Page 38 of No One But Us

“I don’t understand how you ever could have been with someone like that.”

“You’ve seen her at her absolute worst. To be honest, I never dreamed she could be as awful as she’s been the past 24 hours. I feel like I don’t even know her. But I haven’t been into it, I think, all year. I wanted to be, because everyone loved her and because it was all so easy, but I just wasn’t.”

“I get the whole thing about trying to make something work, but—all year?” I ask. “How could you have gone with it that long?”

“The problem is everything at school sucked—going to class, studying, being with her. I couldn’t separate it all out. I don’t think I had any idea how bad it was until I got here.”

“You just needed time apart?” I ask.

He shrugs. “I realized it wasn’t fair to her. I’d forgotten how it was possible to feel about someone, what it was like to really…crave something, instead of just accept the things you have.” He glances up at me suddenly as if he’s said too much.

“Is that why you’re not showering?” I ask with a smile. “So she won’t feel like it’s such a loss?”

He grins. “Maybe? I hadn’t really thought it through, but yeah, I guess this is the first time in my life I’ve gone more than two days in the same clothes.”

“She may be a keeper if she’s willing to put up with you looking like that.”

“So you’d have kicked me to the curb?” he asks.

I look over at him, tan and shirtless and unshaven, and before I can pull it back, I just tell him the truth. “No,” I say softly.

Our eyes hold, and I swear I see him shudder in response.

* * *

James has made reservations at a small Italian restaurant I’ve never heard of for Ginny’s birthday. Apparently lots of other people have heard about it though, because he had to call in a few favors to get a table. He, Allison, and Max head there early to set things up, leaving Ginny and me alone for the first time since this morning.

If it weren’t her birthday, I’d say something about what happened, but I decide to let it go. She, oddly enough, is the one who seems to be holding a grudge. The whole time we’re getting ready, she’s giving me sidelong glances the way strangers do when I’m with my mom. Only there’s no admiration in the looks she’s sending my way.

I put on one of the new dresses I bought for my summer in the city: white, completely backless, held together by two clear straps that are practically invisible. A dress my mother talked me into buying. At the time I was horrified. Now, primed to put Allison in her place, I’m grateful. Since my mom is apparently an expert at stealing men, maybe just this once her advice will turn out worthwhile.

I am, however, regretting the strappy gold sandals she convinced me to purchase. If I’d known I was going to have to walk six fast blocks to the restaurant, I might have chosen something else.

“Ginny, I can’t keep you with you in these things,” I complain.

“Maybe you shouldn’t have worn them,” she snipes. “I wish you hadn’t worn the whole outfit, if we’re being honest.”

“What’s wrong with it?”

“Has it ever occurred to you that maybe I don’t want to spend my birthday standing beside someone who’s eight inches taller?”

I stop. “Are you saying you don’t want me to come because I’m taller than you?”

Her jaw shifts. “No, I’m just saying I don’t understand why you need to wear heels on top of everything else.”

“I don’t even like being this tall. You know that. It rules out, like, half of all available men.”

“Max and James are both tall,” she says with a bite to her tone.

Her irritation makes no sense to me, but it’s not as if that sharpness in her voice is a novelty. It’s been there, to some degree, ever since Allison arrived.

We finish our walk to the restaurant in silence and are ushered onto the back brick patio. Ginny goes off to greet her guests and help Allison, who appears to be swanning about, spreading shit on the table, and I am left face to face with James, the mere sight of whom makes me feel slightly weak-kneed. In khaki pants and a collared shirt with the sleeves rolled up, he is the single best-looking man I’ve ever seen in my life. The sea blue of his shirt stands out against his tan, against the gold flecks in his hair, the warmth of his eyes. A warmth that changes once they lock on me.

“Wow,” says Max, walking up beside him. “That dress is…holy shit. I think you’re actually even hotter than your mom.”

“How is that dress even staying up?” James asks, his voice tense with displeasure.

Max elbows him. “Stop being a dick, dude. Tell her she looks nice.”