Nev

Standing outside The Leaderboard, waiting for my Uber to arrive, I check my phone to get an ETA before scrolling through the pictures my mom sent of the girls earlier this evening. She gave them baths, let Lennon watch a Barbie movie, and put them to bed by eight.

These cheap beers and this pathetic buzz weren’t worth it.

I should’ve stayed home with them.

But whatever. I got out. I chatted up my old friends. And hopefully my mom will lay off for a while.

A tepid spring breeze envelopes me as I glance up at the starry sky. It’s a beautiful night by most people’s standards, but I’m having a hard time seeing the beauty in the little things. Estella was always good at pointing out things like pink sunsets and double rainbows and snowy mountain landscapes, and she’d marvel at them like they were the most beautiful things in the world. I’d humor her, sometimes pulling over on the side of the road so she could snap a picture.

Estella would like this night. It’s warm but not too warm. Cool but not too cool. A full moon. A sky full of stars. She’d probably insist that I drive her to the nearest art supply store so she could buy a canvas and some oil paints and do her best to recreate it.

Her spontaneity was a little intense at times, and honestly, there were times it drove me up a wall, but she was so different from Yardley that that was all I cared about.

The door to the bar swings open, bringing a stifled burst of music with it for all of five seconds, and when I glance in that direction, I spot none other than the bane of my existence.

Her cheeks flush, though I’m not sure I can take credit for that. She’d been pounding them back pretty hard, pretty pink cocktail after pretty pink cocktail in that pretty pink mouth of hers.

Tight jeans hug her every curve and her low-cut blouse hangs off her smooth shoulders, sharing just enough cleavage to take my mind to a dark place for a hot second. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t still think she was the most beautiful girl I’d ever laid eyes on.

If someone asked me who my perfect woman was? I’d describe her every time. Her chocolate hair, those stormy blue eyes, those full lips. The way she fit just beneath my chin. Her soft scent. The sweet lull in her voice. She was always content to linger in silence sometimes, content just to be with me. We used to drive around for hours and she’d slip her hand in mine while we listened to the radio. She never felt the need to fill the silence with conversation because we never really needed words.

She knew my heart.

And once upon a time, I knew hers.

Keeping a careful distance, she leans against the brick front of the building and checks her phone. A giant wet spot covers the front of her navy blouse. I’m guessing someone spilled a drink on her and she wants to go home.

“If you’re going to keep gawking at me, the least you can do is say something,” she breaks our silence.

“No one’s gawking.”

She huffs, lifting her head and placing her phone in her back pocket. Her vision is fixed on the parked car in front of her. Yardley won’t so much as blink in my direction.

“You haven’t stopped staring me down all night,” she says, arms crossing her chest as she presses one foot against the building, knee bent. “Want to explain yourself, Kane?”

Even if I could explain why I couldn’t stop watching her, I wouldn’t. It’s none of her business how or why I feel the way I do. And I don’t owe her an explanation. I don’t owe her a fucking thing.

Besides, if I told her watching her smile at another man sent a burn to my chest and a fever to my blood, she’d think I still loved her … or something.

The door opens again, only this time it’s the same lumberjack ass who’s been chatting her up all night. My guess is he’s coming to close the deal.

“Hey,” he says, breathless. “Your sister said you left?”

“I ordered a ride,” she says. “When a bachelorette accidentally dumps a pint of Corona on your favorite shirt, I think that’s as good a time as any to call it a night.”

The asshole frowns, giving her some pathetic puppy dog face, and she smiles. She fucking smiles.

“I’m sure I could get one of those bar logo t-shirts for you,” he offers. His desperation is showing. Hopefully she’s too keen to fall for that shit. “I’d just hate to see you leave when the night’s so young.”

Not only is his desperation showing, it’s a flashing neon light at this point.

“No, it’s fine,” she tells him. “I’ve already ordered my ride and—”

“Let me see your phone,” he says, holding out his hand, palm side up.

“What?” She chuckles.

“Your phone,” he says, smirking. “I’ll give you my number. And if you want to see me again, you call me.”

