Page 40 of Someone to Have (Skylark #3)

TAYLOR

At the very least, I know what’s not going to happen.

“Sure,” I murmur then want to kick myself.

Why can’t I stop placating people? I hate my tendency to shrink myself to fit other people’s expectations.

This is what I wanted—only it’s not anymore.

While it’s partially due to my feelings for Eric, it’s also due to actually getting to know Bryan.

He’s been my crush since he moved to town, and I’ve made him into something in my mind that the man in reality just isn’t. The fantasy version of Bryan was sophisticated and charming and would make me feel like the only person in the room. This Bryan makes me feel small and unworthy.

At that moment, the waitress comes by our table. “Can I get you anything? Oh, hey, Taylor, good to see you.”

“Hi, Mel. Looks like you’ve got quite a crowd already.”

“Sure do, and your brother just walked in.”

My stomach drops. Of course Toby’s here. As if this date wasn’t already a shit show.

“One heavy snow,” she continues, “and people think that twenty-four hours of isolation is going to turn them into Jack from The Shining . ”

“Hopefully, they’ve come out of mini-hibernation as good tippers,” I tell her with a smile.

It’s easier to focus on Mel than the awkwardness radiating from our table.

Melanie Wilson was a few years ahead of me in school, a senior when I was a freshman, prom queen, homecoming queen, student council president…

she was elected to everything. She dated the captain of the lacrosse team, who also played hockey.

She was so different from me—both a cheerleader and gymnast–and loved by everyone.

So when I got lost on my first day at the high school and she found me crying in a bathroom stall, I felt like an ogre being discovered by the beautiful princess.

Mel dried my tears, helped me find my way, and I’m pretty sure she told her friends to have my back.

Because for the rest of that year, everywhere I went, it felt like I had a popular girl guardian angel looking out for me.

Even now, her presence settles me, especially in this moment when I’m questioning everything.

I know things haven’t been easy for her since high school. Rumors flew when Mel returned to town a couple of years ago with a baby on her hip, a black eye and split lip, but she always seems happy.

Bryan clears his throat, demanding attention. I feel irritation flicker inside me but that accommodating instinct kicks in.

“Do you know Bryan Connor?” I ask. “Bryan, this is Melanie Wilson, one of the best people I know in town.”

Melanie squeezes my shoulder. “Thanks, Tay.” Her touch reminds me that in order to be the best version of myself, I need to stop twisting myself in knots on a date with a guy I know isn’t right for me.

“Bryan teaches English at the high school,” I say simply.

“Advanced placement,” he clarifies like that makes a difference. The correction makes me cringe.

Mel tilts her head like she’s studying some kind of alien creature. I almost laugh at her expression. “AP was above my pay grade,” she tells him with a shrug .

“Margarita no salt?” she asks me.

My gaze drifts to the wine I don’t want to drink. “That would be great. Thanks, Mel. Do me a favor, and don’t tell Toby I’m here. Maybe he won’t spot me.” The last thing I need is my brother witnessing this train wreck, especially when Eric might be with him.

“Not a word.” She winks and walks away. Alone with Bryan again, I’m even more certain this evening can’t end soon enough.

“Is a margarita the smartest choice after wine?” Bryan’s tone is half amused and half condescending. “I’m happy to give you a ride to Myrna’s and take you home later.”

There’s that hint of a smile again. Creepy AF, if I’m being honest. Bryan was way better as an unrequited crush.

Once again, I push the wine across the table. “Actually, red wine gives me a headache, so it’s all yours. The offer goes both ways. I’m happy to drive if you need me to, and drop you home after the cast potluck.”

He doesn’t look annoyed or angry, just confused. A cute, moppy-haired man who is legitimately baffled that his attempts at charm aren’t hitting the mark. The young Hugh Grant thing works for him, but not with me any longer.

“Do you think you’ll continue directing at the community theatre?” I ask to be polite. It’s not like I blame him for assuming I’m a sure thing. I didn’t do a great job of hiding my interest all these months.

He leans forward and reaches for my hand, which is sitting on the table, but I pull back.

“If I say yes, does that mean you’ll try out for the next one?”

“I’m probably one and done,” I say as Melanie returns to the table.

“Here’s the margarita,” she says, setting down a basket of cheese curds with the drink. “These are on the house because your brother?—”

“Tinky Wink!” Toby bellows across the crowded bar .

Bryan stills like a deer caught in headlights.

Melanie shakes her head. “Your brother is a walking example of why I instituted a moratorium on dating athletes. It never ends well with those guys. Am I right?”

She grins, and I manage to nod, even though my mouth has gone dry. She can’t know, can she?

Bryan sits back and looks past my shoulder.

“Fancy meeting you here.” Toby crouches down and wraps his arms around the back of my chair, picking it up with me in it.

“Oh my God, put me down,” I say through clenched teeth.

“You smell good.” Toby leans in and sniffs my hair. “Like a vanilla candle or something. New conditioner? What’s the occasion?”

“Seriously, Toby. Put me down.” His arms are tight bands around my waist.

“You break that chair, and Stu is going to take it out of your beer tab,” Mel observes dryly.

