November 9: A Novel(58)

“If you hate him as much as you seem to, why are you insisting I invite him out with us tonight?”

“I don’t hate him,” Amber says. “I just don’t like him. And I’d rather you come tonight with him than sit here and mope about how it’s November 9th and you aren’t spending it with Ben.”

“That’s not why I’m moping,” I lie.

“Maybe not, but at least we can both agree that you are moping.” She picks up my phone. “I’m texting Teddy to tell him to meet us at the club.”

“That’s going to be awkward for you and Glenn, considering I won’t even be there.”

“Hogwash. Get dressed. Wear something cute.”

? ? ?

She always wins. I’m here . . . at the club. Not at home, moping on my couch where I wish I could be.

And why did Theodore have to wear the pants with whales on them again? That just makes Amber the winner and right.

“Theodore,” Amber says, fingering the rim of her almost-empty drink. “Do you have a nickname or does everyone just call you Theodore?”

“Just Theodore,” he says. “My father is referred to as Teddy, so the nickname gets confusing if we both use it. Especially when we’re back in Nantucket around family.”

“Riveting,” she says, dragging her eyes over to me. “Want to walk to the bar with me?”

I nod and scoot out of the booth. As we make our way to the bar, Amber threads her fingers through mine and squeezes. “Please tell me you haven’t had sex with him.”

“We’ve only been out four times,” I tell her. “I’m not that easy.”

“You had sex with Ben on the third date,” she says in retort.

I hate that she brought up Ben, but I guess when you’re discussing your sex life, the only guy you’ve ever slept with is surely going to be part of the conversation.

“Maybe so, but that was different. We knew each other a lot longer than that.”

“You knew each other for three days,” she says. “You can’t count entire years when you only interacted once a year.”

We reach the bar. “Change of subject,” I say. “What do you want to drink?”

“Depends,” she says. “Are we drinking because we want to remember this night forever? Or because we want to forget the past?”

“Definitely forget.”

Amber turns to the bartender and orders four shots. When he puts them in front of us, we hold up the first shot and clink our glasses together.

“To waking up on November 10th and having no memory of the 9th,” she says.

“Cheers to that.”

We down the shots and then immediately follow those up with the next two. I don’t usually drink a lot, but I’ll do whatever it takes to speed up the night just so I can get it over with.

? ? ?

Half an hour passes and the shots have definitely done their job. I’m feeling good and buzzed, and I don’t even mind it that Theodore is being a little handsy tonight. Amber and Glenn left the booth a couple of minutes ago to hit the dance floor, and Theodore is telling me all about . . . shit. I have no idea what he’s talking about. I don’t think I’ve been listening to him at all.

Glenn slides back into the booth across from us and I try to stay focused on Theodore’s face so he’ll think I’m listening to him jabber about some fishing trip he takes with his cousin during summer solstice. When the hell is summer solstice, anyway?

“Can I help you?” Theodore says to Glenn, which is odd, considering he said it in an unpleasant tone. I turn to face Glenn.

Only . . . it’s not Glenn.

Brown eyes are staring back at me and I suddenly want to push Theodore’s hands off of me and crawl across the table.

Fuck you, fate. Fuck you to hell.

A slow smile spreads across Ben’s face as he returns his attention to Theodore. “Sorry to interrupt,” Ben says, “but I’m going from table to table, asking couples a few questions for a paper I’m working on for grad school. Do you mind if I ask you two a few?”

Theodore relaxes once he realizes Ben isn’t here to mark his territory. Or so he thinks. “Yeah, sure,” Theodore says. He reaches across the table to shake his hand. “I’m Theodore, this is Fallon,” he says, introducing me to the only man who has ever been inside me.

“Nice to meet you, Fallon,” Ben says, clasping my hand with both of his. He makes a quick brush of his thumbs over my wrist, and the contact of his skin on mine is scorching. When he releases my hand, I look down at my wrist, sure it left a mark.

“I’m Ben.”

I raise what I’m hoping comes off as an uninterested, lazy eyebrow. What in the world is he doing here?

Ben’s gaze slides from my eyes to my mouth, but then he focuses on Theodore. “So how long have you lived in Los Angeles, Theodore?”

So many things to process in my alcohol-riddled mind right now.

Ben is here.

Here.

And he’s probing my date for information.

“Most of my life. Going on twenty years, I guess.”

I glance at Theodore. “I thought you grew up in Nantucket.”

He shifts in his seat and laughs, squeezing my hand that’s resting on top of the table. “I was born there. Wasn’t raised there. We moved here when I was four.” He turns his attention back to Ben, and dammit, Amber wins again.