Page 5 of Shadows in Bloom

“Yes?” she prompts after a minute. She doesn’t pull away from my touch, even as my fingers splay wide over her tattoos.

“Rhett’s inside,” I say absentmindedly, not sure why I’m even bringing him up when she probably doesn’t know who I’m talking about.

“Shit, really?” She sounds genuinely surprised. “I thought he moved across the country.”

I smile at her, fingers still tracing the colorful art on her arms. “You remember him? And he did,” I answer after a moment.

Her brow arches comically high. “He’s pretty hard to forget. Besides, he was your friend. He is the one that got my number for you, if you recall.” I flush at the memory of being utterly fucking mortified when Rhett tossed the paper at me and told me Fiona said I was cute.

“You said I was cute.” I try not to sound pitiful, but Fiona laughs softly, her own fingers brushing over mine with a slight tremble.

“You say it like it’s a bad thing.”

“I’m thirty-two years old. Being cute isn’t quite the compliment you think it is.”

The heated stare she doubles down with makes my stomach flip. She grabs my hand and turns so my arm winds around her waist, twisted with hers. She pulls us flush together, her breasts pressed against my own, and I can’t fucking breathe.

We’re nearly the same height as we look into each other’s eyes, seeing shadows and darkness and trepidation amongst the pooling tendrils of something like untapped desire.

My lungs are stilted as Fiona leans forward, gaining another inch in height as she skims our noses together. I go a bit cross-eyed, but I can’t bring myself to look away, to even blink. Her mouth quirks at the corner, and the rare, unfamiliar flutter in my chest takes flight for the first time in years.

Fiona’s fingers tighten atop mine, nearly entwining. Her lips pucker, and I taste her breath as she whispers, “I promise you, Jamie, being cute is exactly what you want.”

My chest is rising and falling faster than ever, but I can’t feel it. My eyelids flutter closed when the tell-tale burning of my eyes becomes too much and my breath stutters.

Fiona must sense how overwhelmed I am because she steps back—but not before placing a soft kiss to my cheek. A whisper of touch before she’s gone, and the night air feels so much fucking colder.

Now painfully alone, I feel the rush of emotions swell, and I blink up at the night sky, fighting to keep the tears from falling. My nose twitches as it burns, so I focus on the clouds blocking the stars I wish I could see.

The self-loathing for who I am has diminished over the years, the thoughts my family beat into me no more than mere background noise in the tumultuous thoughts constantly swarming. And I wish I could blame that—blame them—but the truth is, I’m ashamed.

I’m fucking humiliated that I’m thirty-two fucking years old and have no idea how to even be who I am.

I just know I’ll do something wrong and embarrass myself, which will definitely humiliate Fiona because who the fuck even wants someone who’s fucking “shy”, as she so eloquently stated. She’ll be uncomfortable and won’t want to be around me, and then, it’ll all be fucked between us after that.

Ahand wraps around my bicep and yanks me forward. I stumble past some people who huff and grumble but move aside. I glance back with an apologetic grimace as Rhett rights me beside him.

“Where the fuck did you fuck off to?” he asks.

I huff and shove away from him. “You didn’t have to fucking manhandle me.”

“You were going in the wrong direction,” he deadpans. Dominik’s lips twitch with amusement.

“Whatever,” I grumble as I turn to face the stage. The final band is getting ready, so the chatter is even louder. And then, some country song plays through the speakers and everyone—including Dominik—starts belting out the lyrics, making me snort.

Rhett just stares at him, and if I didn’t know him like I do, I’d think he was thinking about eating Dominik piece by piece. My nose scrunches with a grimace. Actually, scratch that…

“I saw Fiona,” I tell him, needing to avert that train of thought right there. And I don’t exactly want to talk about Fiona and my… feelings or whatever, but it’s better than thinking about my best friend fucking his fiancé.

I shiver as I watch the people on the stage move instruments and unwind cords.

“No shit,” he huffs. I nod, lips curled inward over my teeth.

“Well, did you talk to her? Or were you too chicken shit?”

My head whips around. “Of course, I did, you fucking asshole.”

“Well, there you fuckin’ go.” But then, he smiles like he’s… proud of me, and my anger deflates in an instant.

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