Page 75 of Wish Lists and Road Trips

He saw me and his face turned up in a smile that made my chest tight and fluttery. I made my way through the crowd and tucked myself into his side.

Nick introduced me.

“Hey, Brit. I’m Brad,” the first guy said. He pointed to his friend who was chatting with two women. One was blonde and sharp-eyed, the other had jet-black hair and killer lipstick. “This is Todd and Whitney and Stacey.”

Brad swayed a little as he wrapped an arm around the blonde. I waited to see if Todd would claim Whitney, but he didn’t and she flicked her dark eyes up and down Nick’s chest before glancing at his hand on my rib cage with blatant confusion.

Yeah, I know, Whitney. I can’t believe it either.That was what my snarky brain said, but my brief good mood shriveled. Where was Annie? I liked it better when Nick and I were “adorable” instead of confusing.

I looked around for her, but she’d started a game of pool with Jonathan.

Whitney fixed her face and smiled as she sipped elegantly from a stemmed glass of red wine. I knew these women. I’d had to make conversation with plenty of them from my dad’s firm at various events. They were who my parents always dreamed I would be, and for a long time that hurt.

When I was younger, I’d try to mimic them in social settings, these elegant, put-together women. But it didn’t work. They always saw through me.

Looking at Whitney’s silk blouse and sky-high heels, then down at my maroon tights and furry boots, I felt that same heat of embarrassment creeping in.

The bartender handed me and Nick our drinks and Brad clinked our glasses in turn. “Are you two from that train that pulled into town?” he asked.

Nick chuckled. “We’re already local news, huh?”

“Is that where you two met?” Whitney asked, fishing.

Nick looked down at me, uttering a single “No” and I felt a pinprick of irritation at his lack of elaboration. Of all the times to go back to his one-word replies.

Tell her how we met on a dock in Costa Rica, Nick. Tell her how you held my hand in the park and kissed me on the train. Tell her how we woke up naked and tangled up in each other’s arms this morning and again before we came here.

Nick twirled my ponytail around his fingers, which would normally make me swoon properly, but now it just made me wonder if Whitney thought my hair looked like a My Little Pony.

The look on her face said yes.

“What do you do, Nick?” Todd asked, just like Sean would have. It was such a douchey thing to ask, I’d always thought. Why did people always lead with that? Why didn’t they just exchange cards and be done with it if they really don’t care about who the person is?

Nick ran his father’s business, but that wasn’t the most interesting thing about him. But Nick didn’t seem to mind the shallow question. “I’m a real estate developer.”

“No shit,” Todd said. “I’m a broker. Commercial.”

Nick seemed interested in that, probably because of what he’d just told me about his dad and the plans he had. The two of them tossed the conversation back and forth—interest rates, zoning laws, a whole bunch of stuff I didn’t understand—and I felt my ability to participate in the conversation evaporate. It was all soprofessionaland here I was, a busted dream in a weird outfit. The odd man out. Again.

I didn’t like this new feeling. Five minutes ago I’d been thinking about all of the places Nick was going to touch me tonight, and now I felt like the girl in those teen movies who gets asked to prom by the quarterback as a joke.

I couldn’t help but think of my parents, and the way they molded me and changed everything they could about me before trotting me out at one of their parties or fundraisers. I’d always been a misfit toy without an island. You’d think understanding the root of an insecurity would help you get over it, but not me.

Whitney turned to me, tipping her head to look down her long, elegant nose. “What do you do, Brit?”

She was being kind, maybe. Trying to involve me. Or she was expecting the exact answer I would give and amusing herself. Either way, my face burned. Was I really going to stand here and tell this woman in two-hundred-dollar heels that I worked at the mall like a teenager on summer break? Or try to impress her with the follower count on my blog?

I would have a few hours ago. I would have told her my business plan, shown her a picture of my studio-to-be. I would have stood tall with Nick’s hand on my waist and told her all about it.

Now, on the heels of yet another Brit Mess, all I could think of was that little smirk Sean would get when someone asked me what I was doing these days. As if it were a private joke that he’d set up. God, I hated this.

I took too long to answer, and Nick tipped his head to question me with a look. He raised one eyebrow just for me, as if to say, “Where’d you go?”

I ignored him and looked Whitney straight in the eye. “Cruise ship captain,” I said, sipping my drink.

Whitney screwed up her face like she didn’t believe that for a second and Todd ignored it altogether. I felt Nick’s hand on my side go still. He kissed the top of my head and played along with my lie, but the air thickened.

A familiar song started on the jukebox, and it was like the sea parting, giving me a way out of this conversation. “This is the one I picked,” I said, tugging on Nick’s shirt.

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