Chapter 2
Friend Zone
Tasha
Thursday Night
“And that, my friends, is why you never agree to a joint bachelor and bachelorette party.”
I slam the empty shot glass onto the bar for emphasis.
The crowd goes wild at the fictionalization of my public humiliation. Not that they know the would-be bride was me.
And, crowd might be generous. More like three couples at the resort bar at nine o’clock on a Thursday night, feeling sorry for the single white female. Bitter? Not me.
“So,” one of the loved-up honeymooners says, “should we try to fix you up with someone?”
“I’m good.” Why do all newlyweds want the world to couple up?
“Let’s just say the only singles at this loved-up resort are those of the temporary, she just realized I snore, variety.
“ When they laugh along with me, I hope we can move on. Don’t they have honeymooning to do?
I was happy drinking alone and trying to read romance into my text history with Sebastian Castillo.
“Oh, rebound sex is the best sex,” another couple chimes in. “That’s how we met. My ex only stayed with me long enough to get a free feed at the reception.”
“I stopped you from throwing red wine over the woman he wanted to hook up with,” her husband continues. “And you decided to kiss me to make him jealous.”
“And eventually, I didn’t care whether he was watching or jealous. I just want to keep kissing you for the rest of my life.”
Cue barf. I mean, they are so cute together that I want to vomit up two years of rejection.
“I’m not going to be someone’s rebound,” I repeat. “The last thing I need is to hook up with a guy who calls out the wrong name at the right time.”
Cue laughter. See? Not one person here can see through my happy mask.
“So, what bridesmaid duties required you to get here early?” the first woman asks.
This, I can answer. “Perfecting my tan. Hour-long massages each day and prepare to un-Bridezilla the bride once she arrives.”
She laughs. “Sounds like you’ll have your hands full. How long have you known the happy couple?”
And this is where my mask becomes concrete.
“I’ve known them for years.” I pause to wave my hand over the glasses until the bartender nods his understanding. “They’re incredible together and deserve each other.” Because once a cheater, always a cheater. At least my cousin can’t say she wasn’t warned.
A collective sigh goes around the table.
“And the groom hasn’t tried to set you up with his wedding party?” Back to the happy honeymooner.
I laugh and count off my fingers. “One’s his cousin. One’s his brother. One’s his best friend of twenty years.”
“And?”
“I’ve known them almost as long as I’ve known him,” I say honestly. “And I can confidently say they’re completely off-limits, I’m not their type, or they’ve never noticed me.”
Brother. Gay cousin. Best friend who has me virtually chained to concrete footings in the dungeon otherwise known as friend zone. At least he’s noticed me? Just not in the ways that keep me warm at night.
“Weddings are about magic and love,” someone says dreamily. “Anything could happen.”
One by one, the couples drift back to their bungalows. And then it’s just the bar staff and me. Do I want another drink or an early night? My hand goes to my phone, maybe I should see if there’s a new text from Seb. You know, in case the girls are right and he’s arriving early.
“So,” a deep voice says behind me, close enough that I feel it before I process the words. “Which one am I?”
I freeze. The familiar voice. The familiar tingles that only hit me when he’s near. The guilt over spending countless nights fantasizing about the perfect man with his face, his body, his … everything.
Even though Lyssa said he was arriving early, I have a nanosecond to prepare. Do I turn in the dramatic, fancy seeing you here, or straighten my shoulders and pretend my pity party for one hasn’t been gate-crashed by my secret crush?
He shouldn’t be here. Everyone else is arriving Saturday before the rehearsal dinner. He’s early and should have warned me.
Sebastian Castillo is here.
“I’m not your ex’s brother, so I can’t be off-limits.” His voice is closer.
I don’t acknowledge Seb. Although, I wish the butterflies in my chest could calm down.
“I’m not gay, so you could be my type.”
Which leaves my third option: Seb’s never noticed me.
“You’ve only ever noticed me as a friend,” I say without turning.
