Chapter 3
NO
brIAR
Then…
“Briar… Earth to Briar.” Lily shakes me, drawing my attention away from the tattooed nightmare god watching me and back to her.
“What?”
“Ali’s here!” Lily links her arm through mine, dragging me away with her. I have just enough time to reach out and grab the glass I’d finally gotten the bartender to give me.
As Lily tugs me through the crowd, I throw back a few big gulps of my vodka soda. Alcohol. I’m going to need so much more alcohol to survive being dragged around by her all night.
“Oh my god, Miles is with them!” Lily reels on me, her expression an equal mix of horror and excitement. The sudden change of direction forces me to pull up short, and the liquid in my glass sloshes dangerously up the sides, almost spilling over the rim. “He’s so effing hot! Did he see me?”
I huff out a breath, steadying my glass. Recovering, I peek over her shoulder, catching sight of Miles Phillips smiling at the back of Lily’s head.
“Safe to say he saw you.” I smile at her, attempting to spin her back around, but she doesn’t budge. “Well, what are you waiting for?” I nudge her again in Miles’ direction. “Go talk to him.”
Lily’s cheeks flush a bright scarlet. She’s been crushing on Miles for weeks now, ever since she met him at the Harvard regatta Ben had invited us both to over spring break.
Wait a minute…
Because if Miles is here… An icy dread fills me. If Miles is here, that means Ben probably is too. I knew it. I feel totally vindicated knowing that I fucking knew it!
While Lily agonizes over the decision, it’s actually Miles who makes the first move, heading our way. My eyes dart from her to him, warning her of his incoming presence just before he reaches us.
“Hey, Lily!” Miles grins over her head at me. “Hi, Briar.”
I wave awkwardly at him, my eyes flashing at my best friend, who’s gone completely still. She slowly spins back around to face him, her hazel eyes wide, and her entire body tense.
“Hi,” I hear her say, almost too quietly to be heard over the music, her freckled cheeks reddening even further.
“Do you want a drink?” He points behind us, toward the bar she’d just dragged me away from.
“Oh, I—um.” I feel her hesitation, and she looks back quickly over her shoulder at me. I shoot her a look, one brow raised—Will you go already? Gently, I shove her back in Miles’ direction to really hammer in my point, while answering for her.
“Yes. Yes, she does.”
Despite my urging, Lily still looks torn, turning to mouth at me: “Are you sure? I don’t want to leave you!”
Considerate, seeing as she dragged me here against my will. “Yes.” I nod reassuringly, pointing back to Cassie and Mia, who aren’t far from us, and holding up my half glass of alcohol. “I’ll be fine. Go!” My eyes flash as if to say, Girl, if you don’t go get a drink with him right now…
Her smile brightens, and she turns back to Miles, finally agreeing to get that drink.
I watch them on their way back to the bar.
Miles places his hand on the small of Lily’s back, gently guiding her through the crowd.
He’s a good guy. He’s got terrible taste in friends but, a good guy.
My gaze continues past them, scanning the length of the bar only to find Tall-Dark-and-Tattooed at the end. And he is…
Not looking at me.
No, he has settled his dark gaze on the dance floor.
Why do I feel… disappointed? I should be happy he’s finally redirected his attention elsewhere, though part of me still wants to wring that apology out of him.
“So, Briar, I’ve been meaning to ask—” I turn back at the sound of Mia’s voice, “—what’s it like being the Bridget Rousseau’s daughter? I mean, it’s no wonder your technique is flawless! She’s a literal legend. Did she hand-train you herself?”
Gripping my glass tighter, I school my face into the well-practiced smile I save for when someone inevitably brings up my prima ballerina mother.
I don’t know Mia very well; we only share one class together, and while her question seems genuine, when one of my classmates brings up my mother, it’s usually to throw her in my face.
The dance world is cutthroat and cruel, and getting into other dancer’s heads is an art form at this level.
But what I’m not going to do is tell her the truth.
Did Bridget Rousseau Ralston want a ballerina daughter?
Of course, she did. But just for the optics.
Bridget Rousseau’s daughter was supposed to follow in her mother’s footsteps.
Bridget Rousseau’s daughter was under no circumstances supposed to surpass them.
“It’s an honor to be her daughter.” I can practically hear my mother’s voice in my head, the constant criticism: ‘Point your toe, lift your chin, fix your posture—it’s an embarrassment.’ “I certainly learned from the best; she has very high standards.” Or make that… impossible…
Mia and Cassie quickly lose interest and soon delve deeper into discussing the various strengths and flaws of potential partners for the fall semester. I scan the crowd again, my eyes catching on a familiar head of dark brown hair.
