Page 113 of Never Have I Ever

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He grins and leads us to the bar. Aiden sees me once again, and his eyes travel from me to the guy, his brows furrowed, but I look away from him and turn to the guy beside me.

“I’m Rosalie, by the way,” I tell him, sitting on the stool.

He smiles again, his pure white teeth flashing at me. “Andrew,” he says. “What would you like to drink?”

“A margarita is fine.” Everything reminds me of Grayson. The first time he brought me here and bought me a drink. A margarita. He let me get drunk and carried me home. God, I miss him.

He nods and turns to Aiden, who I’m avoiding glancing at. “A margarita for the girl and a scotch on the rocks for me.”

I see from my peripheral Aiden dipping his chin and moving away to make the drinks, sliding them over to us when he’s done. He doesn’t say a word, which I appreciate. It might be a little too early to move on, but I have to try. I don’t need to kiss him or even like him. I just need to talk to other guys.

“Thank you,” I say, taking a sip of my drink as ice sloshes around in his.

“My pleasure,” he says, grinning and looking down my body.

What do I even say to him? Do we have to do small talk? God, I hate small talk. It was so easy speaking to Grayson. I didn't have any first-date jitters. I never felt like I ever had to impress him.

I didn't have anything to be scared of. He always made me feel comfortable and like there was nothing to be ashamed of. So why can't I talk to this guy?

We sit in silence as we sip our drinks, and I try to think of what I can talk to him about. But before I can open my mouth, he stands from the stool and holds out his hand. “Will you dance with me?” he asks.

“Uh…”

He shakes his head. “I couldn’t keep my eyes off you earlier, and I’d love to be the person you were dancing with instead.”

That sounds almost… sweet. I nod. At least dancing doesn’t warrant talking. “Sure. I’d love to.” I say, taking a final sip of my drink and standing up, taking his hand.

The music changes to a slow song as we head to the middle of the bar, and he puts his hands on my waist. I drift mine up to his neck, giving him a tight-lipped smile. This feels so wrong. It shouldn’t be his skin under my hands. It shouldn’t be his neck I’m holding on to. It shouldn’t be his hands on my waist.

But I lean in, dropping my head on his shoulder as he tightens his hold on me. I close my eyes, imagining it’s Grayson. My friends probably wouldn’t approve of that, but it’s the only way I can stomach being here right now.

I imagine it’s Grayson’s hands on me, I imagine it’s his neck I’m holding onto, I imagine it’s his dark hair that I tangle my fingers in, I imagine it’s his dark eyes I’m looking into. Oh shit.

It is.

My eyes are staring into Grayson’s. I’m looking at Grayson. He’s staring back at me with his jaw clenched, and his eyes are darkened, fire burning in them.

I gulp and hold onto Andrew as we continue staring at each other, none of us daring to break eye contact.

Why is he looking at me? Why is he here? Is he going to pick some girl up and bring her back to his bed? The bed where he took my virginity. The bed where we slept together. The bed where I wrapped my arms around him.

No way. I spin us so I’m no longer staring at Grayson, and I continue dancing with Andrew.

38

Does this song ever end?

Grayson

What the fuck is she doing with that guy?

I shouldn’t be asking that, and I definitely shouldn’t be imagining all the ways I can break that asshole's face. I was the one who ended it with her. I was the one who couldn’t tell her the words she wanted to hear. I was the one who said we never happened.

Which is complete bullshit. We happened, and we were fucking good. I shouldn’t have said that to her, and I shouldn’t have ended it. But hearing her say those words to me with her sweet, breathy voice on the brink of tears as she begged me to love her back, I couldn’t do it.

The reality is I like her a lot, so fucking much, but what she wants from me, I can’t give her. No matter how much she thinks she loves me. She doesn’t, and she’ll understand that sooner or later. She’ll know what I did was for the best, and then she’ll forget all about me and move on.

Hell, she might even take that asshole home tonight and get over me by getting under him. I hate the thought of that, but she’s not mine anymore. No, she was never mine, to begin with.