Page 8 of Every Broken Piece

Chapter eight

Tess

“ Y ou know Conor likes you, right?”

Amelia’s lounging on my bed, watching me attempt to swipe mascara on my lashes.

She arrived on my doorstep an hour ago and declared we were going out.

So even though I had a whole night planned with the latest popular romantasy book, hot chocolate with peppermint shavings, and my favorite blanket, I didn’t argue.

I’m an introvert.

I know I’m an introvert.

I enjoy being an introvert.

More importantly, it’s safe to be an introvert. There are reasons I don’t go out much. My home is my sanctuary, my safe space. No one can find me here. No one can bother me. At least I hope not. But even I realize it’s not healthy to hide behind the walls of my apartment all the time.

And sometimes I crave the connection to other people.

Even knowing all that I’m mourning the quiet night I’m leaving behind for a loud bar packed with people.

“He does not,” I say as I swipe on one more layer of mascara then step back and scrutinize my lashes.

Mascara and a little bit of blush, followed by lip gloss is about the most makeup I ever do and I’m happy with tonight’s results.

It’s not like I’m going to pick up men. I’m going because I need to be social.

I’m comfortable with my little friend group but anything more than that and I tend to fade into the woodwork. By choice.

“Don’t you see him watching you all the time? Not in a creepy way,” she hastily adds because that sounded really creepy. “But in a mooning way.”

I snort at the word mooning.

“You don’t get how attractive you are, Tess. You could probably have any guy you wanted.”

“I don’t want a guy.”

“So you always say. That’s not natural.” She pauses. “Unless you’re into girls?”

“Geez, Amelia. No. I’m not into girls.”

I’m not into relationships. No. That’s not true. I want a relationship. I want the swoony feeling of knowing someone is there for you. I can’t have a relationship.

The baggage I’d bring isn’t worth it. Long ago I resigned myself to my single status. It’s simpler that way. Safer. And while it sometimes makes me sad, and sometimes I’m lonely for that one person who just gets me, it’s for the best.

“Would you go out with him if he asked?”

I drop my lip gloss into my small wristlet. “What are we in grade school? Did he ask you to ask me out for him?”

She shrugs and I gape. “He did! We’re almost thirty years old, Amelia. We don’t do this stuff anymore.”

“You make him nervous.”

I roll my eyes. “Let’s go.”

Amelia has a tight group of friends that have accepted me into their fold.

I guess they’re my group of friends too.

Having friends is tricky for me. I try to keep them at arm’s length because becoming my friend can lead to complications.

Just like becoming someone’s girlfriend can lead to complications.

Basically, any close association brings a risk of. ..consequences.

But Amelia never takes no for an answer and for some reason she decided long ago that I was going to be her friend, and her friends were going to be my friends, and she burst through the walls I’d started building when I was too young to know I was building walls.

So far nothing bad has happened because of our friendship, but I’m always holding my breath, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“Would you give Conor a chance?” she asks as we leave my apartment building.

“Amelia.” She’s tried hooking me up with friends of hers before. Once with her brother. That had been a hard no. Not that he’s not a great guy, but I refuse to become a romance trope by dating my best friend’s brother.

The Uber pulls up and she opens the door after confirming the license plate. “I don’t understand you. All my single, thirty-year-old friends are dying to find ‘the one’”—she makes air quotes—"and get married. You could care less.”

I try not to wince because I do care. I care a lot. But I’ve learned to push that particular desire away. I can’t bring an innocent person into my life because my life isn’t innocent. It’s dirty and ugly and I refuse to drag someone down because of it.

We end up at a honky-tonk bar tucked into a strip of bars and restaurants called The Banks.

It’s the trendy place to be and it’s packed on this Friday night.

I stay close to Amelia and eye Conor out of the corner of my eye.

That’s how I catch him eyeing me so maybe Amelia’s right about his interest. However, I won’t encourage it.

He’s a nice enough guy, a little timid, a little geeky and maybe if I lived a different life I’d go for it.