“Did you just fat-shame my sister?” Toby asks, still holding the chair aloft.

“No, I asshole shamed you,” Mel answers.

“You like me,” he counters, lowering the chair to the ground. “And I like you right back, Melanie.”

“You’ve had too many concussions.” She rolls her eyes and moves into the crowd. But I swear I saw a flash of something that looked like fear in her eyes.

I straighten my sweater and draw in a deep breath then smack my brother’s thigh. “You need to leave her alone.”

“I’m just flirting, Tink.”

“She’s a single mom, and she’s been through a lot. She doesn’t like your brand of flirting, Toby.”

He looks at me like I’m speaking in a different language, one he doesn’t understand.

“Everybody likes my brand of flirting. ”

“Hey, Taylor.”

My gaze catches on the man who walks up behind my brother.

Why does my heart always do that stupid flutter-skip thing when I hear Eric’s voice?

And when our eyes meet, the rest of the restaurant disappears for a split second—the noise, Bryan, even my own embarrassment.

Eric’s looking at me like I’m the only person in the room, and I have to force myself to break eye contact before I do something mortifying like forget how to breathe.

I glance between Eric and my brother. “What are you two doing here?” My voice sounds like I swallowed a squeaky toy. “I thought you were having a team dinner at Dad’s tonight.”

Toby chuckles while Eric’s expression remains stony. There’s something almost protective in the way Eric’s jaw tightens as he takes in the scene—me, Bryan, the half-drunk margarita and the untouched wine glass between us.

“Dad wanted to do his own armchair quarterbacking with the team, so we have strict orders to stay away from the house for two hours.”

Across the table, Bryan clears his throat again.

“Toby, this is Bryan Connor. He teaches English at the high school.”

I can practically see my brother’s hackles rising. “Oh, I know.” His tone means trouble. “I’ve had a bizarre number of players nearly benched because of their weekly grade checks from his English class.”

“Priorities,” Bryan says with a tight smile. The smugness in his voice makes me want to sink into the floor.

Toby pats Eric’s chest. He’s as stiff as a wall of granite. Tension radiates off him in waves, and my stomach twists with anxiety and regret. With how I feel about Eric, I never should have agreed to a date with Bryan.

“This is?—”

My brother starts the introduction, but Eric interrupts him with a grumbling, “We’ve met. He’s Rhett’s English teacher. ”

“Right.” Toby gestures toward the two glasses of wine. “Hitting the Jesus juice hard for a Friday happy hour.”

I groan. “Seriously, Toby. Go. Away.” My face is burning as I turn to Bryan. “He’s talking about your wine.”

Bryan smiles. “I ordered the second one for Taylor.”

“Tink doesn’t drink wine,” Toby says, and Eric makes a sound—not quite a growl, but a low rumble in his throat, like he can’t believe I’m having drinks with someone who would order for me without knowing my preferences.

The grumbly edge does something dangerous to my pulse. It’s embarrassing how much I want to reach for him right now.

“It’s excellent, though,” I say quickly, ever the peacemaker. “I had a sip. We’re heading to a cast party after this. Just had a few notes on my performance to go over first.”

I’m not sure why I’ve suddenly got a bad case of verbal diarrhea. The whole point of my time with Eric was to prepare me for real-life dating, with Bryan specifically. Too bad being with my confidence coach feels more authentic than anything else.

“Got my ticket for opening night.” Toby smacks a hand on the table. “In fact, I bought seats for half the fire department. We’ll all be there.”

I blink. “You what?”

“Come on, Tink.” Toby grins. “This is your big moment. And to prove how much faith I have…” He gives an exaggerated wink. “I won’t wear a waterproof jacket.”

My gut clenches, but I know Toby means well. This is his attempt at support. Still, his words feel like a spotlight on everything that’s wrong with this moment.

“Let’s go,” Eric says. There’s an urgency in his voice that clearly says he can’t get away from this table fast enough, which stings more than it should.

“You coming to the hockey game tomorrow?” Toby asks.

“We have an extra rehearsal tomorrow,” Bryan answers for me. Another trait I don’t appreciate, even though I’ve been letting people talk for me most of my life.

“I’ll try to make part of it,” I say because I need to remind everyone that I have my own voice.

“Good ol’ Tink.” Toby pats my head like I’m a puppy. “We’ll let you get back to your date.” He turns his attention to Bryan and does that thing where he points two fingers at his own eyes then flips them and points at Bryan. A clear message: I’m watching you.

“Take care of my little sis,” he says conversationally, then nudges Eric. “Or it won’t just be me you have to answer to.”

“Got it,” Bryan agrees rather stiffly.

“Go away, Toby,” I repeat, even though my voice lacks conviction. Right now, I don’t want to be alone with Bryan and the growing certainty I’ve made a terrible mistake.

But when the two of them walk away, it’s not my brother I’m thinking about. It’s Eric. How his shoulders tensed when Bryan answered for me. That protective rumble. The way he looks at me like I matter.

As I watch him disappear into the crowd, I turn back to Bryan, who’s already reaching for his wine glass, completely oblivious to the fact that my heart just walked out the door with someone else.