Page 4 of Give Me a Chance
“Oh, you should join us! And bring your friends, the more the merrier. I’ll text you where we’re going.”
“Umm . . . Sure.”
I tell myself she didn’t give me enough time to think of an excuse, already getting up to leave. I tell myself she hasn’t left me any room to decline the offer politely, and it would be rude to do so.
I tell myself all that, if only not to acknowledge the fact I want to see Natalie again.
Even the anger I felt today, talking to her, is more emotion than I felt with the twenty-nine dates combined.
4
MATT
Amonth ago . . .
It’s been nine months.
Nine months of glaring and hostility towards each other. If our mutual hatred were a fetus, it’d be born by now.
And we are as careful and loving of it as we would be the baby. We nurture it, feed it, and take care of it as proud parents.
Since our two little friend groups were connected by Connor and Rina, we had a lot of chances to show it. Frequent drink nights together were marked by a fiery feeling in my stomach, a harsh set to my jaw, and drinking more than I usually do to feed the hate and distract myself from staring at her.
Then there was the BYC’s gala, which was a growth spurt to the hatred baby. The way I felt when I saw her in the champagne-colored dress was a stark contrast to the way I felt when I noticed she had a date.
Her toned leg peeked out from the high slit. Her delectable cleavage was trying to burst out of the sweetheart neckline, making blood rush to my groin. That same blood turned cold when a muscled, slimy looking guy put a hand around her waist.
“Sorry to say, but you could’ve done better,” she said to Connor when she realized I was his date. Zings like this were typical for us, but what wasn’t typical was the way I felt seeing her laugh with the airhead.
“Scraping the bottom of the barrel yourself?” I nod toward her date.
“Not sure what you’re implying, but Chad,” of course, his name was Chad, “is a fitness model.”
“Must be a riveting conversationalist.”
“Was that your word of the day? So cute when you try to use these big words.” She pats my shoulder, shooting me a fake smile.
Score one for her, I guess.
As luck would have it, I found myself seated directly across from her, being forced to look at her throughout the night. Different seating wouldn’t have made a difference, my eyes trained on her form, following her around the room.
The sole comfort I had was the fact that every smile she directed at him, every touch between them looked insincere, forced.
That didn’t stop my vision from turning red when he pressed a hand on her lower back when they left the gala together. The whiskey sliding down my throat did little to suffocate the building rage.
There was also Rina and Eric’s Christmas brunch, where Natalie made it clear I wasn’t wanted, but fortunately, she wasn’t the host.
I hadn’t expected to receive a Christmas present from her, but when I did, I barely contained my smile. An unwrapped, dusty, obviously re-gifted bottle of wine (that I notoriously don’t drink) made laughter bubble up in my chest. The passive-aggressiveness of it was almost thoughtful.
“Thanks, it’s my favorite,” I said, as Anne choked on a sip of eggnog.
Her expression was a challenge, but the honest smile I gave her earned me a glare. Lately, it seemed like she saved her glares specifically for me. Kind and joyful with everyone, I was the only one deserving of her mean side.
Not going to lie, it made me feel special in a way.
And tonight, it’s Rina and Connor’s engagement party.
As our hatred toward each other has grown, I learned a lot about Natalie—none of it good.
