Chapter 6 - Naomi
The music hits me like a wall as soon as I step inside. It takes a second for my eyes to adjust to the darkness, but I spot Ariana and Meg right away. They’re at the bar. Ariana has some poor man hanging off her, as usual. She’s laughing, but I can tell she’s just flirting for the sake of flirting.
I make my way over to them, looking over my shoulder half-hoping to see Max. I wouldn’t go home with him. At least, I don’t think I would. But if he asked me again, it would be hard to resist.
I want him. I can’t deny it. He’s the sexiest man I’ve ever seen. When he held me in his arms, all I wanted to do was run my fingers up under his shirt and feel his skin under mine. I wanted to feel the rippling of his muscles under my hands, and feel the power of his body as he held me tight.
I’ve touched his body before, but only in a professional setting. What would it be like if we weren’t in my physical therapy office? What if we were in his bed, or in my bed, or anywhere else, for that matter?
When he looked at me, I was dying for him to kiss me.
But he’s my client.
We work together.
It would be wrong and unethical.
And plus, he’s Max Westbrook! He’s in the tabloids, for crying out loud! His family is like, the richest family in New York or something. They do some sort of big business importing and exporting for huge corporations.
What would he want with me?
He was probably just drinking, and I was the easiest girl for him to chase tonight.
“So?” Meg asks with a raised eyebrow. “Should we change that sash from ‘Bride Tribe’ to ‘Bride-to-be?”
My cheeks warm and I shake my head. I accept a drink that Ariana hands me.
“No,” I say to Meg.
“But…”
“But nothing!” I laugh, sipping the drink. I grimace, looking at the amber liquid. “What is this?”
“Long island iced tea,” Ariana says. “I asked the bartender to make them extra strong.”
“Of course you did.” I roll my eyes and taste the drink again. ‘Strong’ is an understatement.
“Stop stalling,” Meg says. “What happened!”
“Nothing happened, really. We talked about marriage and how we didn’t like the pressure to get married. Then I came back inside.”
Sort of.
“Yeah, right. And Ariana was just discussing the geopolitical importance of the Middle East with her new friend.” Meg side-eyes me, shaking her head. “So where is he? He didn’t come back in with you.”
“He had to leave.”
“Oh my gosh, Naomi, stop lying,” Meg laughs. “Did he come on to you? Did you kiss?”
Ariana raises her eyebrow. “He is smoking hot. Those eyes, my god!”
“It was fine. It was professional,” I lie. Meg and Ariana just laugh. I sip my drink and say a silent thanks when Julia comes barging into our conversation. We’re soon swept up in another wave of dancing and drinks and celebrating her upcoming wedding. Meg gives me a loaded look and I just shrug.
I’m not lying, nothing happened.
Technically.
Well, it didn’t feel like nothing. The way he held me made my whole body vibrate. It felt like a whole lot more than nothing.
But on paper? Nothing happened. We didn’t kiss, I rejected his advances. I was professional.
Ish.
Except the part where he invited me back to his place and I was dying to say yes. I can overlook that as a drunken slip-up.
The whole thing feels like the complete opposite of professional. I can’t help scanning the room for him. My eyes keep drifting to the front door, hoping that I’ll see his wide, muscular shoulders slipping through. He’s at least a head taller than everyone else wherever he goes, and I imagine locking eyes with him across the crowd.
It doesn’t happen, though.
He didn’t follow me in, and he’s not here waiting for me to change my mind.
A drunk man puts his hand on my hip and I elbow him away. He tries to rub up against me again on the dance floor, and Ariana brings her heel down on his foot. He yelps and hops away from us as Ariana shields me.
“Oops,” she shrugs, making sure he’s as far away as possible. “My foot slipped.”
“Thanks,” I laugh. “Why do guys think they can just rub their junk all over girls? It’s gross.”
“Just break their toes with your heels,” Ariana grins. “I have a hundred percent success rate with that strategy.”
I grin, scanning the crowd again for Max. Finally, I shake my head and turn back to my friends. I put my arm around Julia as she sings along to the song. She’s off-key and off-time, but she’s happier than I’ve ever been in my life.
For the thousandth time tonight, I wonder if marriage isn’t so bad after all. Maybe promising to commit to someone for the rest of your life isn’t a jail sentence for women. Maybe it really is a celebration of love.
Not that I’ve ever had the opportunity. I never let myself get close enough to men for marriage to even be a remote possibility.
Tonight is the perfect example. I probably lost any chance I had to hook up with Max. Even though I know it’s for the best, I can’t help but feel disappointed. Isn’t that how relationships start? With the thrill of someone new, and thinking, ‘maybe I should, maybe I shouldn’t’? Why is my reaction always to lean towards ‘shouldn’t’ instead of ‘should’?
Ariana has another man hanging off her, Meg is dancing and singing with Julia, and I’m just scanning the room for any sign of the man that I just turned down.
I down the rest of the Long Island iced tea and put the glass down on a nearby table before heading towards Meg and Julia. I plaster a smile on my face and start singing along with them. I’m greeted with smiles and hugs and they start singing louder.
I may have lost my chance with Max tonight, but that doesn’t mean it has to ruin my evening. A Beyoncé song comes on over the speakers and the bridal party erupts into excited shrieks. I laugh, glancing one last time at the door. Then, I shake my head and do my best to forget about Max Westbrook.