by Emily Mayer
The lights were just bulbs suspended from the ceiling, casting a dim light over the whole space. A bar made of some dark material stood to one side of the club, directly across from a small elevated platform where a DJ was hard at work mixing music. To the right of the bar, farthest from the stage, were mazes of alcoves filled with black velvet couches in all different shapes. Closer to the stage was an open area where people were standing or dancing to the music. Paige pulled us toward one of the alcoves nestled into a corner near the stage. I saw Tamara and Jimmy seated around a small table. The seats around the table were broken into segments big enough to fit two people.
Tamara rose when she saw Paige and gave her a kiss on the cheek.
“Paige, you look gorgeous as always,” she said, then turned toward me. “Wow, Lennon, I didn’t recognize you. You look good.”
My ‘thank you’ sounded more like a question than a statement. Somehow Tamara had made her compliment sound more like a small dig at my usual appearance. Paige took the spot next to Jimmy, and Tamara returned to her seat next to a man who hadn’t bothered to glance up from his phone. I was impressed with how quiet it was in the alcove—it created a sense of privacy, but still let you see most of the club’s interior.
“Lennon, you remember Lia right? And this is her boyfriend, Craig,” Paige said, gesturing at the couple occupying one of the seats.
“Hi, it’s nice seeing you again Lia.” I gave a shy wave and fought to make eye contact. I fidgeted with the hem of my dress trying to cover the vast swaths of leg that had appeared when I sat down.
“Your dress is amazing, Lennon,” Lia said, giving me a warm smile. “You ladies need drinks.”
“Brett, baby, will you get us a bottle of that champagne I like so much?” Tamara cooed, leaning into the man who still had not looked up from his phone.
“Sure, babe,” Brett said, rising and heading toward the bar.
“We’re celebrating tonight. Brett’s character on All Our Days was going to die in a tragic car accident but the writers decided he was going to survive and have a secret baby!” Tamara informed us.
“Wow, that’s great, Tam.” Paige sounded genuinely happy for Brett’s survival and impending fatherhood. “Definitely calls for champagne.”
Brett reappeared without champagne and I was left wondering what I was supposed to do with my hands. I was the only one not wrapped around a significant other and it was starting to feel like a seventh-wheel situation. I silently reminded myself that Paige had invited me because she wanted me to be here. I took a deep breath and tried to catch the thread of conversation around our table.
A waiter showed up with a tray of glasses and bottle of champagne in a bucket of ice. He popped the cork and poured us each a glass before disappearing back into the crowd.
“All right everyone, let’s do a cheers picture,” Tamara instructed, holding her glass out toward the center of the table while the other held her phone. “Wait, should we wait for Sebastian, Paige?”
“No, that’s okay. He texted earlier saying he would be a little late,” Paige said, moving her glass toward the table. I followed their lead and waited patiently for Tamara to finish taking her pictures, just happy to have something to do.
She looked at her screen and then announced we needed a redo. “Lennon, can you take your glasses off for this one? They’re ruining the flow of the picture,” she asked with a hint of annoyance in her voice.
“Oh, uh, sure, sorry about that.” I reached up and slipped my glasses off.
The scene in front of me blurred slightly, but not before I caught Paige and Lia shooting disapproving looks at Tamara. She snapped a picture and then thanked me for being such a peach.
I smiled and returned my glasses to their perch on my nose. My glasses were the one thing I had refused to compromise on tonight. They were like my security blanket and I needed their comfort for this. I took a drink of champagne, loving the way the bubbles felt in my mouth. The buzz from the bottle of wine Paige and I had split earlier was wearing off at the same rate as my confidence.
I fought the urge to retreat inside myself and start reciting equations—that always calmed me down. Instead, I tried to remember what I knew about the people sitting at the table so I could come up with questions to ask them. Tamara was a model Paige had met on one of her modeling gigs, and she took some of Paige’s yoga classes now. Paige had met Lia through Tamara. Lia was a makeup artist and had a popular blog where she reviewed beauty products and gave tutorials. Craig was a total mystery—clearly the strong silent type.
