Forget Me Not

Forget Me Not

By Monica Alexander

Copyright 2017 by Monica Alexander

ISBN: 978-1-3709-4706-5

Cover Image: (c) Photographee.eu / www.shutterstock.com Stock Photography

Smashwords Edition

This story is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or personals, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

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Table of Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Epilogue

About the Author

Playlist

Chapter One

Emery

Ooh, he’s cute, my roommate Cami said over the Chainsmokers song that was playing overhead, and the three of us automatically looked up to see who she was talking about.

It was a Friday night ritual that had become so ingrained in who we were that I couldn’t remember a time when my three best friends and I hadn’t met at Brasserie 25 to order expensive drinks, catch up on what was going on in our lives, and check out any available guy that happened to walk by, in the hopes that maybe he might not be a jerk, an idiot, an inconsiderate asshole, or a cheating sonofabitch – just to name a few of our collective past failures. Even if one of us was seeing someone, we still met up at eight o’clock every Friday night and played matchmaker for anyone who was single, which was usually me.

I was the only one of us who hadn’t had a boyfriend in the three years we’d known each other, which sometimes bothered me, but honestly, most of the time I was okay with it. I’d been in a relationship throughout almost all of college, and only after we’d ended things did I realize that I’d spent over three years with Jordan, simply because I’d wanted a boyfriend. I hadn’t wanted him. I just hadn’t wanted to be single, which made me feel completely pathetic and immature when I looked back on it.

It also assured me that I’d done the right thing when I’d broken up with him after graduation. He’d been moving to Dallas, and I was headed to New York, and even though he’d suggested we try long distance, I knew we shouldn’t even attempt it. Not only was I a firm believer that long distance was a recipe for disaster, I didn’t love Jordan like I knew I should after so many years of being together. And I liked him enough to let him go so he could find someone who’d love him like he deserved. So we made a clean break, and I vowed never to be with someone again just because I didn’t want to be alone.

As a result, I’d been single ever since.

But it was fine. I was good with my life. I had a job that I enjoyed, I had great friends, I absolutely loved living in New York, and it wasn’t like I’d been hiding out in my apartment living a life of celibacy for the past three years. I definitely hadn’t been. I just hadn’t found anyone that I wanted to spend more than a few weeks with.

Maybe I was too picky. My friends thought I was, and they teased me mercilessly about finding fault in almost every guy I went out with, reminding me that no one was perfect – including me – and I shouldn’t create such high standards. But I couldn’t help it. I wasn’t going to settle just so I could have someone to celebrate Valentine’s Day with. I wasn’t that desperate, and a part of me really did believe that if I held out for the right guy, I’d find him. I was only twenty-five. It wasn’t like my biological clock was ticking. I could afford to be patient.

But because there was always the hope that the next guy I met could be the guy, I gave in and followed Cami’s line of sight to the guy she’d been checking out. Unfortunately, I knew fairly quickly that he wasn’t the one – at least not for me.

He wasn’t my type at all. Sure he was good looking, but I could tell almost immediately that he was aggressive, money-driven, and power-hungry, which didn’t make for a great combination. I’d gone out with guys like him before, whose suits cost more than my rent and whose whole goal in life was to get the biggest apartment, the biggest bank account, and the best looking girl. They were usually cocky, they tended to fear commitment, and they always wanted more. This guy seemed to be no exception. I watched as his eyes scanned the room, not staying on one person for very long as he leaned against the bar and arrogantly stirred his drink. It was easy to see that he wasn’t interested in more than a hook-up – at least not with most of the girls who frequented Brasserie.

Personally, I loved our little Midtown bar that catered to a twenty-something crowd that was trying to make it in Manhattan, where everything cost way too much, jobs didn’t pay nearly enough, and that was okay, because we were living in the best city in the world. The bar had an upscale feel with lots of dark wood, elegant light fixtures, and a mirror that ran the length of the bar behind the bottles of expensive alcohol, but at the same time, there were dartboards in the back and couches along the walls that reminded me of one of my favorite dive bars in college. Mr. Money looked completely out of place amidst the rest of us normal people, and I figured he’d probably decided to slum it for a night, looking to have a little low-rent fun.

