Frenemies(70)

“Water finds its own level,” Georgia snapped. “Which doesn’t explain why I felt the need to go wading.”

Jared broke from his escapades when we arrived at the table. Georgia and I made a big show of arranging our purses and wraps on our respective chairs, as Amy Lee and Oscar sank into their seats. Jared leaned back into his chair and waited until Georgia was forced—by virtue of running out of options—to look at him.

“Hi, Jared,” she said mildly, as if the last time she’d seen him had not been their nasty breakup and she had not, in fact, wept over him.

“Georgia,” Jared murmured. He flicked a look my way. “That your date?”

“As a matter of fact, yes,” I snapped. “Is that yours?”

My tone made all sorts of rude assumptions. Ashley didn’t notice. Jared didn’t care. He just smirked at Georgia. His expression was very easy to read: Georgia was a pathetic bitch, and he wanted to hurt her.

Then he turned his attention back to Ashley and started whispering in her ear.

“Whatever,” Ashley said, far too loudly. “I want a drink!”

Jared stood up, and pulled her after him. He threw a look back at Georgia, all How you like me now? as if he had Kate Moss on his arm.

We all let out a breath when he was gone.

“What a little shit!” Amy Lee snapped. “Someone needs to take him down a peg!”

“And you know what?” Georgia had a sort of dazed look on her face. “That person doesn’t have to be me.”

“You’re absolutely right,” I agreed with a nod.

“Even two weeks ago, this all would have hurt,” Georgia continued in the same musing tone. “A lot. It would have required some serious retail therapy and a whole lot of moping. But tonight? I just don’t care. I don’t have to care. It’s not even about Chris. I mean, it is. Thanks to him, I finally get that all of this was always totally beneath me. No wonder he wanted me to figure this out on my own—because there’s no way anyone could have told me that I would be watching that loser and feeling sorry for him. Dumbass.” She shook her head slightly, as if clearing it. “Somebody order me a drink—I have to go make a phone call.”

I felt like cheering as she turned around and strode out of the party, but I decided that would be inappropriate, so I just grinned instead.

“I’m not sure I know what she was talking about,” Amy Lee said from her seat. “But I know empowering when I see it. Go Georgia.”

“Hell, yeah,” Oscar agreed. “Although that guy could use a punch in the nose, definitely.”

“He’s not worth it,” I said, waving a dismissive hand.

We all basked for a moment, letting the celebration swirl around us. Then Amy Lee frowned.

“Did she say Chris?” she asked. “As in Chris Starling?!”

I smiled.

“What have you people been doing?” she demanded.





chapter twenty-three





Later in the evening, the band had kicked into its seventies section and I decided to take a break from my groove thing to see what damage I’d done to my makeup. I had the sinking feeling it was the “shock and awe” kind of damage, but only a mirror would be able to tell me for sure.

Over near the doors to the lobby, I turned to look back at the crowd. It was hard to believe the holiday season was over. It seemed as if it had just been summer a few moments ago, and now it was New Year’s. True, I’d been mucking about in high drama for a while, which did tend to make the time pass quickly.

As a way to avoid really thinking too much about the last half of the last year of being in my twenties, freaking out over Nate had worked like a charm.

I laughed a little bit at that, and then looked around the party until I spotted him. Helen was close to his side, as expected. Nate stood, rocked back on his heels as if he were wearing ski boots, laughing at something one of our college friends was saying. His dark hair still fell enticingly over his forehead, and the roses in his cheeks were in full bloom. I knew that if I wanted to, I could jump back into it with him. I could expect the secret smiles, and maybe one of those nights he would move from messages into reality. But where would that leave me?

Nate had been the perfect plan. Getting together with him at that Fourth of July party had eased my panic. It didn’t matter that I was turning thirty or that I lived in a crappy apartment completely overrun with dog hair and books. With Nate, I had a serious boyfriend and that meant I was still in the game. It meant I wasn’t on the shelf or whatever other horrible spinster term I wanted to use.

Which might have been fine, except that for Nate, I was just a placeholder. It didn’t matter why he’d wanted Helen more than me, it just mattered that he did. He’d run after her the night I’d walked in on them, not me. He’d stayed with her, rather than talk things over with me. He’d gotten angry with me when she seemed angry at him. And everything else was just the game he played. At worst, he was manipulative and calculating, but I wasn’t sure his behavior was that thought out.

The good news was, I didn’t have to care about him any more. I didn’t have to worry about his motivations. He had been right a long time ago, proving that when people said things you didn’t want to hear about themselves, you should listen: he wasn’t who I wanted him to be.