“I think Sebastian is here,” Lia said, pointing with her champagne flute to where the crowd was parting.
“Yep, that’s him. Be right back.” Paige popped up and headed in the direction of the door. I had no idea who this Sebastian character was, but I was pretty sure Paige hadn’t mentioned him at all.
“Who is Sebastian?” I directed my question at Lia, since she was the one who had pointed him out and she was friendlier than Tamara.
“You don’t know who he is?” Lia’s eyes widened in disbelief. “Sebastian Kincaid?”
I followed her gaze to where Paige had pushed through the crowd to reach the man causing the commotion. His lips tugged to the side when he saw her approaching him.
It was possible that the right words to describe him didn’t exist. He was tall and lean, and everything about his movements screamed power and confidence. His dark jeans hugged powerful thighs and his T-shirt stretched tightly over muscles that made me a little light-headed. Even from this distance, I could see the tattoos covering both arms. His hair was so dark it almost looked black, and was rumpled in that just-rolled-out-of-bed way. Light stubble covered a square jaw that I previously believed existed only in magazines and my fantasies, and his cheekbones looked like they had been chiseled out of marble.
I watched, mesmerized, as he placed a hand on Paige’s lower back and walked toward our table. The closer he got the more I felt myself fidgeting in my seat.
“Hey guys, this is Sebastian. From my yoga class.” As Paige introduced him, she moved forward enough to allow his hand to drop away from her back.
Brett tore his gaze away from his phone for only the second time, and stood to offer Sebastian his hand. “Brett. I’m a big fan.”
I noted the small hesitation before Sebastian grasped his outstretched hand. “Nice to meet you, mate.”
My eyebrows rose in surprise at his British accent. It was deep and crisp and not at all what I was expecting. Craig popped up and greeted Sebastian enthusiastically, also making sure to declare that he was a big fan. I filed that information away for later.
Any other time, I would have been curious about the reaction of the two men in the group, who had been largely silent until the arrival of Sebastian. But right now my nerves were winning out over any curiosity I had about the scene unfolding in front of me, and I forced myself to pay attention to the man whose presence seemed to take up the entire space. He triaged the scene, his eyes darting over the small group clustered around the table. I followed their track. I saw the moment his gaze hit the empty spot next to Jimmy, then swept the rest of the table. His small smile faltered as it landed on the other empty spot—beside me—and his eyes bounced back to Paige. He looked slightly unsure, mirroring a little of the uncertainty I was feeling.
“You remember Tamara and Lia from yoga,” Paige added brightly, slipping back into her spot next to Jimmy. “And this is my friend Lennon. She lives down the hall from me.”
No. No. No. No. No. I tried to swallow the rising panic. This was a set-up. Sebastian had clearly come to the same conclusion, and his careful smile had slipped to something that looked wary and slightly feral. His gaze traveled over me and I felt a blush spreading through me like a wildfire. Instinctively, I adjusted my glasses and glanced around for the nearest exit before turning my eyes back to him. I gave him what I hoped was a smile, but felt more like a grimace.
“It’s nice to meet you, Sebastian.�
� I scooted farther across the seat to make room for him, clinging to my champagne flute like it was a life raft. “You have a British accent.”
I closed my eyes, letting the full stupidity of that comment sink in. I felt a dip in the seat and then a distinctly masculine smell invaded my space. I opened my eyes and trained them on his knees.
“You’re very observant,” he said, his voice too flat for me to determine if that was an insult or joke, or something else I wasn’t socially competent enough to understand. Either way, my hands had started to sweat and my heart was beating erratically in my chest.
“Lennon is an aerospace engineer for Spatium,” Paige pointed out, as if that explained my oh-so-observant comment.