Sebastian is never seen with the same woman twice, but they might as well be cut from the same cardboard cutout: statuesque models with disproportionately long legs, long, glossy hair, and plastic smiles.
No place for my average everything. Even my shoulder-length hair can’t decide if it’s mousy brown or slightly auburn.
“You’re right,” he says easily. “You are my best female friend.”
I blink. Wait. That stung more than it should.
“And I forgive you.” He smiles while I rack my brain for anything I’ve done that needs forgiving. “You made me almost fail algebra because I was too busy trying to make you laugh and learn than to study.”
“You got a B+.” Ask me to recite all his grades and I could. And for Natasha Forrest’s special topic for tonight’s quiz, all things Sebastian Castillo.
He steps closer. Too close. I feel the warmth of his breath at the back of my neck.
“Should have been an A except I got distracted by a beautiful woman.”
“What are you even doing here?” The curvy weight I gained before the wedding that never happened disappeared during my emotional healing.
My grandmother says I’m wasting away, but my mother says I’m healthy.
Will Seb notice? Should I care? “The bridal party isn’t supposed to arrive until the day of the rehearsal dinner. ”
“You said three options.” He ignores my attempt to change the subject.
“I’m none of those things and you are dead ass wrong if you think I haven’t noticed you.
Think about it, Tasha. From where I stand, you’ve been grieving for two years, and I wasn’t going to be the asshole who hit on you at our mutual friend’s wedding. Seemed like bad timing.”
He pauses a beat while I’m trying to lift my jaw up from the ground. “So when’s good timing, Tasha? Or is it because I’m not your type, and you were being too polite to tell strangers.”
His breath is so close. If I move back even an inch, his lips could be on my neck. I step forward and turn, reaching for my empty glass to buy time while I drink him in.
This man. This … man. Sebastian Castillo is aging like a fine wine.
Teenage Sebastian had been all limbs and awkward charm. The guy who fell off his surfboard but paddled back out all summer. Who quoted algebraic equations like they were Shakespeare’s sonnets, with patience to explain them to me in words of one syllable.
The almost-thirty-year-old version?
A masterpiece.
His frame finally fits his six-foot-three height, and I don’t know whether to thank water skiing or the gym.
“Tell me,” I say, grasping for normal conversation. “How can someone who couldn’t stand up on a surfboard become a champion water skier?”
His laugh bursts out, so genuine and unguarded that a little part of my protective wall thaws.
“Let me buy you a drink,” he says. “I might even tell you.”
“Oh, is that your pickup line?”
“Oh, baby, please,” he scoffs. “I don’t need pickup lines. Women come to me.”
He opens his arms.
“Really?” I pretend I’ve never had jealous thoughts of other women in his arms. Luckily, sarcasm is my super power. “Since you’ve determined you’re not my type, how on Earth am I supposed to resist the urge?”
“By telling me what it will take for me to be your type.”
I gulp. This is not happening. I count the two empty glasses with my lipstick on the rims. No. I’m not having a drunken blackout. I’m not imagining Seb Castillo sitting here accusing me of not being interested in him as more than a friend.
“You’d have to be tall, dark, and devastatingly handsome.” I tilt my head and sigh. “Shame you can’t do anything about your looks.”
“Being charming and ugly never let me down before.”
“I’d need to see evidence of self-deprecating humor,” I say, biting back a smile.
“Could I offer you the national anthem as you’ve never heard it sung before?”
“If it’s musical talent, I prefer the classics.” Holding a straight face, I sprout out the first seventies bands I can think of that Seb would hate. “You know, KISS, Sherbet, Air Supply.”
“I was made for loving you,” he banters back, staring into my eyes until I laugh and look away. “What? You don’t believe me?”
“I believe that isn’t your key. Perhaps you need to try something lower range?”
“Ah, I see your evil genius at work. You are trying to distract me from my brilliance, so I don’t ask you the tough questions.”
“Which are?”