“I’m not leaving because of you, Brendan,” she says. The douche canoe has a name. Brendan. I’ve never met a Brendan I didn’t want to punch in the face, and this guy’s no exception. “I really hope you don’t think that.”

She places her phone in his hand and I stand here, jaw clenched so tight my face hurts, while he programs his number in her phone.

I don’t like this.

And I hate that I don’t like this.

“I’ll call you,” she tells him.

He leans in to kiss her. I almost look away, but once I catch her turn her cheek toward him, I laugh. Out loud.

The two of them ignore me and within seconds, Brendan retreats back inside The Leaderboard.

“What?” she asks, finally facing me. Her arms are locked tight across her chest and her brows meet in the middle. “What’s so funny?”

“That entire thing,” I say. “It was pretty fucking hilarious.”

Yardley rolls her pretty blues. “You’re an asshole.”

“No, no.” I shake my head. “Lumberjack Dan was an asshole. Dude had no game and he was clearly trying to get a piece of ass. I saw him buying you drinks all night, rubbing his fucking scent all over you like a goddamned cat.”

Her jaw falls. “Why were you watching me all night? And more importantly, why do you care?”

I’m speechless for a second, wishing I had an answer to give that didn’t make me look like a hypocrite or a bitter, confused widower standing in front of the only girl who ever destroyed him.

Finally, I answer with a simple, “I don’t fucking know.”

Her expression softens and she steps closer to me.

“That’s not an invitation,” I say, hands jammed in my front pockets.

She stops cold in her tracks.

“You don’t have to continue with this whole … thing … you’re doing,” she says. “I get it, Nevada. You hate me. But you don’t have to go out of your way to intentionally be a giant fucking prick every time we’re around each other.”

“This is me.” I shrug. “This is who I am now.”

“I don’t buy it,” she says without hesitation. “In fact, I refuse to believe this is you.”

Laughing, I shove my hands deeper in my pockets. “Believe what you want. It’s not my job to try to convince you.”

“You wouldn’t be so angry at me if I didn’t hurt you. And you wouldn’t still be this hurt if you didn’t still have feelings for me,” she says, like she’s suddenly some psychoanalytical genius.

“Not true.”

“Bullshit. It is true. If you truly didn’t care about me, if you truly hated me, you wouldn’t be so cold every time you’re around me,” she says, one hand on her hip as she comes closer. A hint of her perfume—the same kind she wore back in high school—is carried on a breeze and deposited all over me, clinging to my skin, my clothes.

My gaze falls to her full pink mouth.

I’d fucking kill to know what it feels like to kiss her again, but I have to be strong. I can’t give in just because I’m a little bit buzzed and she’s standing here all gorgeous, damn near offering herself to me on a silver platter under the guise of ripping me a new one.

If she truly didn’t care about me, she wouldn’t be standing here trying to put me in my place right now.

Her phone dings.

“My ride’s here,” she says, glancing up at a little white Nissan.

She isn’t even gone yet and already I miss her. I could stand here all night, verbally sparring, daring myself not to try to gift that smart mouth with a punishing kiss.

Yardley doesn’t say goodbye.

She doesn’t give me a second look.

The little white Nissan swallows her whole and just like that, she’s gone.

And just like that, I try to wrap my head around what just happened. By the time my ride comes, I accept the fact that I don’t know what to fucking think.

As I’m driven back to my mother’s house on the south side of town, I can’t stop replaying our conversation.

And as I toss and turn in my bed all night, I can’t stop seeing her beautiful face every time I close my eyes. Unlike basketball, I can’t fucking win with this woman. She’s just as all-consuming as ever. And tonight? She was so close I could’ve touched her. I could’ve pushed her against the brick wall of the bar, lifted her into my arms, and kissed her so hard she wouldn’t be able to breathe by the time I was done.

Tearing the covers off, I creep to the kitchen and rifle through my mother’s medicine cabinet until I find a bottle of Ambien that expired last month. Tossing one back and chasing it with a glass of water, I trudge back to my bed.

I need to be stronger than the thing that broke me.

But tonight, I just need some fucking sleep.