Page 28 of Fault Lines
Inside, the music was heavy and loud, all synthetic bass and scattered strobe lights. Perfect. It made thinking impossible—which was the point.
We elbowed our way to the bar. I ordered a shot of tequila and a wine spritzer.
Rachel laughed at me. “You’re going to have to up your game, darling.”
I pointed at my tequila. “That’s what this is for.”
She turned to the bartender, all radiance and red lips. “Margarita, and a shot, please.”
We leaned against the bar and watched dancers move beneath the changing lights. Rachel, of course, zeroed in on a man immediately—the type you’d spot in a crowded room, long black hair tousled and tied up in a bun, tight shirt half-unbuttoned, the kind of chest you saw on fitness ads.
“He’s hot,” she said, chin jerking toward the dance floor.
“Sure is,” I agreed, trying not to stare like a tourist.
She just laughed and tipped back her shot. “I dare you to go home with him.”
I nearly choked on my spritzer. “Are you kidding?”
She shrugged, totally unapologetic. “Cam’s out there right now, probably halfway home with somebody. Why shouldn’t you? You could be having fun too, Livi. Honestly, I think Cam wouldn’t be pushing for this ‘open’ thing if he knew even half of what it feels like from your side. Maybe he needs a dose of his own medicine.”
I let that marinate for all of three seconds before shaking my head. “I couldn’t do it if I tried. I’m just not wired that way.”
Rachel just laughed again. “Suit yourself. It can be very liberating.”
She nudged her drink closer to me. “Watch that. I’m off to dance.”
I swirled the ice in my wine spritzer, my eyes trailing to the man on the dance floor who, sure enough, was now spinning Rachel. She moved like she ran on pure confidence.
Me, I just wondered if I’d ever have it in me to even try that kind of freedom. Truth was, physical pleasure was easy. It was the emotional safety that I missed—the feeling of being able to trust someone with your whole self, not just your body.
“Fancy seeing you here.”
I turned and almost jumped. Nate slid onto the barstool beside me, his smile so easy it softened everything for a second.
“Hi! When did you get here?”
He gestured toward the crowd, where Rachel and her man were already locked together. “With a friend. Looks like our friends are hitting it off.”
“For sure,” I said. Rachel was already kissing the guy, because of course she was.
Nate ordered a drink, voice low. When he caught me watching his lips, he just smiled, warm and a little teasing.
The thing was, Nate was like instant comfort food. He’d been teaching me the ropes at the bookstore all week, just the two of us since Mr. Porter was still out sick. And even though Nate was technically the owner’s grandson, he acted like we were equals, like it was our little world to run together. He’d even tried to teach me the coffee machines, which was a disaster, but he made it funny anyway.
With him, I could let down my guard. I told him embarrassing childhood stories I’d forgotten I even remembered. Not about the marriage or the mess with Cam, but things that should have made me feel stupid. Instead, he took them and made them seem brave, like every awkward story was a badge of honor. I needed that, these days, when my self-worth was in shreds.
He tipped his glass at me. “You’re doing it again.”
“Doing what?”
“That thing where you’re in the room, but you’re not. Lost in your head.”
“Oh.” I blinked, a little startled. “Yeah. Sometimes I get lost.”
He shrugged, like it was no big deal. “Wanna tell me where you went?”
I thought for a second before answering, “You’re just really easy to talk to. You don’t judge. I like that.”