Ben.
My stomach drops, and I feel sick. I immediately avoid eye-contact. The panic is instantaneous. I can’t do this, can’t see him, not here, not now. I’m not ready.
I’d lost track of how many times he called me before I finally blocked his number. He was nice, cute, funny, and I thought he liked me. I let my guard down and lesson fucking learned. I won’t be making that mistake again.
My panic is immediate, the threat very real, when I see Ben pushing through the crowded bar, headed my way.
My mind runs through my options. Ben is currently between me and the exit, so there’s no escaping that way.
I could hide in the bathroom. But I can’t stay in there all night, and I’m willing to bet he’d be waiting outside for me when I came out.
Even though he was the one who cheated, he’s been borderline stalking me, near desperate in his efforts to convince me to take him back.
There’s always the fire alarm…
My eyes scan for emergency exits, once again taking me right past him.
His eyes are on me, slightly narrowed, and it’s unsettling how intense his gaze is.
A wild idea pops into my mind, and I’m moving before I can really even think it through properly.
He sees me coming, watching me dart through the crowd. I get as close to him as I dare. Something about the guy just seems to radiate danger. But by the time I reach him, his eyes are once again elsewhere.
“Hi,” I say, brighter than I feel. Forcing myself not to take a step back when his eyes slide to meet mine. “Remember me?” I tilt my head rather adorably to the side. “The girl you owe an apology to?”
He arches a brow but doesn’t deny it—Doesn’t say anything, actually.
“I figured out how you can make it up to me,” I continue, since he is giving me absolutely nothing.
His head tilts ever so slightly to the side as he considers me.
“Is that so?” He speaks for the first time and, oh god, his voice.
Deep and dangerous with an intoxicatingly addictive lilt of an accent that I’m far too distracted to place.
It shakes my nerve, ignites my core, and I nod quickly—too quickly.
“Mhmm.”
He eyes me as if to say, Well, go on.
“I need a favor.”
“No.”
“I—no?” The rejection is so immediate I don’t know how to react, so I just freeze. Do I keep going or…
He just stares back at me as if he’s silently asking, And you’re still here because?
Wow. Amazing. Perfect. Love that for me. I’ll just go die of embarrassment now.
Too bad for him—I’m desperate. I chance a glance over my shoulder and spot Ben standing with Mia and Cassie, his gaze flicking between me and Mr. Miserable. I recognize the storm clouds brewing in his eyes.
“Listen.” I sigh, rubbing my hand down over my face, regrouping. “I know how this is going to sound, and I really don’t have time to explain—but could you, like… pretend to be my boyfriend for a second?”
“Just for a second,” I breathe out, almost desperately, before I give him a chance to answer. My eyes plead with him to say yes.
He leans in, studying my face, before dropping his eyes to run the length of my body. My breath catches under the intensity of it, my lungs forgetting how to work. I’m still breathless by the time his eyes find mine again and he leans back against the bar.
“No.”
“N-no?” I stutter out in shock, my cheeks burning now.
“No,” he repeats in confirmation before looking past me, resuming his casual surveillance of the club. A quiet dismissal. He offers no explanation and doesn’t even bother to look apologetic about it.
“Why?” I blurt out, unable to help myself.
His eyes widen for a fraction of a second as they snap back to me, as if surprised that anyone, especially me, would dare question his choices. But the surprise vanishes as quickly as it came, replaced by a glare so icy I shiver.
I shift uncomfortably on my feet, caught between my tattooed nightmare’s glare and the burn of my ex-boyfriend’s watchful gaze on the back of my neck.
“Please?” I try, one more time. “You don’t even have to do anything!
Just stand there and look boyfriend-y.” I wince when his gaze narrows further, because on what planet would this guy ever look ‘boyfriendy?’ “I’ll owe you one!
” I bat my eyelashes a few times and force a small smile, nodding to coax a yes out of him.
He tilts his head as if he’s actually considering the proposal before the ghost of a smile appears on his lips.
Sharp and fleeting, like he’s enjoying a private joke.
The sight of it gives me hope, even if it feels like I might be selling my soul to the devil to avoid my ex-boyfriend, but desperate times…
“No.”
Wow, he sure likes that word.
Heat rushes to my cheeks, humiliation snapping into anger at his repeat rejections. I release a small scream of frustration.
Reigning myself in, I take a deep breath, an unhinged level of calm falling over me.
“Fine. Fine. That’s—fine.” I thrust my thumb back over my shoulder.
“I’m gonna go. Enjoy being miserable, I guess.
” I roll my eyes, spin on my heel, and walk away from the asshole, flipping him off without so much as a backward glance.
Fuck. Him.