Page 130 of Not That Into You

I don’t wear much makeup either, but when I was younger, I spent hours watching makeup tutorials on YouTube. I wanted to perfect the understated makeup look to appear as polished and pretty as my classmates. I also found I enjoyed playing with makeup and trying different looks. Not that anyone ever saw the different looks because I rarely wore them in public, but my smokey eye was the envy of many at prom.

I finish with black liquid liner and step back.

Yup. Still got it.

Smiling, I select a nude lipstick and run it over my lips.

“You look hot!”

I laugh. “Thanks, boo.”

Leaving the bathroom, I pause in the kitchen to slip on my shoes and grab the black clutch I borrowed from Hayley. She has a date tonight but was fully supportive of my surprise and sorry to miss the prep. She thought my gesture was “swoon-worthy.” When I asked if she expected Cameron to swoon, she rolled her eyes.

Claire gives me a hug. “I’m heading out. You look beautiful. Knock ‘em dead.”

I smile. “Will do.”

I take a few moments after Claire leaves to calm my nerves before heading out the door. But by the time I reach the hotel where the dinner’s being held, my confidence has withered, and I’m wondering whether I should just turn around and go home. I feel like an impostor and can’t shake the fear that someone will point at me and yell, “You don’t belong!”

Taking a deep breath, I walk into the venue and scan the crowd. There are more people than I expected standing in groups, drinking wine and cocktails.

Moving farther into the room, I debate whether to grab a drink before searching out Cameron. A shot of alcohol would be most welcome at the moment. I considered having a glass of wine while I was getting ready—Claire had even offered—but knowing my luck, I would’ve spilled the wine all over my dress and never made it out the door.

Which maybe wouldn’t have been such a bad thing.

I spot Mr. and Mrs. Stanhope and Archie, all deep in conversation with their respective clusters of people.

Wending and weaving my way through the crowd, I finally locate a familiar dirty blond head. His back is to me, and he’s talking to a small group of people. Judging by the smiles, Cameron’s laying on the charm.

A smile spreads across my face as I take a step forward at the same time someone turns and bumps into me.

“Oh, I’m so sorry!”

Giving the woman a tight smile, I thank whatever celestial being is watching over me for keeping me clear of her drink. Nodding at the woman, I turn and smooth down my dress before starting forward again.

And freeze.

Cameron’s group has shifted to make room for more people and, in the process, revealed he’s not alone.

I blink, trying to make sense of what I’m seeing. Cameron has his arm around another woman’s waist in a manner clearly meant to telegraph they’re together. The woman is wearing a maroon dress with a back cutout, and Cameron’s hand is resting on her bare skin with comfortable familiarity.

I can’t breathe.

The woman turns her head to laugh at something Cameron said, and it feels as if the wind has been knocked out of me.

It’s Vanessa. Cameron is here with Vanessa Threadstone.

I take a step back, my hand clutching my stomach.

I need air.

I need to leave.

Before I can turn around, Cameron looks over his shoulder to say something to a passing server and spots me, his eyes widening. Without waiting to see how he’ll react, I whip around and move as quickly as I can through the crowd, which suddenly seems full of people talking too loudly and gesturing too much, all with their backs turned toward me.

I knew I didn’t belong here. I knew I shouldn’t have come.

Gasping for air, I push past bodies that seem to appear out of nowhere, blocking my path, until I finally reach the lobby. I stumble off to the side until I’m leaning against a wall, swallowing down the tears threatening to surface.

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