For a second she saw a twinge of regret. Like it was the last thing he wanted to be doing. Instead he gave her a brief show of dimples. “Of course. It’s Friday night in New York City.”
This was all wrong: his tone, his trendy attire, his too-laid-back attitude. Who are you?
“And besides, you look hot,” he said, reaching for her hips and nuzzling at her ear. Julie gave a forced smile. His compliment felt hollow. She didn’t want to be hot. Not to Mitchell. She wanted to be beautiful.
His hands slid up the back of her thighs and under the tight fabric of her tiny skirt. Normally Julie relished the process of picking out nightlife attire, but tonight little thought had gone into it, and she’d grabbed one of her defaults: a black mini, a sparkly black halter top that showed most of her back, and a pair of five-inch stilettos. She felt plastic.
“We should get going,” she said, pulling back sharply when he leaned in for a kiss. He looked confused and slightly hurt, and she smiled to soften the rejection even as she chided herself. Get it together!
“I got us a car,” he said as she grabbed her clutch from the table. “I figured it’d be easier than trying to deal with a cab on Friday night. Especially when you’re wearing heels.”
“Honey, these aren’t heels, they’re Louboutins,” she corrected. Honestly. Men.
Once they’d settled into the town car’s soft leather seat, she asked, “Have you been to Pair before?”
He set a hand on her bare leg, his thumb stroking the inside of her knee.
“I haven’t, no,” he said, eyes locked on the spot where his palm had found her thigh. “You?”
“Sure, a bunch of times. I actually know one of the bouncers pretty well. That should get us to the front of the line.”
Mitchell stared at her. “There’ll be a line? This late?”
Julie had to laugh. “Are you kidding? There’ll be a line because we’re this late.”
He looked vaguely disoriented. “But there have to be about a million other places to grab a drink in the city where one wouldn’t have to wait.”
“I’m sure there are, but that’s not what this is about.”
“Then what is it about?”
Julie shrugged, annoyed at the question. “I don’t know. It’s about the scene, I guess.” He grunted, and Julie very slowly turned to face him, realization dawning.
“Mitchell … you have been to a club before, right? At least once?”
“Sure.”
He was lying. She was sure of it. Her spine stiffened. “Mitchell, why did you suggest this tonight?”
“I thought you’d enjoy it—isn’t this your thing?”
Julie tried not to be insulted.
Just a few weeks ago it wouldn’t have bothered her to have a “thing.” It wouldn’t have even bothered her that people perceived her “thing” to be partying with a different guy every week. But no matter what she did, she couldn’t quite get this guy to think she was relationship-worthy.
“If it were my thing, would I have suggested movie night?” she heard herself asking in a small voice.
He finally turned to look at her. “I thought you were only suggesting that because it’s what I would want to do.”
She met his eyes. “Is that why you said no?” Or am I not movie-night material?
He sucked in the insides of his cheeks briefly as though debating his best option: a careful lie or a painful truth.
“Honestly? Movie night seemed a little … intimate,” he conceded finally.
Ouch.
She almost wished he’d gone with the careful lie. But on the plus side, it was a great development for her story.