when it doesn’t directly pertain to me.
But this entire conversation is pissing me off.
“You see that Delta’s post on Insta? Conor wasn’t even coming back to Taylor for seconds.”
“Some girls are just made to be one-night stands. That’s her place,” Abigail says, her tone smug. “Landing a guy like Conor is an unattainable goal for Taylor. The sooner she realizes that, the happier she’ll be. It’s sad, really.”
“Omigod! I bet she’s already doodling Taylor Loves Conor on her notebooks.”
“Writing Taylor Edwards in blood in her diary.”
They laugh, rolling all over themselves. Assholes.
It crosses my mind to go over there, confront them. Taylor didn’t do anything to deserve this shit. She’s a cool chick. Smart, funny. It’s been a long time since I’ve actually wanted to spend a whole night talking to a total stranger. And not because she was a pity case or I needed an alibi. I had a legit good time with her. These assholes aren’t allowed to talk smack about—
Speak of the devil.
My shoulders stiffen when I catch sight of Taylor walking in my direction. Her head is bent, engrossed with her phone. She’s wearing a knee-length black dress, a short pink cardigan buttoned up to her neck, and her hair in a messy bun at the nape of her neck.
I remember the way she’d lamented about her curves, and I honestly don’t get it. Taylor’s body is a thousand times more appealing to me than, say, Abigail’s scrawny one. Women are supposed to be soft and curvy and squeezable. I’m not sure when they were brainwashed into thinking otherwise.
My mouth goes a bit dry as Taylor approaches. She looks really fucking good tonight. Sexy. Elegant.
Undeserving of these people’s scorn.
Something compels me. A sense of justice, maybe. The triumph of good over evil. I get a tickle on the back of my neck, the one that says I’m about to have a stupid idea.
As she passes the table beside mine, unaware of me sitting here, I jump to my feet to catch her.
“Taylor, hey! Why didn’t you call me?” I say loud enough to draw the attention of Abigail and her group two tables away.
Taylor blinks, stunned and rightfully confused.
Come on, babe. Play along.
I implore her with my eyes as I repeat myself, my tone extra forlorn. “Why didn’t you call me?”
6
Taylor
I’m trying to listen to what Conor is saying to me, but the sight of him in a suit is affecting my concentration. His big shoulders and broad chest fill out that navy-blue jacket like nobody’s business. I’m tempted to ask him to do a little spin so I can assess the butt situation. I bet his butt looks amazing.
“Taylor,” he says impatiently.
I blink, forcing my gaze back to his face. “Conor, hi. Sorry, what?”
“It’s been a week,” he says, with a strange eagerness about him. “You haven’t called me. I thought we had a good time together at the party.”
My mouth falls open. Is he serious right now? I mean, yeah, he technically said “call me” as he left Saturday morning, but that was part of the performance, right? He hadn’t even provided his phone number!
“Uh, sorry again?” I wrinkle my forehead. “I guess we got our wires crossed.”
“Are you avoiding me?” he demands.
“What? Of course not.”
He’s acting weird. And sort of whiny. Suddenly I’m wondering if this is some kind of personality disorder thing.
Or maybe he’s drunk? There have been a lot of free drinks at this thing. Hence why I’d been making a beeline for the restroom before he’d lunged from out of nowhere and ambushed me.
“I can’t stop thinking about you, Taylor. Can’t eat, can’t sleep.” He rakes an agitated hand through his hair. “I thought we made a connection that night. I wanted to play it cool, you know. Not come off too aggressive. But I miss you, babe.”
If this is a joke, it isn’t funny.
Clenching my fists to my sides, I take a step back. “Okay, I don’t know what this is, but for what it’s worth, I saw that Instagram post of you in bed with some girl. So I’d say you’re coping just fine.”
“Because you messed with my head.” He lets out an agonized groan. “Look, I know I screwed up. I’m weak. But only because I’ve been so hurt thinking that amazing night we spent together didn’t mean anything to you.”
Now I’m worried about him.
Exasperation has me stepping forward again. “Conor, you’re—”
He grabs me without warning. Envelops me in his arms, digging his big hands into my