Page 28 of A Love That Broke Us
“Fine, be a gentleman,” I reply with a smile. “I won’t argue that.” I push the door open, run to the garage, and enter the code. As soon as it’s high enough to slip under, I bolt for the door and slip inside.
The New Year’sEve party is in full swing. The theme this year? The Great Gatsby. Once again, my trusty little black dress came in handy, and Stella worked her magic on my hair—finger waves, a flapper headband, the whole nine yards. She’s a magician with hair, and honestly, the only reason I look even half as put-together as this glamorous rooftop bar.
The decorations are straight out of a movie: a bold balloon installation cascading from the ceiling, feather centerpieces, a sparkling dance floor. Live jazz music fills the room, and cocktail waitresses in fringe dresses carry trays of champagne.
My eyes briefly catch Leo across the room, chatting up a gorgeous brunette. He’s charming her, no doubt, with the same effortless ease Matt uses on women. In fact, they’re so similar I can’t believe I ever prejudged Matt. A small grin tugs at my lips as my thoughts shift to Jensen. He’s so different from them. He wants to settle down. He wants a family. The same things I hope for.
I take a slow sip of my beer—the one I plan to nurse all night—and walk across the room to the windows that overlook the river. I never tire of this view.
A moment later, Adam and Michael make their way over.
“What are you doing over here all by yourself?” Michael asks.
“Stella went to talk to a friend, so I figured I’d take in the city while I waited. I forget how beautifulit is at night.”
Adam chuckles. “Even better when you actually know what you’re looking at.”
I turn to him, brows furrowing. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
His eyes flicker with amusement as he nudges Michael. “Do you remember when we took her on the architecture riverboat tour?”
My stomach drops. “Shut up. I already know what you’re going to say.” I turn fully toward Adam just as Michael bursts into laughter.
“Art Deco?” he laughs, harder now, Adam joining in.
Michael and Adam took me on an architecture riverboat tour when I was seventeen. They talked a lot about the design, structure, and history of the buildings.Art Decokept coming up, and finally, I turned to them and asked, “Who’s Art Deco, and why do they keep talking about him?”
They both lost it—laughed for hours—and never let me forget it.
“Hey,” I say in teasing defense. “At least I learned something that day. And at least it was you two, not years later on a date or something. It could’ve been so much worse.”
We all laugh together, an old familiarity settling in. I really love New York, but sometimes I miss these kinds of moments. The ones with the people I grew up with, who helped shape me—who remind me of who I used to be, and how far I’ve come.
Michael glances at his phone. “Excuse me, guys. I’ll be right back.” He shuffles off, leaving Adam and me alone.
Adam’s gaze lingers on mine, his smile reaching his eyes. “It’s good to see you, Alley Cat.”
I groan. “Oh God, are youstillcalling me that?”
“Seems like you’re still answering to it,” he teases as I playfully shove him.
“You’re such a jerk.” I roll my eyes. “I can’t believe I ever liked you.”
He chuckles. “Ah, but you did. Remember when I found your notebook?”
“Please. Don’t remind me,” I say, burying my face in my hands.
A smirk tugs at his lips as he takes a sip of his drink. “It was cute.”
I had a crush on Adam for as long as I can remember. He moved across the street when he and Michael were in fifth grade. By thetime they were seniors and I was in seventh, that crush had spiraled into an obsessive infatuation. I scribbled my name with his last name on every notebook I owned—Alley Iverson. It was pathetic. But it was harmless… until I left one of those notebooks out and he found it. He teased me for an entire year, and it honestly made me hate him a little.
If by hate, I meanlove.
Because let’s be real—middle school crushes don’t die easily. But to him, I was always just Michael’s little sister—until Michael’s thirtieth birthday party.
“Cute? And what about you? What about when you got drunk and kissed me two years ago?”
The look of shock on his face is both satisfying and a little embarrassing. “Didn’t see that one coming, did ya?” I stick my tongue out—because, yes, I still fight like I’m twelve. And he started it.
