Page 73 of No One But Us

“You want mybikini?” It would be a small price to make this conversation end, but I shudder at the thought. “It’s not your size.” I turn to walk away, but he grabs my arm again, this time managing to pull the bottoms from my hand. “Give them back,” Idemand.

He tucks them into his pants. “Come getit.”

You’d be a dead man if James knew you just did that. And then I remember it’s James’ fault that I’m in this position atall.

Would it really be the end of the world if his family knew? Would it be that much worse for him than it is for me now, forcing myself out of his bed in the middle of the night, listening to Ginny assure me he and Allison will get backtogether?

I’m used to coming second with my parents, to being an afterthought. But a small piece of me loved James, even as a small child, because I thought he’d be different. This is the first moment it’s occurred to me that maybe he’snot.

I turn and head to the front door. I’m angry at Martin. But I think I’m more angry, fair or not, withJames.

Chapter 43

JAMES

Elle isn’t likesome of the other waitresses. Ashleigh will flirt with anything with a pulse to get better tips. Elle is friendly, nothing more—and to most men she’s barely even that, as if she’s always expecting the worst from them. She makes her lack of interest clear, but the more her male customers have to drink, the less they seem to care about her interest level. I watch it happen night after night, and I’m unable to stop picturing the times this will happen next year, if she doesn’t get back together with Ryan—an idea that bothers me evenmore.

It’s 1 AM before the bar starts to clear. The remaining patrons are so tanked that they’re twice as difficult to manage, particularly the six guys Elle’s been waiting on since her shift began. Watching her with them is making me crazy. She’s clearing glasses, and one of them leans over to whisper in her ear. I picture her at frat parties, fending off douchebags like these. In a month she’ll be back at school, and I won’t be there to intervene. I picture Ryan being the one to save the day instead, and find myself slamming bottles down on the bar way harder than is necessary, or evenadvisable.

“They’ve moved on from pitchers to Jack and Coke,” she tells me, sliding the tray of empties onto the bar. “Never the wisestprogression.”

“What did he just say toyou?”

She rolls her eyes. “Nothing.”

“The next time they say ‘nothing’ to you, they’re going to find themselves launched from thebar.”

“Don’t do that. Those guys have a $300 tab, and I’ve earned thattip.”

“Then make sure they keep their hands tothemselves.”

She returns to the table with the drinks, and when she sets down the final one, that same douchebag from before tries to drag her into his lap. I see the way she stiffens, and I don’t even think. I’m out from behind the bar and pulling Elle behind me before I realize I’ve doneit.

“Get the fuck out,” I bark, grabbing the guy by the neck. “And you’d better hope I never run into you outside ofhere.”

“James,” Elle says, a quiet protest that Iignore.

One of the guys apologizes, and they stand to leave, which is when I realize Iwantedthem to fight. I wanted to hit someone until these images of her next year, with guys just like this, are out of my headentirely.

They throw money on the table, and it’s not until they’ve begun to slink away that I turn towardElle.

“I asked you not to intervene,” shesnaps.

She’s right, and yeah, feminism, blah blah blah, but I wouldn’t change a thing. “They left you atip.”

“Yeah,” she says stonily, counting the money. “It’s about a 40-percent tip, which I now feel like I extorted fromthem.”

“You earned it, dealing with thoseassholes.”

She blows out an exasperated breath. “They didn’t do anything, James. I deal with shit like that all thetime.”

“Yeah, well, you shouldn’t haveto.”

She laughs, but it’s not a happy sound. It’s weary and maybe even a little bitter. “Well, a lot of things shouldn’t be the way they are, but me wishing they were otherwise doesn’t make them so, doesit?”

She meets my eye, and for the smallest moment I see it, this thing she’s been hiding from me all summer. Pain. It hurts her that I want to hide this. It hurts her that I don’t care enough to continue this nextfall.

The truth is, I do care enough. But there’s no way I’m spending the next three years overseas, dating a 19 year old who’s still in college back home. It would never work, even if the situation with our parents didn’t exist. Letting an obsession with someone dictate your behavior always ends poorly. No matter how badly I want to, I won’t let Elle dictatemine.

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