He’s totally hot, my friend Presley gushed to Cami.

I figured you’d think so, Cami said in her deep southern accent as she settled back in her chair and took a self-satisfied sip of her dirty martini.

Like I said, the guy likely wasn’t looking for more than a one-night stand with most of the girls at Brasserie, Presley excluded. She was exactly his type. She came from money, she’d been brought up in New York, had attended the best private schools, and then she’d gone to NYU for undergrad and was currently at Columbia Law. Her parents had a townhouse on the Upper East Side and a house in the Hamptons, and she dated guys who oozed money. If she got up the courage to go over and talk to him, I had a feeling she’d have him eating out of her hand in no time.

He’s not my type, I said quickly, backing off so Pres would know she didn’t have any competition.

Not mine either, her roommate Sloane said, uncharacteristically slumping back in defeat.

Yeah, I knew you guys would say that. He’s totally Pres’s type, Cami said confidently as I reached over and rubbed Sloane’s shoulder.

She was doing her best to downplay her reaction, but I knew it was a product of her break-up with Blake, a guy she’d dated for a year, who we all thought she’d end up with. They’d broken up three months earlier, and since then Sloane had looked for any distraction that might help take her mind off of him, which meant she’d been ‘dating’ a lot, even though I knew her heart wasn’t in it. A new relationship was the last thing she wanted, since she still wasn’t over him.

There was still a lot of ambiguity around what had actually happened between them, since Sloane hated to talk about Blake, even with us. All we knew was that one day she showed up with red-rimmed eyes, said it was over, and then she proclaimed that she wanted to get so drunk that she couldn’t remember his name. We’d all tried to get her to talk about what had happened, but she’d refused, she said she didn’t want to, and that was that. So we got drunk with her, Cami corralled a few guys over to our table, and Sloane flirted with them all night, while Blake became a piece of the past, never to be mentioned again.

I wasn’t sure how she could keep everything about him bottled up inside, but as far as I knew, she never talked about him. Even Presley, who shared an apartment with her, didn’t know the real story of why Sloane and Blake had broken up. But that was Sloane. She didn’t talk about her emotions, and she rarely let anyone see her upset. She’d been like that since the day I’d met her, three years earlier, in the laundry room of our building, a few days after Cami and I had moved in.

I’d been stuffing my clothes into a washer, hoping they’d all fit, since I only had enough quarters for one load, when she’d come in, opened a dryer and said, Aww, fucking hell!

I’d turned to look at her over my shoulder, because it wasn’t a typical reaction to a laundry situation, unless she’d turned everything in her load pink. If that happened, I guess I would have been pissed off too.

But that wasn’t what had happened with Sloane. It seemed someone had stolen all of her clothes out of the dryer. She’d been furious for about three seconds before she’d asked me if I’d seen anything, which I hadn’t, and then she’d taken a deep breath and sighed.

I’m broke, she said, and I wasn’t sure who she was talking to until I turned to see her looking at me.

She’d gathered her long, dark hair up on top of her head and was holding it with one hand as she looked over at me. A part of me wanted to offer her a hair tie, but mine was currently securing my own hair back in a ponytail.

Welcome to the club, I told her instead, because it just seemed like the right thing to say. And it made her laugh.

Well, at least I’m not alone, she said jovially. But I am out of clothes, so there’s that.

Was everything you owned in that dryer or something? I asked her as I started my load, closed the lid on the empty washer next to mine, and heaved myself up to sit on top of it, figuring I wasn’t going to take any chances with laundry thieves. I’d stay down there until my things were clean and dry.

I’d only been living in New York for a few months, but I’d come to the city with a strong sense of distrust. Having grown up in safe, suburban Scottsdale, Arizona, I almost walked around the city expecting to get mugged. I was constantly looking at the people around me, keeping my awareness high, and I held my cross-body bag close so no one would feel compelled to grab it. On the subway, I made sure not to make contact with anyone if I could help it, and I fixed a glare on anyone who looked at me wrong, hoping it would deter them. If not, I had pepper spray in my bag. No one was stealing my shit or getting the best of me.

