An Optimist's Guide to Heartbreak (Heartsong #1)(71)

Goosebumps case my arms, causing me to fidget in my seat while subconsciously scooting closer to the man on my right. In turn, he holds me a little tighter.

Alyssa perks up from across the table, pushing her empty cocktail plate aside. “Are you going to be my dance partner tonight?” She wiggles her perfectly shaded eyebrows at me.

I pop my chin up and smile deviously. “Think we can put in a request with the band?”

“This isn’t karaoke, Lucy. It’s a wedding.” Then she matches my smile with her own. “But yes.”

And just like that, we’re two best friends sharing a moment, breaking out into Lady Gaga’s greatest hit—in our humble opinion—Bad Romance. As she raises an arm skyward and does spirit fingers on the way down, singing, “I don’t wanna be frieeeends,” Cal’s eyes meet with mine with a notable twinkle, and I’m drowning in a puddle of half-laughter, half-love.

Truth be told, there’s no better place to be.

When we come down from the best-friend high, I’m still giggling when the woman beside Alyssa sends a warm smile in my direction, her gaze ping-ponging between me and Cal.

“How long have you two been together?” the stranger in an emerald dress to match her eyes wonders, fingering her champagne glass.

Cal speaks up first. “We’re not together.”

And yet, he doesn’t bother to remove his arm. I swear he even pulls me closer.

The woman nods, her gaze sparkling peculiarly. “Oh, my bad. That was so presumptuous,” she chuckles, looking away.

“We’re friends. Good friends,” I add, leaning to my right because I can’t help it. I can’t help leaning into him, just as I can’t help breathing. Breathing is an innate part of me, and so is Cal. “How do you know the bride and groom?”

I make small talk to avoid the big talk. And while the woman introduces herself as Leslie and prattles on about high school friendships and college sororities, I realize my hand finds its way to Cal’s thigh underneath the white tablecloth. Then, it becomes the only thing I realize. It’s the only thing in this room I’m wholly aware of—my hand on Cal’s thigh.

Paired with the way he doesn’t move away, doesn’t even flinch.

Mingling with the way his breathing shallows ever so slightly, and the way his fingertips trail down my upper arm, then glide back up to tinker with the strap of my dress.

Braided with the way we’re shoulder-to-shoulder now, pressed together at this giant round table like there’s nowhere else to go.

I could go anywhere, sit anywhere, move a dozen seats away, but the thought alone is the equivalent to slicing off my right hand.

There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.

And then dinner is served, and speeches are given, and tears are shed, but somehow, nothing registers. My plate of pasta is a blur in front of me. Voices and laughter are muddled, bleeding into the sound of my ear-splitting heartbeats. Dance music filters through the ballroom, pulling guests from their chairs, but I am glued to the man beside me. His palm moves up my shoulder to massage my neck while he eats his chicken dish one-handed, and all I can taste as I draw the fork to my mouth is the acidity of what’s to come.

Because I want this.

I want this.

“You’ve hardly touched your food,” Cal notes as he chews, glancing down at my plate. His hand still rubs my neck, fingers tickling my hair. “Not hungry?”

I choke down a bite. “Not really.” My fork clinks against the plate when I set it down, just as my cell phone pings from inside my clutch. I fish around for it as Cal finally removes his arm, and then glance at the text message from Alyssa who is giving me a Cheshire grin from across the table.

Alyssa:



I have condoms in my purse. Do you need one?





I’m positive my complexion goes whiter than the linen tablecloth. I hadn’t fully swallowed down my mouthful of noodles, so they slither down my throat like worms in the mud, almost choking me. I text her back.

Me:



I don’t know. Maybe.





I can’t believe I’m considering it.

The room feels stifling. An actual furnace.

I catch the way her eyes pop at my response as her thumbs skip over the keypad in reply.

Alyssa:



Holy shit. Bathroom break.





The text is followed by the legs of her chair screeching across the sandstone-colored tile. Mine follow. Turning to Cal, I toss my napkin to the tabletop and flip my hair over my shoulder. “I’ll be right back. Are you good?”

He nods, attention shifting from me to Alyssa, then back to me. “I’m good. Are you?”

“Yep. Sure, of course. Definitely. Just running to the washroom. You know, to…pee.”

His tongue rolls along his teeth. “Kay.”

I bolt.

Alyssa is hot on my heels as we wind our way to the bathrooms. “Oh my God,” she whisper-yells from behind me.

“Please don’t make it a thing,” I plead, beyond flustered.

“But it is a thing. It’s definitely a thing.”

When we’re safely inside the women’s restroom, the door whips closed, and we stand face-to-face. I place both palms to my neck and inhale a quivering breath. “What do I do?” I wheeze.