Page 1 of One Wrong Move

Nate

I saw her first.

I’d just been given a not-so-subtle dressing down by my father. The head of the family and former CEO of Contron. Apparently, I’m not pulling my weight in the family company the way I should be.

Now, I’m sitting at the bar in the Village, drowning my sorrows in a gin and tonic. I haven’t been here before. It’s close to the university area, and the sound in the dimly lit locale is loud. Overflowing with laughter, drunken chatter, and music that has a pounding beat.

It makes me feel alive. Like I’m someone else for an hour or two—someone younger, someone idealistic and optimistic. Someone still in college.

I don’t often miss that time of my life. But right now I do. Sleeping in, slacking off, and studying. Sometimes.

I miss the cold air that shrouds Boston this time of year and the weighted blanket of low expectations that came with having the perfect older brother.

These days, life is all suits and boardrooms. I’m good with it, but it drains energy. Too often, I feel like I’m a battery that’s running on empty.

I take a sip of the drink and look around. Dean is still in the bathroom, having downed his third beer. It gives me plenty of time to people-watch.

A group of friends sit in a nearby booth, beer bottles on the tabletop in front of them. One of the guys is drinking what seems to be whiskey or scotch, and he scratches at the nonexistent beard on his chin.

My gaze slides over, along the tables at the back. Past the abandoned jukebox and the stage that must, on occasion, host live performers.

I see a girl sitting alone at a table.

There’s a halo of blonde curls around her face, falling just past her shoulders. A dark headband crowns the locks. She’s in an oversized cable-knit sweater with sleeves that are too long. One of them is pulled down over her hand, like she’s using it as a barrier to hold her cold beer. It looks untouched.

She glances around. Her eyes are alert and a bit pensive. A pointed chin, almost elfin, but there’s nothing doll-like about her face. Her skin is flushed, as if she just came in from the cold.

College student, I think. She has to be. Which makes her a decade younger than me, maybe more.

She glances up at the ceiling and cocks her head, just slightly, like she’s studying something intensely. I look up, but there’s nothing there. Just spotlights that have been dimmed to a low setting. Somewhere in the background, an old eighties rock song begins to play. The woman taps along with the tune, her free hand drumming against the worn wooden table.

I take a long sip of my gin and tonic. It feels pretentious, suddenly, to have a cocktail in a dingy college bar.

I wonder if she’s waiting for her date.

I wonder what her voice sounds like.

I wonder what her smile looks like.

And I wonder, looking at her across the crowded bar, if I’ll ever be able to forget the sight of her. The question seems outrageous at the moment. How could I?

I feel as if I’ve been struck.

Putting down the glass, I undo the button of my suit jacket. It feels all wrong now, too. Something that belongs to the man I am during the day, the man I’m expected to be, but not me. Not really.

I shrug out of it. Leaving it on the chair beside me, the chair Dean vacated, and move to rise out of my own. There’s no way I can leave here without at least saying hi to her. Without asking what she’s thinking about.

A hand lands on my upper back. “Don’t,” Dean says, “stop by the table with all the jocks on the way to the restroom. They’re so fucking riled up, I swear. They saw my suit and wanted to ask me about stocks. Couldn’t tell if they were joking or not, so I gave them terrible advice, just in case.”

I turn to him. “How noble.”

He grins and nudges my shoulder with his. “We have to teach the pups some manners.”

“And you’re the old dog in this scenario, are you? We’re not even thirty-five.”

“Oh, but we’ve been in the game a long time.” He leans against the bartop beside me. I’ve known him since college, a friend forged through too much alcohol, too little sleep, and endless anxiety about exams.

I glance over his shoulder at the girl.

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