I shot her a pleading look. I didn’t want to do this. I wanted to step out of my comfort zone, not demolish it with a wrecking ball. Paige just gave me an encouraging smile. I looked away and focused on the muscle twitching in Sebastian’s jaw instead. There are forty-three muscles in the human face, but the exact number of muscles used to smile or frown is unknown. I resisted the urge to rub the tiny portion of scar peeking out from my cleavage.
“Sebastian plays for the Novas,” Paige prompted, as if that would solve everything for me.
I scrunched my nose in confusion.
“The Novas? I don’t know what that is.” The words slipped past my lips before I could think better of it. Everyone in the group reacted like I had just committed the very worst of the seven deadly sins; Brett actually gasped. Realizing my error, I did my best to retract my question while focusing on one corner of the table.
“I mean, unless you’re talking about supernovas, as in the explosion of a star. It’s actually a common misconception that supernovas only occur at the end of a star’s life cycle. They can also occur when one star in a binary system steals too much matter from its companion star. The excess mass results in an explosion. I know a lot about those types of supernovas, but obviously, you can’t really play for a cosmic supernova,” I added helpfully, finally lifting my eyes away from the table to survey the group.
My face turned the color of a boiled lobster as I took in the shocked expressions of the people around me. They were all looking at me like I was from some distant galaxy where supernovas were actually visible simultaneous to the event. Even Paige looked a little dazed by my minilecture. It took her several long blinks before she laughed a little too enthusiastically.
“And that’s why I always make sure Lennon is on my team for trivia night!”
Fact: Paige and I had never once played any type of trivia, let alone on a team. Additional fact: I am very good at trivia games, but not so good at lying. I looked at Paige, trying to determine if I should provide more information about our fake trivia team. She widened her eyes and gave an almost imperceptible shake of her head like she could read my mind.
Craig looked at me and spoke very slowly, like I was a small child on the verge of a tantrum. “The Novas are LA’s professional soccer team.” He emphasized professional. “He’s the captain of the team. Led Manchester United to two championships before coming here. He’s kind of a big deal.”
I nodded my head and slid my gaze toward the big deal sitting next to me. Sebastian Kincaid, leader of soccer teams on two continents, was looking at me like I had sprouted two more heads since he’d sat down.
He scrubbed his face with both large, perfectly formed hands. I could almost imagine the rough sound his hands would make traveling over the light dusting of hair. A loud sigh startled me, abruptly dragging me back to the real world. That sigh was like a shot straight to my chest, an actual ache forming just under my ribs. I felt myself deflating like a balloon with a hole in it. I looked down, blinking back tears.
We sat in uncomfortable silence for a beat before Brett and Craig began monopolizing Sebastian’s attention. Lia and Tamara managed to interject a comment here or there, and Paige kept trying in vain to turn his attention back to me. I felt like the companion star in a binary system whose mass was being stolen by the other star, just waiting to have my existence stamped out completely.
7.
It had been fifteen minutes since Sebastian had excused himself to get a drink. Exactly nine hundred seconds. The first five or so minutes had passed in reasonably mild awkwardness; Paige gave me a pep talk and everyone else pretended I didn’t exist. Lia gave me a sympathetic smile but didn’t seem to know what to say. Ten minutes in, I realized Sebastian had ditched our group: There was no way such a “big deal” would have to wait ten minutes to be served a drink. The last five minutes passed with excruciating awkwardness—at least for me. Then the questions started about what could be taking Sebastian so long.
I caught a whispered exchange between Lia and Tamara followed by Lia darting a furtive glance behind her. My eyes followed hers to the bar. Sebastian was chatting up a pretty blonde who was leaning into him, stroking his arm with her free hand. He took a sip of beer before leaning in even closer to speak into her ear. She shoved his chest and laughed. As if that display wasn’t enough, two more women joined the blonde, seeming equally unaware of the rules governing personal space.
