Page 2 of Not My Finest Hour

I giggle in response. “Shut up. You don’t know that.”

“What about that guy over there?” she says, pointing to a guy who looks like he just stepped out of a nineties Gap catalog.

“Come on,” I say, glaring at her. “You can’t be serious.”

She shrugs. “The nineties are coming back, you know.”

“Not that quickly.”

“Okay, okay. I’ll be serious this time. What about him over there?” Chelsea says, nodding toward the end of the bar. “He’s been looking this way all night.”

I follow her gaze and spot what could be Chris Evans’ doppelgänger leaning up against the bar. But a bearded Chris Evans, not clean-shaven. Toned body, dark hair, a bit of mischief in those eyes…I could go for some of that right now. “There’s no way he’s been looking this way all night. This is the first I’ve seen him.”

“That’s because you’ve been too busy talking to notice. I noticed for you, and I really think he’s into you.”

“How can you tell?”

“Because I thought he was into me, so I looked his way and tried to seduce him with my eyes. And he was having none of it. He couldn’t stop looking at you though. You should go talk to him.” She nudges my arm.

I hesitate, trying to decide if I want to have the whole getting-to-know-you conversation tonight, and decide that I don’t. “Nah. I’m really not feeling up to it. I’m just happy to be out having a good time with friends.”

“Yeah, and one of your friends has ditched you already. Come on,” she says, placing a kind hand on my arm. “You’ve been kinda down lately. You need something—or someone—in your life to cheer you up. Some flirting with a hot guy would do you some good.”

Depressed? Me? She can’t be serious. What could I have possibly done to insinuate that I’m depressed? “I haven’t been depressed. I think you’re reading too much into things.”

Her eyes soften. “It’s not just me. Lorelei sees it too.” She hesitates, her gaze dropping to the floor. “And your mother.”

“Mymother? When did you talk to her?”

“Last month when she had us all over for dinner.” I open my mouth to speak because I have a lot of questions, like when the hell was there time for my mother to voice her concerns for me? And why would she tell my friends that? But Chelsea holds her hand up, signaling that now’s not the time for such questions. “Your mother means well, but she’s concerned because you haven’t had a boyfriend since you-know-who. And you haven’t even had a casual date.”

“Maybe I’m done with men,” I say, not believing the words coming out of my own mouth.

She narrows her eyes. “I don’t think you are.”

“So you think I’m going to find my next boyfriend here in this bar?”

The truth is, Ihadsomeone who was really special, and I fully envisioned spending the rest of my life with him. Alain was everything I wanted in a boyfriend and then some. He was in the U.S. on a student visa, and I met him in college in my English composition class. He was studying to be a civil engineer, whereas I was majoring in marketing. The second he spoke and I heard that sexy French accent, I was hooked. We dated all throughout college, and the day after we graduated, he had to go back to France for a family emergency. He told me he’d return as soon as he could, and also hinted at a proposal since he said he would ask me an “important question” when he got back. But other than a text right before takeoff, I haven’t heard from him.

I made a lot of excuses for him. In fact, for the first six months, that’s all I did. I told everyone he’d be back soon, and that he and I talked daily so they wouldn’t be concerned. But after another six months went by, and then another with still no sign of him, I knew he was never coming back. A small part of me held out hope that someday he’d show up on my doorstep and have one hell of an apology cooked up. But it's been four years and clearly that’s not going to happen.

“That’s not what I’m saying. I’m saying that you can’t find someone if you don’t put yourself out there.”

Shedoeshave a point. “And what about you? I can’t leave you all by yourself.”

“You’d be doing me a favor. I’ve been eyeing that guy over there,” she says, pointing toward yet another guy. “And I can’t go after him until you leave.”

“Are you talking about the one who looks like a bodybuilder or the one that’s more like a beanpole?” The contrast between the two guys is staggering, although I can see the allure of both.

“Definitely the bodybuilder.” She runs her tongue over her bottom lip. “I wouldn’t mind him bench pressing me a few times.”

“I’ll leave you to it then. If I don’t hear from you the rest of the night, just be safe.”

“If I have my way, youdefinitelywon’t be hearing from me,” she says, throwing me a devilish wink. “I’ll check in with you tomorrow morning.”

Chelsea vacates the area, leaving me standing all by my lonesome. It doesn’t take long for Chris Evans’ twin to fill the void.

He props himself up on the bar with an elbow and faces me. It’s then that I notice he’s probably the most casually dressed person here. While everyone else is dressed to impress, he seems totally relaxed in the fitted, olive-colored T-shirt and jeans he’s wearing. I like it. It shows that he’s comfortable in his own skin. “Can I get you a drink?” When I nod, he asks, “What would you like?”

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