Page 28 of Not a Friend (Crescent Light #1)

I weaved through the crowd, not heading to the main entrance but to a side door I knew led to a quieter side street. It was easier and quicker to get an Uber from that side.

The thoughts I’d staved off came swimming in as I inched closer to the exit.

A girlfriend?

A girlfriend .

I’d caught a glimpse of her—Blair—when I hugged Grant. She was beautiful. Her thick jet-black hair and dark features gave her that kind of timeless, effortless beauty that most women would kill for.

She’s so much prettier than me. She’s so much skinnier than me.

What was I but plain, frumpy, and undesirable? It was a toxic line of thought, but it flashed through my mind before I could stop it.

No, Oli. We aren’t doing that.

None of this was her fault. She didn’t know me, and I sure as hell didn’t know her.

Nate wasn’t my boyfriend, nor did he ever hint toward wanting to be.

There were plenty of signs that he cared about me, that he liked hooking up with me, that we had a friendship, and still, he’d never made a move toward being anything more.

But damn it, I couldn’t shake the feeling I was being bamboozled.

Was the chemistry all made up in my head? Was the magnetic pull something my touch-starved body fabricated because I wanted to be wanted that badly? Wanted to be chosen that desperately?

The sex was one thing. An itch we used each other to scratch.

But what about all the times he’d asked me to stay over despite my plans to leave?

All the times he’d held me through the night, stroking featherlight lines across my skin?

What about the cheeky, boyish smiles he gave me across the table at game nights?

The hours we’d spent together, not for hooking up, but simply to occupy the same space?

A part of me always assumed he never made a move because he didn’t know how to be in a relationship. I convinced myself that maybe if I made the first move and confessed my feelings for him, it would somehow make him more comfortable taking that step.

I was wrong. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to be in a relationship. He just didn’t want to be in a relationship with me .

Cold air blew against my face as I swung the exit door open .

The hot embarrassment in my system quickly transformed into anger. Was I a plaything to him? Someone to string along? Someone to keep him company when he felt lonely? Someone to toss aside when something shinier came around?

The questions didn’t stop.

When did this even happen?

Was he sleeping with her while we were sleeping together?

Oh god, do I need to get tested?

Do I know him at all?

I craned my neck down the road, searching for the Uber I’d only just called for amongst the Saturday night traffic as if it would materialize immediately.

I felt icky. The whole situation unsettled me, and I resented the fact that I couldn’t pinpoint an exact reason why.

If I could’ve channeled my feelings to a singular source and to be able to say, This is why I feel the way I feel , it might’ve been easier to handle.

But it was too convoluted. I felt everything at once, yet nothing at all. I just wanted to go home.

Tapping my foot against the pavement, I checked the Uber’s progress again.

I fidgeted, wrung my hands, shifted my weight from side to side, attempting to displace some of the adrenaline coursing through my veins. I turned in place but paused when the exit door swung open again.

Nate.

Visibly cringing, I turned back toward the traffic.

“Oli.” He said my name as if it offered some kind of explanation.

I pulled the inside of my cheek between my teeth and chewed, keeping my eyes peeled for my ride .

“Hey,” he said tentatively, sounding closer. He stopped beside me, his arm frozen half-outstretched like he wanted to wrap it around my waist but thought better of it.

I sidestepped out of his reach before he could change his mind. The lump in my throat doubled in size.

A long silence followed before he broke it. “Look, I—”

Turning on my heel, I faced him head-on, boring into him with a look I hoped expressed all the incredulity I felt. There was nothing to say. No reason to drag out something that was clearly over—if something could even be over when it never really started to begin with.

He blinked back his surprise, hands grasping the air at his sides. “I— Blair, she… y’know, we just—” He bit his bottom lip, searching. “I didn’t—”

“Look”—I halted him with a hand—“it’s fine. Just drop it.” My Uber at last approached the curb, and I waved the driver down. “She’s really pretty, Nate. I’m happy for you, okay? We don’t have to talk about it.”

“But, I—”

“Go enjoy the party,” I said as I opened the back door and climbed in.

I slid into the seat and shut the door before he had the chance to respond. I’d meant what I said. I really did not want to talk about it.

There was no reason to make it any more painful and awkward than it already was. Never seeing him again wasn’t a possibility—we were too connected—but I needed a clean break, at least for the time being.

I wanted answers, and I got them.

Whatever we were, whatever we had, it was over.