand toward her. “Nice to meet you,” I say.

She giggles loudly enough that I can hear it over the noise, sounding like a high-strung bird chirping at the crack of dawn. Not necessarily shrill but difficult to stomach. Or maybe it’s that I’ve gotten used to Natalia’s sweet, buoyant laughter. The one that I can feel even when I can’t hear it, seeing it bounce off her eyes and her cheeks, gleaming from her lips as they curve upward, deepening the creases between her nose and around her mouth. It’s the kind of laugh that lights up her whole face. The only kind of laugh that I ever want to hear.

Dexter steps away and leaves me and Brittany alone, clinking his drink to mine as he leaves. The awkwardness bounces off the both of us as I refuse to make eye contact with her.

After the third sip of my whiskey and the tenth time she’s twirled her finger around a lock of her hair, she finally says, “I’m going to talk to my friend over there.”

She points to someone behind me, and I nod, not even looking in the direction she’s referring to. She steps away, her brows raised in obvious disappointment as she scurries toward a more welcoming audience.

And then I see him.

Matteo.

He’s standing at the other side of the bar, his arm around a blonde woman, looking very comfortable and relaxed. As if he was out on a date. Only I know it’s not his fiancée. Because his fiancée looks a lot like Natalia. Like a second-rate carbon copy he settled for once he realized he made a mistake.

My glaring eyes stare at him, knowing that not only did he break Natalia’s heart, but he’s also a sleazeball probably cheating on his fiancée. When he looks up, he sees me blatantly staring. He drops his arm that was draped around the woman’s shoulders and takes a small step away from her. As if to hide the fact that the woman next to him isn’t the one he’s engaged to. He lifts his chin toward me. And when I don’t respond with either a wave hello or a nod of acknowledgment, he stalks toward me.

“Henry, right?” he asks when he reaches me.

I openly smirk, but it comes off as more like a scoff. “Hayden.”

“Sure.” He smirks back. “Listen, this”—he swivels his thumb between himself and the blond—“it’s nothing. I’m just out having drinks with some friends.”

I raise my brows, indifference radiating off my refusal to answer him as I tilt my drink back instead.

“So,” he continues carefully, “it would be great if you didn’t mention it to anyone, like Natalia or her parents. With Jacinda being pregnant, it’s been a bit tense at home. To put it lightly.”

My eyes narrow. So that’s why they’re getting married. It’s a shotgun wedding, and he’s staring down the barrel of the gun while out gallivanting with another woman.

I don’t answer him. I look away and continue to sip my drink, finishing it off with a long tilt back.

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