Not everything, Sloane had said hesitantly. But all of my underwear, my two favorite pairs of jeans, and a few of my favorite tops were. She sighed. Oh, damn. My roommate’s dress was in there. Shit, she’s going to be so pissed. She looked at me guiltily. I didn’t exactly tell her I borrowed it.

I grimaced, knowing how much it was probably going to irritate her roommate when she found out. My junior year roommate, who had much bigger boobs than me, had made a habit of borrowing my tops and stretching them all to hell. They were never the same after that.

Sorry about that, I told her.

She sighed again. It’s fine. I get paid on Friday, so I guess I’ll just have to figure out how to replenish what was taken – starting with Presley’s dress, which I’m sure cost a small fortune, knowing her.

I was a little shocked to hear that she was giving up so easily. So you’re not even going to try to find out who took your stuff? Hey, maybe it wasn’t even stolen. Maybe someone took your laundry by accident, and when they realize it, they’ll return it.

Sloane laughed. That’s hilarious. You’re not from here are you?

No, I told her, a little offended that she would automatically assume I wasn’t a New Yorker. I’m from Arizona.

She nodded as she pushed off of the dryer where she’d been leaning and stood up straight, folding her arms across her chest, covering up the Paramore logo on her t-shirt. Well, I’ve lived in the city for years, and I know better than to think that some nice person made a mistake. My shit got stolen. It’s gone, and it’s my own fault, because I wanted to make brownies for my boyfriend before he came over tonight, and I didn’t want to sit down here all afternoon. I figured I could run upstairs and leave my stuff unattended, and it would be fine. I guess that wasn’t very smart after all.

There’s a camera up there, I offered, pointing to the corner of the room.

It’s broken – has been since we moved in. I asked the super about it when I first noticed it, and he told me he’d get right on it. That was a year ago.

Oh, I said, not sure what else to say.

Sloane waved me off. Like I said, I’ll figure something out. It’s not the end of the world.

I guess, I said vaguely, because I wasn’t really sure what else to say. So do you like living in the building?

I realized too late what a dumb question that was considering she’d just been robbed.

Sloane smirked at me. Aside from it having a laundry thief, sure, I like it. It beats the dorm room at NYU that I called home for three years. And the location’s good.

I smiled, glad she hadn’t dismissed me outright for my stupid question. That’s why we picked it too.

We? she questioned.

Cami – she’s my roommate – and me. We just moved in. I met her at work, and she was looking for someone to live with. Since I was crashing in my brother’s friend’s spare bedroom, I figured it was time to find a place of my own. And since the city is outrageously expensive, I had to find someone to live with, but she’s cool, and I like our apartment, so I think it’ll be good.

I wasn’t sure why I was incessantly rambling about my personal life. I usually wasn’t that forthcoming. I figured it was nerves, since Sloane had a cool girl vibe about her that intimidated me just a little. I had no doubt she was making the assumption that I was a complete moron.

So your brother’s friend has a spare bedroom? she questioned, and I knew where her mind had gone. One person living in a two-bedroom apartment was rare in New York unless you had money.

I nodded. Yeah, his place was really nice. I just didn’t feel great about crashing there for more than a few months, even though he wasn’t home very often.

No?

I shook my head. No, he’s a surgeon, so he’s at the hospital a lot.

Sloane’s eyebrows rose. Really? Is he single?

Single, yes, but also gay.

Oh. That sucks.

I thought you said you had a boyfriend?

Sloane shrugged. I do, but I wouldn’t mind trading up, if you know what I mean. It’s not like Asher’s band is ever going to take off, and dating a starving musician isn’t exactly ideal. Everything is always about him and his band and when they’re going to get their big break. It’s a little annoying. Half the time I think he’s only with me because I work in the music industry and he figures I can help him score a record deal. It’s not like I have any pull. I’m just an assistant, but it makes me wonder how sincere he really is, you know?

I nodded. Yeah, sure.

