Page 9 of The Love You Win

No, thanks.

“Are you ready for this?” Nevaeh peers back at me from the driver’s seat. They insisted on taking me to the restaurant. Apparently, they didn’t trust me to drive myself. They said I would be more likely to take my e-reader and park in some random parking lot and pretend to go on the date than actually show up at this place.

For the record, I wasn’t planning on doing that.

I was going to read on my phone.

“I think I have the bubonic plague.” I dab at my tear ducts. “Am I crying blood yet? Pretty sure that’s one of the symptoms.”

“Oh, for the love of Chris Hemsworth.” Jess must really be irritated if she’s invoking her sex god’s name. It’s a silly thing she started back in college, and it’s stuck. She climbs out of the passenger seat, opens my door, and drags me out by my wrists. “Get your gorgeous butt in there and let yourself have some fun for once.” She cocks her head to the side. “You remember what that is, right? Fun?”

Rolling my eyes, I let my head fall back. I say a little prayer to Chris that the sky will open up and swallow me whole. He doesn’t answer. “Yes. Fun. Because all of this screams Isla’s idea of fun.”

“If you stop being so uptight, maybe the night will end in some fun screaming.” She waggles her eyebrows at me.

“Sure.” Listen, I’m happy with how I look today. My hair falls in sleek, shiny waves around my shoulders and down to my mid back. My makeup is perfect thanks to my friends, and this dress does wonders for my body. I feel beautiful.

But I’m not the kind of woman men like Maddox Graves go for. I’m not supermodel tall and leggy. I’m petite and a little too curvy outside of my flat butt. My face is pretty, but there’s nothing all that special about my features. I’m the girl you date in high school. The one you think back on fondly and wonder where she is and what she’s doing when you hit the end of your thirties. I’m not the woman you plan your dreams around. And if you do, one day you wake up and realize you could do better, and you call those plans off.

“Hey.” Jess gives my hand a quick squeeze. “It’s just a date. Let yourself have fun. Give him a chance. But if it’s terrible, walk.”

“But you guys paid so much money…”

“To help you get out of your head. Not to force you into spending an entire night with a guy if he’s an asshole. Get your selfie, pretend you had fun, then bolt if you want.”

My chest deflates, and some of the anxiety that’s been giving me heartburn all day eases. “You guys really wouldn’t be mad?”

“No way,” Nevaeh says from the car. “But you owe it to yourself to give it a genuine chance. Promise?”

“Promise.” I can do that. I can give this a chance. Who knows, maybe it’ll be fun, even though it’s never going to lead to anything. And you know what? That’s okay. This could be the start of a new Isla. One that can be flirty and casual and not care what a guy thinks about her or whether he could see her being the one.

“Good. Now get in there and make a hockey player fall for you.”

My spine straightens and I stick out my boobs a bit. I’m under no delusions that he’ll fall for me, but wouldn’t it be fun if he wanted me a little? “Keep your phones on you?”

“Always,” Jess promises. She hugs me before pushing me toward the double doors leading into the restaurant. A mama bird shoving her baby out of the nest.

“Have fun,” Nevaeh calls. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!”

Considering she once slept with a waiter in a restaurant’s walk-in cooler, that’s not promising much. I give them both one last wave, suck in a deep breath, square my shoulders, and head inside.

“Good evening.” A pretty young woman greets me from a large mahogany hostess stand. “Do you have a reservation?”

I could say no and bolt. Except Jess and Nevaeh are still sitting in their car out front, idling at the curb. They give me little waves that say they know exactly what I was just thinking. Sucking in a deep breath, I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. “Uh, yeah. Hi, my name is Isla Harding. I’m supposed to be meeting?—”

“Oh, of course!” The hostess’s eyes light up. “I know exactly who you are. Right this way, Miss Harding.” She extends a hand, gesturing for me to follow her. It feels like every eye in the room is on me as we wend our way around candle-lit tables and shoulder-height walls that create private little dining nooks. It’s stunning.

I don’t belong here.

“I hope you don’t mind, but I just have to say that I am so jealous of you right now. Mr. Graves is already seated, and ohmygod, he’s even better looking in person.”

There’s supposed to be a smile on my face, but I have a feeling it looks more like a grimace. “Uh, yeah. It’s crazy.”

The hostess glances back at me and gives me an encouraging smile. “You’re going to have so much fun. Anything you need, just ask. My name is Kacey.”

Can you bring me a Xanax? Because I’m pretty sure I’m about to have a panic attack.

“Thanks, Kacey. I appreciate that.”

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