Page 2 of Hiding from Hope

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Page 2 of Hiding from Hope

“G&T and a whisky—”

“NO! Ew, gin and soda, with fresh lime,” she corrects, and the bartender walks away with a blush as Casey smiles at him. “Tonic is disgusting, don’t ever use tonic.” She levels me with a look I think is meant to be stern, but she fails and it just looks… cute? Is it weird to find my sister’s friend cute?

“How much have you already had to drink?” I ask, noticing the glaze to her eyes and the way she is leaning on the bar.

“Oh, we pre-gamed good. Rosie said she would need the alcohol to deal with Noah’s douchey friends, apparently. Although, I don’t know that she has ever even met them properly.” She manages to get the sentence out without slurring, but not without closing her eyes in slow motion. The bartender places the drinks on the bar, and she beams at him again. The guy practically drops his jaw and leans in as though he wants to take it further before I place my body in between them, directing Casey toward a high table. Obviously, drunk-Casey forgets about Boyfriend-Connor. Although I’m unsure why I felt the need to intervene, what she does or doesn’t do isn’t my concern.

She takes a huge swig of her gin and places it on the table before she takes a seat and I pull one next to her. Guess I’m babysitting the drunk tonight.

“Where’s Connor? I assumed he’d be glued to your hip.” The dweeb used to follow her around like a lost puppy at functions. The two of them were long-term, probably the marrying kind, considering Casey screams hopeless romantic. Seemed like a nice kid, but… he was just that–a kid. I still thought she could do better. Apparently, I don’t discriminate with that line of thinking.

“Oh…” She looks stunned at me, then bursts out with a melodic laugh that almost has the corners of my lips tipping up. That realization has me shaking the stupid expression from my face.

She settles, leaning on the table with her hand propping her head up as she speaks through her trademark smile. “I broke up with Connor ages ago! Where have you been? That is like old news.”

I let that thought settle in my mind for a moment.

Casey is single.

“I’m sorry… I didn’t mean to bring it up,” I say, sipping my drink and trying to analyze her reaction. Was it a psychotic, ‘I’m going to have a mental breakdown’, kind of laugh, or does she really not care? They were together for so long. Something sours as I remember another woman who didn’t seem bothered about ending a long-term relationship. Dropping it like a bad smell, like a snake shedding a skin.

I’ve never been good with feelings, and not knowing where this sudden piece of information is going to take me is making me itchy. Feelings are, in my experience, just pointless. They get in the way; they destroy things. I learned a long time ago to bury those. I don’t want anything to do with them.

“Oh, please, don’t be. He was a child, I’m better off. Literally better at getting off–without him.” I turn my head slowly, unsure if I just heard her correctly. She skulls the rest of her drink and throws her hands in the air in a ‘woo!’ before she turns back to me, conversation forgotten. “Want to go dance?” she asks in a husky voice that shouldn’t have any effect on me. Except, I’m a man, and she is a stunning woman, who’s apparently now single and talking about getting off.

It does affect me.

Sister’s best-friend.

Sister’s. Best. Friend.

I silently chant the reminder as I mentally list poets and authors to reduce the swelling below the belt.

It doesn’t work. Instead, I fixate. Connor really couldn’t get her off? Surely, I didn’t hear that right. Was he blindfolded, with tape over his mouth and hands tied behind his back? Literally so many ways to do it, and he just couldn’t? What a fucking child.

I realize she is beaming up at me and waiting for an answer, and I shake my head at her.

“No. I don’t dance.” She scoffs and rolls her eyes.

“Boring! Fine, I will dance by myself.”

She drags herself from the chair, and spins toward the dance floor, practically skipping as she goes.

I can’t tear my eyes from her. She practically glows from where she spins and dances on the dance floor, the tiny spot of sunlight in the darkest room.

“Hey, man,” Noah greets as he makes himself at home at my table. I nod at him in greeting and sip my drink. “Thanks for coming. And for just making an effort in general. It means a lot.” I side-eye him cautiously because that was a lot of thank-you’s for simply turning up at a party.

“Uhh… you’re welcome?”

“I’m serious. And I don’t just mean me.” He holds up a hand. I normally am not one to trust this level of kindness, but the look in his eyes tells me he is sincere. “I mean for Addy. You trying, being around and filling in the big-brother shoes again, makes her happy. She missed you, and it’s nice to see her get excited. Any day that she smiles and is happy is a win.”

“Alright, man.” I roll my eyes. “I told you I liked you. You don’t need to suck up with all this sappy bullshit.” He chuckles and we sip our drinks in silence. Uncomfortable emotions I can’t work out sit like prickly canvas on my skin, that rolling my shoulders and kinking my neck hasn’t fixed.

“I know she is your sister, and you don’t want to hear about it, but she’s everything to me. You’ll find your reason one day, too.” He sighs, all poetic and shit.

“Reason for what?” I ask the question, looking over to him. He seems like he looks off at a distance before he makes eye contact with me, and I can’t help but be envious of the adoration I see in them. Happy about it in any event because he seems to make my sister happier than I’ve ever seen her.

“All of it,” he throws a hand around the room, “A reason for everything.”




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