Sloane’s phone beeped, and I watched her dig it out of the back pocket of her jeans. She looked at the screen, made a face, and then rolled her eyes. Typical, she muttered as she shifted her gaze back to me. "That was him – Asher. Apparently his band got the chance to play a gig on Long Island, so they’re going to do that tonight. No big deal that we already had plans to make dinner and binge watch last season of The Walking Dead. The band always comes first."

I’m sorry, I told her, because it felt like the right thing to say.

She waved me off, dismissing my apology. Whatever. Screw him. More brownies for Presley and me. Maybe we’ll make tonight a girls night instead. Hey, do you and your roommate want to go out with us for drinks? Since you’re new to the neighborhood and all, we could show you around.

Sure. That sounds fun, I said almost automatically, wondering why so many people had told me it would be hard to make friends in New York.

Cami and I had hit it off almost immediately when I’d met her on my first day on the set of Let’s Talk About It, the daytime talk show we both worked for. She was a make-up artist, and I’d been a lowly production assistant at the time, but she was so sweet to me as I’d tried to figure out where I should go and what I should be doing. We’d gone out for drinks after work and had been friends ever since.

Sloane smiled. Cool. I think it’ll be fun. I’m Sloane, by the way.

Emery, I told her.

Nice to meet you, Emery. Why don’t you and your roommate meet us in the lobby at eight? We can check out the place that just opened around the corner – Brasserie 25. Have you been?

I shook my head. No, I haven’t.

It’s got a good vibe from what I hear, so hopefully we’ll like it, she said as she headed for the door. Then she turned to look back at me. Are you going to stay down here for a while?

Yeah, I don’t want my stuff to get stolen. I hear there’s a laundry thief in the building.

Sloane smiled. Touché. And smart girl. I hope you have a book. These washers are slooooow.

I held up my iPad. I’ve got it covered.

Well, you thought of everything. Have fun protecting your clothes. I’ll see you tonight.

See you tonight, I told her as she left.

That night we went to Brasserie 25 for the first time, and our Friday night tradition was born. Sloane, Presley, Cami, and I became best friends who saw each other through everything, including when Sloane broke up with Asher a few months later, which honestly didn’t upset her all that much. But we were there for her anyway. I figured when you were single in your twenties, and your family was across the country, having good friends could get you through just about anything.

You should go talk to him, Cami told Presley, bringing me back to the present where we were still discussing Mr. Money.

Maybe after a few more drinks, Presley said, and I saw her cheeks tint pink as she took a sip of her wine.

Cami shook her head and gave Sloane a knowing look. Sloane shrugged, settled back in her seat and took a drink of her beer. Presley wasn’t exactly courageous when it came to guys. She’d never really had to be, since they usually came up to her. They loved her long blond hair, her tall, model-thin body, and how she always looked so damn put-together, which I knew was a combination of her ample trust fund affording her expensive clothes that fit her perfectly and simply good breeding. She was like a walking Anthropologie ad.

He might be scooped up by then, Pres, Sloane cautioned her.

Then I guess I’ll just have to take my chances, Presley said, sounding much more confident. It’s too early to go flirt anyway. I want to catch up with you guys. I feel like I haven’t seen any of you all week.

That’s because you spend most of your life studying and interning, Sloane said logically. Is your third year of law school biting you in the ass already?

Presley sighed. Totally. I’m two weeks in, and already I feel like my life has been swallowed up. Graduation can’t come fast enough

After you graduate you’ll be working all day and night. You’re not going to have a life then either, Cami reminded her.

Presley smiled dreamily. Yeah, but I’ll be a lawyer, so it’ll be totally worth it.

That’s a weird thing to be passionate about, Sloane muttered, but Presley just smiled and blew her a kiss.

I feel the same way about your obsession with indie rock, she said sweetly, taking a dig at Sloane’s taste in music.

We’d all been dragged to a show or two over the years that she promised would be epic, and we’d all had to suffer through the show being decidedly un-epic to our mainstream ears. But we never wanted Sloane to have to go alone, so one of us always sucked it up and went with her. We were good friends.

We all have our things, Sloane told her.

