Chapter 86

“I’m not really a fan of babies. I don’t know how you do it. I mean, I like my family’s kids, I love them.
But I’m not overly fond of little babies and kids in general. I don’t see that happening for me for a long,
long time, or if ever.” I shrug as a matter of fact, my nerves and combined guilt giving me verbal
diarrhea, and Arrick’s insistence on carrying on a conversation with Nathan, makes me feel like I
should fill the awkward gap between Natasha and me.

“You sound like him.” She prods Arrick in the arm and he looks down at us nonplussed.

“What? What sounds like me?” He’s obviously caught the tail end of what we are talking about and
leans in as she repeats it, to hear her over the thrum of music that’s getting a little louder from the
dancefloor below this VIP area.

“That you don’t seem too hyped about babies in the near future.” She smiles up at him shyly, eyes not
concealing the sheer adoration and infatuation she has for him, and yet his face falters.

“I’m too young for babies, marriage, and all that stuff yet. I have a brother who keeps me in enough
kids to be me more than satisfied, and zero desire to follow him down that path anytime soon.” He
frowns, half smiling, and catches my eye before he looks away. Unreadable, good old Arry. I notice the
crushed expression hit Natasha’s face, and the way a blush creeps up her cheeks at how much he’s
dashed some feeble hope in her heart. The sense of sadness that reverberates around the circle from
her makes my stomachache with awfulness. Something inside, that nice part of me, reacts impulsively.

“But he will one day. All men say that. Jake was the absolute worst and now look at him.” I laugh to
cover the awkwardness and notice Nathan seems to be peeling his beer label off, shifting from one foot
to the other, and I wonder what I’m missing, what exactly they’ve been passing in terms of psychic ‘bro’
messages to one another. He and Arrick exchange a look, I only catch it because I know both of them
well enough to see the Arry-Nate mode of communicating, going stealth mode, under the radar, and
then he turns to me.



“I’ll be a few minutes; Nate wants to talk shop. Are you two okay here?” He flickers from me to her
awkwardly. Seems my new mature niceness towards her has wiped out his need to always chaperone
our meetings, but I have no desire to be left alone with this girl, even if I am wussing out on my
repulsion towards her.

I give him a flash of ‘Don’t you dare’ but he frowns back, giving me the pleading look, the ‘do as I ask
and I will explain later’ face that he knows I have no defense against. Seeing Natasha like she is about
to burst into a flood of tears makes me hesitate. I scan the women behind her, hoping to God one of
her actual friends comes to pull her away, but for now, I have no choice.

“We’ll be fine, just having some girly chat. Maybe compare shoes or something.” She smiles at him a
little too brightly; I guess to cover his complete lack of attention towards her since she walked up, and I
have to admit, I’m wondering what the hell is up with that. He is never overly demonstrative with her,
when I’m around, but right now, I’m getting weird vibes from him where she’s concerned. A part of me
should be cartwheeling at that fact, but it’s not. I feel torn, confused, and selfish, and with that lost,
desolate look of shattered hope on her face, I feel strangely wrong about this whole scenario.

We watch them walk off among other people from this crowd, Natasha’s eyes linger longer than mine,
and when she turns back, her eyes are moisture glazed. It has the same effect as a punch in the gut,
knocking me for six with a sharp intake of breath. I’m more than shocked at how this hits me and down
my drink a little too quickly, in one gulp.

“Maybe we should dance” I blurt out brightly, hoping that loud music and crushing bodies on the floor
will mean no more chatter, and no more of this weak girly shit going on inside me for someone I vowed
was my sworn enemy, long ago. I need to get my head together; this mess is sending my sane into
non-existent.



“I don’t really dance.” She mutters awkwardly. “I’m not very coordinated.” Her half smile and downward
glance have me putting my glass down on the nearby table bossily. My drink hitting me fast and making
me a little giddy and cheerful.

“Well, that’s just the worst excuse I’ve ever heard. You can walk; therefore, you have coordination, and
the rest is just confidence. Come on. I’ll get you dancing.” I smile sassily, grab her soft hand in mine,
ignoring how fragile she feels, and yank her with me towards the stairs. Natasha gives no resistance to
my pulling, her timid little body no match for my taller and curvier strength. I catch sight of a couple of
her friends looking this way, but neither follow, and I’m left to drag the girl I thought I hated with me, to
bond over awful dancefloor antics. I have no clue where Sophie has gone and right now, I don’t even
care. Dancing is one of my favorite pastimes, and even though deep down, that little voice of guilt is
telling me how wrong this is, I actually want to help her forget about her heartbreak for five little
minutes.

You’ve gone soft, girl!


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