But I don’t live a different life and so I stay on the other side of the group from him and try to fade into the background.

“Hey, beautiful.”

Amelia elbows me and tilts her head to the man standing a little too close on my right, beer bottle gripped in his hand, a sly grin tilting his lips.

I scoot a few inches away from him and smile, but my heart’s not in it.

God save me from beer drunk men at honky-tonks.

I flick my gaze to the floor. Yup. Cowboy boots, all shiny and new.

Nothing wrong with any of that but it’s not my thing.

Strange men in bars aren’t my thing either.

“Saw you from across the bar and had to come over and say hi,” he says.

“Hi.”

He grins. He’s not bad looking. A full head of dark hair. A nice smile. Probably an accountant at a good company. I look beyond his shoulder to see two guys leaning against the bar sipping their own beers, watching us. More than likely friends that bet him to approach.

“What’s your name, pretty lady?”

“Theresa.” I don’t add but friends call me Tess because he’s not a friend and I’m not interested. But there’s that people pleaser in me that won’t let me brush him off too harshly.

“Theresa. Good Catholic name.”

I’m the farthest from Catholic that you can get without being Lucifer. In fact, I’ve never stepped foot in any church, Catholic or not. It wasn’t high on my mother’s list of places to go when I was growing up.

“Hmmm.” I sip my water and let my gaze wander around the bar. The strobe lights hurt my eyes, and my head is starting to pound in beat with the music. Just as I think that I should call an Uber and head home my phone vibrates with an incoming text.

It’s my work phone but I grab it anyway and wave it toward beer guy. “Gotta get this. Nice meeting you.” I step away as his shoulders slump and he turns back to his friends who’re laughing at him.

I’m raising the phone to check the text when Amelia sticks her face in front of the screen, blocking the text from my view.

“Did you bring your work phone with you?” I elbow her away, but she doesn’t budge. “Why’re you working on a Friday night?”

“Because some of my clients need me after hours.” One. One client needs me after hours because he’s yet to find a west coast admin, so I’ve been taking on some of those duties. Usually, I’m tucked up under my blanket at this time of night, so I don’t mind helping him when he occasionally needs it.

She squints at me, then sways. She’s had a lot to drink. “Is that...?”

I tilt the phone so she can’t see it and read the message.

GS: Are you awake?

A few weeks ago, Gabriel Strong started texting my work phone not long after the nice email he sent me.

He had an emergency that needed taking care of right away and wanted a quicker response than email.

Since then we’ve switched from emailing to texting.

It’s never been personal, always professional.

Except maybe my good morning texts, but I text a lot of my clients to tell them good morning.

He's never contacted me this late and he’s never asked me if I’m awake.

Me: I am. Do you need something?

The three bouncing dots immediately appear and do their little dance for a long time before disappearing. Amelia grabs my arm and tries to pull me onto the dance floor. She knows I hate dancing because I can never remember the moves and I bump into everyone, but she tries anyway. I stand firm.

“Give me a minute.”

“Come on, Tess. Put your phone away.” She drops my arm and moves closer until she’s pressed into my side. Drunk people do not honor personal space, but it’s Amelia so I don’t mind so much.

“Just a sec,” I say, watching the dancing trio of dots.

“Unless you’d rather text your hot mystery client. It’s him, isn’t it?”

Without mentioning his name, I made the mistake of telling her how good-looking Gabriel is and totally regret it because now that’s all she talks about.

She seems to think there’s more to the story than me just thinking he’s hot.

And now that she knows he’s texting me it'll only get worse. Like I have a chance with him. I don’t even want a chance with him, but a girl can daydream right?

I stuff my phone in my back pocket. “It’s not him. ”

I don’t know why I lie or why my face is burning in a blush, or why I think of him at odd moments of the day, or why when I’m reading my romantasy books I picture him instead of the main character.

This is stupid. I’m stupid for thinking all these thoughts.

To distract the both of us I pull her out to the dance floor.