My thing is currently this vodka, Cami said, doing what she did best and lightening the mood. I’m kind of obsessed with it,

Here, here, I said and raised my glass. My friends all followed suit and clinked their glasses against mine.

Oh, Sloane said quickly as she sat back in her chair. I almost forgot to tell you guys. Guess who I found out is coming to New York next week?

Who? the three of us asked at the same time.

Sloane smiled. Well, you know how Deacon is all connected and shit, and he always knows which celebrities are in town for different things, because he’s friends with all of them?

Yes, Cami said sounding slightly excited, since we all knew how well-connected Sloane’s boss was. There was always a chance we’d get invited to some fabulous event as a result of her working for him.

Is it Asher? I asked Sloane, because even though she’d always said it didn’t bother her, I had a feeling she felt the slightest bit bad about the fact that three months after she’d broken up with him, his band, Triumph Theory, had been discovered.

Now he was the lead singer of one of the hottest rock bands in the country, and women everywhere threw themselves at him on a regular basis. Having had him so soon before he made it big and suddenly turned into someone driven and serious about his music, I had to wonder if Sloane ever thought she’d made a mistake in letting him go.

Sloane gave me a look. No, it’s not Asher. Please, I wouldn’t be excited about that. Been there, done that, and have the early days of Triumph Theory t-shirts to prove it. No, it’s someone much more enthralling. Someone I would kill to sleep with just once, and someone that I’m totally going to get to meet at the party Deacon is throwing for him at his loft.

So it’s a him? Cami asked, her eyes lighting up.

It’s definitely a him, Sloane said coyly, loving that she knew something we didn’t.

Actor or musician? Cami asked, all into playing detective when a hot guy was the clue.

Actor, Sloane said around a smile that said she knew that would give away the answer.

Oh, I know who it is, Presley said confidently, her eyes gleaming.

I think I do too! Cami chimed in.

Who is it? I asked, looking between my friends, obviously not catching on as quickly.

Is it Shane Brewer? Cami asked excitedly, unable to hold back. Oh, shit. Please tell me it’s Shane Brewer and that we’re all invited to Deacon’s party so we can meet him.

I was thinking the same thing, Presley chimed in. It’s him isn’t it?

My heart sank at the mention of Shane Brewer, and I felt my shoulders slump. Where my friends were visibly excited about the notion of getting to meet the famous actor and one of the stars of LAPD Vice, one of the hottest shows on TV, my stomach had started twisting in knots as soon as I heard his name. I found myself praying that he wasn’t who Sloane was talking about, but I knew as soon as I saw the grin on her face that I wasn’t going to get my wish.

It’s totally Shane Brewer! she stage-whispered after several agonizing seconds of keeping us waiting, and I thought Cami and Presley were going to jump out of their seats. You guys are absolutely invited to the party. Deacon said he’d love for you to come. Apparently Shane is going to be in town for four months filming a movie, and Deacon wants him to meet as many people as possible so his stay is anything but boring. In truth, I think he really wants to ride on Shane’s famous coattails for the four months he’s here so he can get into fabulous restaurants and parties, but I guess he wouldn’t be Deacon if he wasn’t shamelessly benefiting from one of his friendships.

Oh, my God! Cami said, unable to hide the excitement I knew she was feeling. That is too cool. I would be absolutely honored to be a part of Shane Brewer’s welcoming committee. You can definitely count me in.

Me too, Presley said, nodding eagerly. I’m totally going to have to shop for a new outfit.

I stayed quiet and took a sip of my beer as Sloane said, I hope that new outfit is for some other fabulous guy you’ll meet at the party, because I call dibs on Shane.

You call dibs? Cami questioned. You can’t call dibs on him. He’s a celebrity. He’s fair game.

Hey, Sloane interjected. I’m the reason you guys are getting invited to this party in the first place. I don’t have to bring you. I’m doing it out of the goodness of my heart, and because of that, I get dibs.

But what if he decides he wants Cami or me or Emery over you? Presley questioned.

Hey, leave me out of this, I said quickly. I don’t want him.

Really? Presley questioned, as she, Cami and Sloane all looked at me like I was insane.