In what I can only assume was an unconscious self-preservation effort, my brain started to wander. I thought about how the bubbles in champagne were just chemical reactions aided by the tiny fibers left behind on the glass by towels or dust. I glanced over to where Sebastian was standing and saw that one of the hands I’d been admiring earlier had found a home on the hip of yet another new addition to the group. What did you call a group of beautiful women who seemed to orbit around the gravitational pull of an equally beautiful man? A harem was a close fit, but not quite right. A group of geese was a gaggle. My mind kept wanting to settle on a murder, commonly used in reference to a group of crows and also the best way to describe how I was feeling at the moment.
While I could logically explain the phenomenon of bubbles in a glass of champagne, I was unable to come up with any sort of reasonable explanation for the discomfort I was experiencing as I watched Sebastian with those women. I tried to convince myself that what I felt was simply the sting of being passed over for someone—or someones—deemed more desirable, combined with the fact that there were people present to witness the slight. Or maybe it was my frustration over being the socially awkward one in a group of people who seemed to so easily manage human interactions.
But none of the explanations I came up with rang true.
I pushed up out of my seat just as the lips of the original blonde groupie made contact with Sebastian’s neck.
“I’m just going to the bathroom,” I said, hitching my thumb over my shoulder toward the only hallway visible. I didn’t care if it led to a secret dungeon, as long as it took me away from here.
“I’ll go with you.” Paige started to stand, a concerned frown tugging down her mouth.
“No, no. I’ll be right back. You have fun. Drink some more champagne.” I barely finished my sentence before turning and walking away. I released the breath I had been holding once I was sure Paige hadn’t followed me, then put my head down and started weaving through people.
I didn’t look up until I was safely through the door labeled with a sparkly silver L. The bathroom was occupied by only a few girls reapplying lipstick, so I had no problem finding an empty stall to hide—er… pee in.
The cold plastic on my butt might have been the saddest feeling I had ever experienced. I covered my hands with my face and tried to pull myself together, aware that there was definitely a point of no return when it came to crying. There was a threshold, and once you reached it there was no way to stop the tears—a threshold I was getting dangerously close to in this stall. I tried some of the deep breathing techniques I’d learned in yoga in an attempt to re-center my aura or something. It didn’t escape my notice that there was an alarming correlation between me putting myself out there and me ending up crying in a public bathroom. I let out one more watery sigh before exiting the safety of my stall.
Th
e person staring back at me in the brightly lit mirrors above the sink made me a little nauseated. What was I even doing? I hated, hated, the version of Lennon I saw looking back at me. This person had given other people the power to determine her self-worth and looked heartbroken that she had somehow been found lacking. I promised myself a long time ago that I would never give anyone else that power, and for the most part, I had kept that vow.
I straightened my spine. Okay, objectively this night was a failure. A huge dumpster fire of a disaster. But it wasn’t the worst thing to ever happen to me. Not by a long shot. These people didn’t like me, but so what? I had friends who really knew me and thought I was great. I might only have a handful, but the ones I did have were amazing. I had my dream job, and I was good at it. I knew my own worth.
Sebastian Kincaid might be a god among men on the soccer field (and, okay, everywhere he went because he also looked like a god), but I helped build rocket ships! And satellites! If he thought I wasn’t even worth trying to get to know, it was his loss. I was just fine before I knew he existed, and I would be just fine after. While he was definitely the most attractive man I had met in real life, physical attributes were never the most important part of a person. It had just made the sting of his obvious dismissal of me as a potential new friend or more even worse, that’s all it was. There were other fish in the sea. Less shiny, physically spectacular fish but still—lots and lots of fish who wouldn’t mind meeting a less-than-socially-gifted fish who knew about things like exploding stars and the finer points of propulsion system design.
Decision made, I finished drying my hands and pulled my phone out of my purse to order a ride before leaving the restroom. Against my will, my eyes traced the line of the bar searching for Sebastian. Apparently I was still a glutton for punishment despite the conversation with myself in the bathroom. When I couldn’t find him at the bar, I reminded myself that, regardless of whether he was back at our table or had left with one of the beautiful women surrounding him earlier, I was not interested in getting to know him.