Page 43 of The Truths We Find

Emmett dragged me to some bar downtown he heard about on social media, and all I want to do is go back home, sit on my couch in my underwear, and watch amateur bakers try to recreate works of art.

Instead, I’m here, paying ridiculous prices for watered-down drinks, and being ambushed by my brother’s well-intentioned but absolutely unhinged version of support.

“We’re thirty-five.” He grins. “Prime wingman age. Which means, I need to get you laid!”

I take a large chug of my fruity cocktail, courtesy of Emmett, and let the subtle burn of the alcohol temporarily numb me. Another woman in my bed is the last thing I need right now.

“Look, you’ve been sad and serious for a while,” he continues, “and don’t get me wrong, I get it. It’s super real stuff. But tonight? Tonight is for forgetting. The back room has a dance floor. Even if you don’t take someone home, at least let loose. This place is for flirting with people who use way too much perfume and have questionable tattoos.”

“Sounds like maybe you have a plan of your own.”

“Have we met?”

I can’t fight back the small laugh.

“If we’re going to be emotionally unstable,” Emmett says, “we might as well do it under disco lights.”

“We?”

“Dude. I’m the most emotionally unstable person you’ll ever meet. But at least I can admit it.”

I let out a sigh, glancing around the room. It’s packed, and I can’t help but notice all the different kinds of people here, clearly from all walks of life. I see Emmett out of the corner of my eye watching me.

“See?” He slaps my arm. “Everyone here is either trying to forget something or remember who they were before the last person screwed them over. You fit right in. You don’t have to fall in love. Hell, you don’t even have to talk to anyone. But try to have fun. Even for ten minutes. You owe yourself that much.”

I shake my head, but raise my glass anyway. “To questionable tattoos and emotional damage.”

We clink our glasses when I notice Emmett’s eyes light up at something across the room.

“Okay, uh, don’t panic,” he says facing away from me, “but I’m abandoning you for a tall man in a questionable denim vest.”

“What happened to being my wingman?” I ask, only half annoyed. “And weren’t you just hitting on Alexa only a few hours ago?”

“I did my job. I brought you to the bar. Now I’m winging my own man. And as far as Alexa, you know I’m an equal opportunist. Besides, she feels the same way I do about monogamy.”

He’s completely right. Alexa really is Emmett in a skirt, and I’m convinced it’s why she and I get along so well.

When I shake out of my thoughts, Emmett’s gone. I consider sneaking out, since it’s not like he’ll notice I’m missing once his tongue is down that guy’s throat.

And I wish I didn’t just put that thought in my head. I take that as my cue to leave when someone slides into my brother’s now-abandoned space.

“Hey,” the feminine voice says.

I turn to find a woman, a few years younger than me, maybe late twenties, but definitely too young for me. She’s in one of those skin-tight blue wrap dresses I remember being all the rage in New York for a while, and heels that I can’t for the life of me figure out how she’s walking in. It’s honestly the only way she can even come close to looking me in the eye.

“I saw you standing here and figured I’d say hi,” she continues. “You’ve got the whole brooding, sexy loner vibe going.”

Well, that’s forward.

I blink. “Uh, thanks?” I take another sip of my drink.

I scan the crowd looking for Emmett, but I should know it’s a waste of time.

“I’m actually, uh, not really looking for anything tonight,” I say awkwardly, while still trying to be polite. “Just out with my brother.”

“Doesn’t mean you can’t enjoy a little company, right?” She grins, inching closer.

I freeze. I don’t even know what to say. I should be flattered. Hell, I am flattered. But in a weird hollow sort of way. It’s good for the ego, sure. But let’s be real—my heart still belongs to Dani, even if hers is with someone else.