Oh, that’s right, Cami said in realization. I forgot you have some weird hatred for Shane Brewer.

"That is weird, Presley agreed. Why do you hate him again?"

Because he’s a player and an asshole, I said simply, keeping my response purposefully vague.

I’d never told my friends about my history with Shane, mostly because it happened years before he became the Hollywood sex god he was today. I’d always held firm that I wasn’t a fan of him as a person, and I was sticking to that. No one needed to know that once upon a time, he’d been someone I’d trusted, and then he’d broken that trust. As far as I was concerned, it was so far in the past that it wasn’t even worth mentioning.

That didn’t mean I wanted to see him though. What he’d done wasn’t so far in the past that I didn’t remember the pure unadulterated hatred I felt for him because of it. And it also didn’t mean that I was even going to consider going to Deacon’s party if there was a chance I’d run into him there. Shane Brewer was truly the last person I ever wanted to see again.

He’s hot, and you’re crazy, Cami told me, thankfully not pressing me for details.

Emery does make a good point, Sloane said then, and we all turned to her. Shane makes no qualms about the fact that he hooks up a lot, and he’s all about one-night stands or at most a few weeks of fun with a woman. He’s not boyfriend material, and seeing as you swore you’d never have a one-night stand again. She pointed to Cami, and then she looked at Presley. And you’ve never had a one-night stand and don’t ever plan to, I’m thinking that I’m the obvious choice. I’m not only open to one-night stands, but I encourage them with a guy like Shane who obviously has serious commitment issues.

And likely some serious venereal diseases, I muttered.

We’ll use protection, Sloane assured me. Then she turned back to Cami and Presley. Please, you guys. I need this. The thing with Blake seriously fucked with my head, and although it’s been months, I haven’t been able to push him out of my mind. I need a night with a really hot guy to do that.

I felt like telling her that one night of hot sex wasn’t likely to wipe away the hurt she felt after Blake left her – especially since I knew she’d already tried that tactic a few times – but since it was the first time she’d ever opened up about the fact that she was even hurt by him, I decided to let it go. Sloane grieved in her own way, and if she thought sleeping with Shane Brewer would help, maybe she was right. Who was I to stop her? I doubted there was even the slightest chance that he’d hurt her like he hurt me. Sloane was tougher than I’d been back before I knew better.

You have my blessing, I assured her.

She looked over at me. That’s why I love you the best, Em.

Fine, you can have dibs, Cami begrudgingly relented. But you’re totally introducing me to one of his hot actor friends.

Me too, Presley chimed in. If they’re in town for four months, that means a relationship could be possible. How cool would it be to date an actor?

So cool, Cami agreed.

I don’t want to date an actor. I just want to use him for a night, Sloane told us assuredly.

Oh, my God, I said as I finished my beer. You’re too much. You make yourself sound like such a slut, and you’re the farthest thing from it.

I talk a good game, Sloane said, winking at me as I got up to head to the bar to get us another round.

Too good, I called over my shoulder, making her grin.

Chapter Two

Emery

When I was a freshman in college, I was naïve. I was idealistic about love, having never actually been in it with the handful of boys I’d dated at different points during high school. And I assumed that was the problem. They had been boys. A part of me just knew that in college, I’d meet a guy who put those boys to shame. The bad news was I was right.

Shane Brewer was a senior when I was a freshman, and the only reason I met him in the first place was that he was in the same fraternity as my brother, Elliott. El had always looked out for me, so when I got to Arizona State, he took me under his wing in an effort to show me around the campus, introduce me to his friends, and help me settle in.

I’d never been more grateful to not feel like a floundering freshman. I’d had an automatic in at one of the coolest frats on campus. Not that it would have been hard for me to get invited to one of their parties had I not known Elliott, since I was a girl, and there wasn’t a lot of discrimination when it came to members of the female persuasion. They pretty much let anyone hang out with them, but I didn’t know that at the time.

