Page 74 of The Art of Scandal

Nathan’s tongue felt thick and unqualified to comply. “Huh?”

“Okay, so you’re not mute.” She glanced at Dillon, who had started taking selfies beside an old Britney Spears poster. “You know, I’m used to you avoiding me, but ignoring Dillon is like ghosting a kitten. He’ll never say it, but you hurt his feelings.”

Nathan had been ignoring them for two weeks. He could tell by the tremble in her voice that Bobbi was hurt too.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I was…” He waved his hand, unable express the depressed, hyperproductive fugue state he’d entered to finish his art in words. “Working.” He shrugged. “But I’m here now. Let’s have some fun.” The E was helping. He could hear the dreamy distance of his voice, and it was like welcoming back an old friend.

“What about you and…” She trailed off. Nathan fidgeted, ready to end the conversation. If she noticed, she didn’t care. “What going on with you and Rachel?”

“I said it’s done.” Nathan moved past her to join Dillon, who had already ordered a pitcher. Bobbi could read the slightest shift in his expression like tarot cards, and he wasn’t ready to discuss Rachel with her yet. Maybe he never would be. He was embarrassed by the way he’d lost her—by what she’d chosen over him. His friends didn’t have to know how naive he’d been about their relationship. Joe’s guilt trip had been bad enough.

Dillon poured a frosty mug and slid it toward Nathan. Bobbi sat in the booth on his right. “You should have let me order,” she griped.

“You always take forever,” Dillon said. “And these people don’t know what grain of hops each brand uses or whatever.”

“Grain of hops? I’m a chef, not a brewmaster. I just wanted to see what they had on tap.”

“Spoiler, it’s beer.” Dillon pointed to the pitcher.

Nathan slumped into the booth and took a long drink. He could feel Bobbi watching him, but he refused to look at her. Dillon looked back and forth between them, picking up on the tension, and pointed to the jukebox. “We should play ‘Cha Cha Slide.’”

Nathan grinned and said, “Are you still testing out your theory?”

“It’s the only song that every white person on the planet will dance to. It comes with instructions!”

“What do you think, Nathan?” Bobbi caught his eyes. “You up for ‘Cha Cha’? Or would you prefer Portishead? Something somber and broody to match your new artisanal asshole vibe.”

Nathan huffed a breath. “So now I’m an asshole?”

“You have been kinda dickish lately, Nate,” Dillon said.

Nathan was stunned. Dillon faltered briefly and then cleared his throat. “You’ve been moody. And impatient. Like that night at the drive-in. Then you completely disappeared for weeks—”

“That wasn’t about you guys,” Nathan interrupted. He was kicking himself for being so careless with their friendship. He just lost Rachel. He couldn’t lose them too. “I’m… I’m sorry I did that. Really.”

“Sure, man,” Dillon said, his face creased with concern. “Apology accepted. But tonight you seem stoned or something. You’re here, but you’re not reallyhere.”

Nathan looked at Bobbi for conformation. She nodded, and embarrassment heated Nathan’s neck. He looked away. “Let me make it up to you. I’ll open a tab—see if we can get a few flights.”

“No. Nope.” Dillon shook his head hard enough to dislodge a blond curl from his deep side part. “You did a major art thing and we’re celebrating. I’m paying.” He waved a hand at the bartender, who picked up another pitcher. “Which means we’re stuck with the cheap beer, but it’s the thought that counts, right?”

“He’s right,” Bobbi said. “You’re about to show your art, with your real name attached. That’s huge!”

Nathan didn’t want congratulations or attention. He wanted things to be the way they were before he’d agreed to do the gala. Before he met Rachel. When he could be a neutral bystander to his friends’ bickering and add an occasional joke to ease the tension. He wanted to go back to being present but not actually seen. “It’s really not a big deal,” Nathan said. He nudged Dillon. “It’s fine, man. I can get the beer.”

“It is a big deal,” Bobbi snapped. “And if he wants to pay, let him pay. Your bank account is not a goddamn superpower.”

“Fine,” he said flatly as he drained the rest of his beer. “I’ll be sure to take advantage.”

“That’s what I’m talking about.” Dillon slapped Nathan’s back. “See, Bobs? I told you he’d bounce back.”

Nathan looked at Bobbi. “Bounce back from what?”

Bobbi’s chin lifted. “I told him that you probably disappeared because you were seeing someone, and it was serious. And that it might have ended badly.”

Nathan clenched his jaw so tight his teeth ached. It was like Bobbi wanted him to fall apart. Then he’d have to admit that she was right about him all along.Nathan loves Rachel. Nathan isn’t fine. He’s a skin sack of grief pretending to have bones.

“I wasn’t seeing anyone,” he said. The lie was grit in his mouth, and he reached for water, only to find his glass empty. Nathan waved over the server, a cute and curvy woman with dark brown skin, and long braids laced with purple highlights. He ordered tequila shots and looked at her name tag. “Deja. Nice ink.” He pointed to the small tattoo on her wrist.

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