Page 63 of One Night Only
“I’m—”
“Go away,” Soraya interrupts and I have to hide my smile as his drops.
He mutters something under his breath, the nice guy act vanishing, and runs back to his friends.
“That could have been your meet-cute,” I say.
“In his dreams.”
He’s the third guy to try and speak to her since we sat down. Soraya’s the kind of person for who people do a double take when they see her, most never looking past her long legs and pouty lips. I wasn’t completely immune to her either. When I first met her, I spent several months not so subtly trying to copy every single thing she did before realizing that no amount of eyeliner and deep conditioner masks can compete with winning the genetic lottery. Only when you get to know her do you get the real her: funny, smart and a real dork when she’s in the mood. We’ve been friends for years, ever since getting horrifically drunk together at some anonymous party at college. I used to be a little jealous of how easily she drew people’s attention, but you only need to spend a few hours with her to understand how annoying she finds it, how difficult it is for her to meet people when most only see her good looks and don’t care about anything beyond it.
Now, we sit in a patch of shade in Central Park, just off the Great Lawn. It’s a lazy Saturday afternoon and almost every inch of grass is taken up by couples and families and tired, overheated tourists. Skyscrapers rise above the tall trees, glinting in the sunshine, but I can’t hear the traffic from where we sit. If I close my eyes, I could almost imagine I was back in Ireland.
That’s the problem with vacations. Once you take one all you want is another.
Soraya shakes out her heavy black hair, pulling it up into a top knot as she looks back at the photo of Matthias. “Your guy is cute though. He’s got that preppy, all-American thing going for him. Like he’d be in milk commercial.”
“That’s weirdly specific but okay.”
I take the phone back, turning the screen to look at him. It’s a company photo from last year and Matthias is standing right next to me. I guess he is kind of preppy. But that’s just because he’s at work. That’s what everyone looks like at work.
“Look at you,” Soraya says as I stare at the picture. “Getting all interested in somebody.”
“I didn’t say I was interested. I didn’t even say yes to the drink.”
“Yet.”
“I don’t date. I especially don’t date guys I work with.”
“Give the milk guy a chance! Who knows? You might even like him.”
“We’re not talking about this anymore.”
She shrugs, lying back against the grass, but her words stay with me. Do I like Matthias? Does Matthias likeme? He’s never shown any interest in me before.
Or maybe he has.
I frown thinking back to all our encounters over the years, all the times he was extra friendly. I always assumed he was like that with everyone. But maybe he’s just like that with me.
Maybe he’s finally making his move.
I try to imagine what it would be like if I said yes to him. If we went for a drink and we hit it off. I imagine the shared glances at work the next day. Imagine us going out again. And again and again until we…what? Were together? Could it really be so simple?
It doesn’t feel simple. It feels hard. It feels nerve-wracking.
“Did you eat all the macaroons?”
I drag myself from my thoughts as Soraya rummages through the empty box as if they’ll magically appear.
“I had two.”
“There were six.”
“Then you had four.”
Her phone buzzes before she can respond. It’s done so a dozen times since we sat down and as always, she snatches it up, quickly replying before dumping it back down.
“Who’s that?”