So I’d dragged my new roommate Jennie, who was from Denver, to Elliott’s frat house the first week we were on campus. She was as nervous as I was, but we put on a brave face. I’d never been allowed to visit my brother on campus without my parents before, so I wasn’t prepared for just how different a college party would be from the ones I’d gone to in high school, but from the second we walked into the house, it was like an overwhelming sensory-overload of fun. I’d like to say that I went with the flow, dove in and let loose, but I didn’t. Instead, we hung out in Elliott’s room with him and his roommate, drank beer that they got us from the keg, and listened to music.

The door was open, and the party had spilled into the upstairs hallway, so the noise and music and people were all around us, but we were still isolated in his safe little room – which I later learned was intentional. People stopped by to say hi now and then, have a drink, and El introduced us to anyone he felt was relevant. I met so many people that night that there was no way I was going to remember all their names. But there was one guy whose name I knew I wasn’t going to forget any time soon.

With his shaggy dark blond hair, blue eyes, and skin that had been kissed by the California sun, he had my attention from the second he appeared in the doorway to say hi. He’d apparently just gotten back to campus, having stayed in San Diego longer than he’d planned to ‘catch a big swell’. He was wearing a long-sleeve t-shirt, cargo shorts, and his feet were shoved into leather flip flops that looked almost completely worn out. He was quite possibly the most beautiful guy I’d ever laid eyes on, and I really hoped my brother wouldn’t expect me to speak when he introduced us, because it felt like my tongue had swelled to twice its normal size.

I fell in love with Shane Brewer that night. I didn’t say two words to him, and he barely looked in my direction when Elliott told him who I was, but I knew what I was feeling was like nothing else I’d ever felt before. I was in love.

Or more accurately, I was infatuated with him. He was one of those guys that always had a hundred girls around him, who was the life of the party, and who always looked like he was having the time of his life. I was completely drawn to him and the unaffected, go-with-the-flow air he exuded as naturally as breathing. And I wasn’t alone. It seemed like every girl around was equally captivated by him.

Those rare moments when he would smile at me or say hi or ask me how I was doing, I sucked them up like air. He made me so nervous that when he made a passing joke, I would giggle like a little girl. When he asked me if I wanted another beer, all I could do was nod, and when he asked me how my classes were going, it took everything in me to give him a coherent answer and not let the flush I felt show. I’d never been as flustered around a guy as I was when Shane was nearby. To me he was absolutely perfect.

As the year went on, I got more comfortable around him. He was my brother’s friend, so he was around a lot, and he always talked to me. We didn’t have earth-shattering conversations by any stretch, but he talked about surfing and the modeling he’d started to do on the side, as well as his dream to be an actor. He opened up more when he’d been drinking, and I had distinct memories of sitting on the rooftop deck with him, talking about everything and nothing, a haze of alcohol hovering over us. I didn’t say much, because no matter how much time passed, the pressure I felt when Shane was nearby never faded.

I was terrified of saying the wrong thing, making him see me for the naïve girl I was, or worse, I was afraid he’d get bored with me and go searching for one of the girls who always seemed to snag his attention away from me. Those were the girls that would eventually find him hanging out with me, tease him about him disappearing in the middle of the party, shoot me a semi-apologetic smile, since they all knew I was just Elliott’s harmless little sister, and slide onto his lap.

I’d always leave soon after that, since Shane’s attention would be on the girl in the short skirt and the tight top, who didn’t have any qualms about rubbing her body against his, telling him exactly what she wanted, and then taking it. I wasn’t that kind of girl, and I knew I couldn’t compete, but a part of me felt special, because for some reason, I was the girl Shane talked to. We were friends. He liked hanging out with me. But I wasn’t the girl he ever wanted to take home.

I wish I would have seen through his façade sooner, that I would have known better, and that I would have realized that a guy like him would only end up breaking my heart. But like I said, I was naïve back then. And it was my naïveté that ultimately led to the biggest regret of my life.

Not that I was still naïve. No, being burned by Shane had taught me a few things, and in the six years since I’d seen him last, I’d done a little growing up. I knew better, and that was the reason I wasn’t going to Deacon’s party.

Come on, really? Cami pleaded from where she was putting on her make-up in front of the mirror in our tiny