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“Fair.” Millie wipes her eyes. “But admit it, Natasha was way worse than Denham was. She bailed on your best friend’s wedding.”
“Oh, because that is so much worse than breaking up with you at your parents house days before Christmas and then going on vacation with a friend—a female friend.”
“At least my family liked Denham,” she argues.
I scoff, “No, they didn’t! They hated him!”
“They were nothing but polite!”
“Which should have been the first sign!” Why are we even arguing about this?
I need a change in subject, but I also need to clear my head. All of this arguing about nothing mixed with the close proximity is making me want to end this in a much different way than friends would.
Before I can say anything, Millie breaks the silence. “Why did you move back? From what I heard, you were kind of a big deal at the firm where you worked.”
Her question shouldn’t take me by surprise, but it does. I don’t want to talk about this. Not here. Not now. If there were someone I would want to talk to, it would be Millie, but I just can’t right now.
“Sorry. That was too much. You don’t have to answer,” Millie splutters. “I was just being nosy.”
“No—I mean—I want to answer, I do. I just don’t really know the answer.”
“You don’t know why you moved back? Or you haven’t over-thought it enough to be able to formulate the answer?”
I really didn’t need her making herself even more desirable and yet here she is. Showing how much she gets me, even when I don’t say anything she gets me.
“Care for another drink?” Not the smoothest of transitions, but who’s keeping score at this point.
Millie thinks about it for a minute then agrees.
The bar was much busier this time around, and it takes me a while to get our drinks and make my way back to our table. I see Troy slithering towards her with a glint in his eye I don’t like. He’s a python ready to strike.
“Amelia! You made it!” He shouts his greeting as if he’s a frat boy hosting a party. Have I mentioned how much I despise this guy?
“Hi, Troy.”
“How about we make good use of this music and dance?” He says this while getting way too close and way too handsy.
Millie pushes him away. “Troy, you’re drunk.”
“I’m not drunk! Come on, baby, lets dance,” Troy slurs while he grabs at her again and begins to dance, but she’s not having any part of it and neither am I. I step between them, intercepting his next attempt at groping her.
“Dude! What’s your deal?” Troy yells.
My blood is boiling, and my heart is racing so hard I hear it in my ears. It takes everything in me not to deck him right in the middle of the dance floor.
“Pretty sure she said no,” I sneer through gritted teeth.
“Well, why don’t we ask her?” Even in his drunken state he’s challenging me, and I’m about to take the bait. Movement behind me catches me off guard, and I turn to see Millie bolting for the far doors of the ballroom.
I don’t even look back at Troy; he doesn’t matter. I take off after her, just leaving him in a wobbly fighter’s stance.
“Millie! Millie, stop!” Millie’s steps halt, and she is breathing heavily. As she turns to face me, her eyes are dark with fury. “Millie, what’s wrong?”
“What’s wrong?” Her whole body is rigid. “You! You are what’s wrong!”
“How am I wrong? Troy was messing with you, and I stopped him!”
“I was taking care of it!”