“Why didn’t you tell me you were coming here three days early? We were talking flights last week. Why are you here early?” He stops his gushing, to ask softly, “Don’t tell me you’re that eager to see them marry?”
As if the last question is the only one that matters.
“You’d think so, right?” There’s a way to change the topic, but will he fall for the bait? “But instead of talking about the elephant in the room, let’s talk flamingos.”
His eyes immediately widen in shock. Yes, I went there. First mic drop moment to yours truly.
“Oh, crap.” He covers his face in mock shame. “I forgot all about that. You tried to con me into dressing up as a pink flamingo for a college party.”
And there he is. Sebastian the friend, not Sebastian the hot and single man I’d very much like to do terrible things to.
And here’s me, taking his attempt at flirting to lead him back into the friend zone. Is he interested in me as something more? Am I the problem? As Seb regales me with the thousand reasons why dressing up as a flamingo was a crazy ass suggestion, I take an emotional time out for self-reflection.
Maybe I’ve been sending out friend vibes all this time. Yes, I’ve been single since the wedding that never happened, but have I been single and ready to mingle, or keeping all men at arm’s length because I’m emotionally unavailable as anything more than friends?
“I think we all agreed, pink was never going to be your color,” I quickly assure him, deciding to self-analyse my dating status without an audience. “You were better as a ninja turtle.”
“At least I didn’t need to paint on my abs.” He laughs. “But seriously, three days early and you didn’t think to let me know?”
“I’m fine.” Damn, he’s not letting this go. “I’m happy they’re happy. They’ve moved on and I’m …” I want to say fine, again.
“Let me guess, you’re fine being bridesmaid and you haven’t once compared the blushing bride’s wedding prep to the one you had to cancel.”
“Ouch.”
“If you can’t be honest with yourself, at least be honest with me.” His smile takes away the sting. “Tell me you haven’t thought about changing the delivery date for the flowers, or mistakenly altered the color of the table decorations from hot pink to blush.”
“Or flamingo pink.”
“Nice try, but you will not distract me.” He says with the whole you will not pass vibe.
“Why do you care? Yes, we’ve been friends forever but you were Connor’s best man.”
“You’re right, all those years I’ve treated you as a friend because you made it very clear that’s all you wanted from me.
” Another pause. If he keeps looking like that, I’ll need written instructions on how to breathe.
“As for being Connor’s best man, consider it second time lucky.
But this is the first wedding I hope he goes through with. ”
Oh.
He pauses, takes a deep breath, and exhales. “Look, I know we’ve been hanging out with the group recently, but I avoided you after the breakup because I didn’t know how to face you. What Connor did was messed up. I felt guilty by association even though I didn’t know.”
“It wasn’t your fault.” They hid their affair in plain sight. “At least they came clean before going through with the wedding.”
Because canceling the wedding had been so much fun. How many times did I tell vendors, “the groom changed his mind” before I could say the words without choking up?
“I noticed they skipped joint bachelor and bachelorette parties this time.” Sebastian grins and shoulder bumps me as if we’re friends. “I wonder why?”
“Maybe she remembered that last time, he ran away with a guest.”
“And this time?”
“I’m here to make sure he doesn’t,” I say. “And to make sure she doesn’t change her mind. No one wants Connor back on the marriage market.” See? I can say his name without emotion.
His eyes flick over me. “Not even you?”
I don’t even fake the shudder. “Hell no.” I nod to the bartender. “A round of shots for me and my friend.”
“On my card,” Sebastian adds, sliding over black plastic.
“Then, keep them coming,” I say lightly.
“Until when?” the bartender asks.
I look Sebastian up and down, slow and deliberate.
“Until,” I pause for dramatic effect, “you start to look like you might be my type.”
Me to PosseChat: I’m not drunk
Me: but Seb is here
Lyssa: what
Jess: Yipyip
Olivia: be careful
Jess: make sure he walks you home
Lyssa: or carries you back to his bungalow
Lyssa changes group name to TashGetsLaid
Me: he’s just being nice
Tasha changes group name to GirlChat