“ocean eyes” by Billie Eilish
“Both Sides Are Even” by The Boxer Rebellion
“1234” by Feist
“Cold Love” by Rainbow Kitten Surprise
“Stuck in A Moment You Can’t Get Out of” by U2
“Emmylou” by Vance Joy
“Dreams” by The Cranberries
“Cosmic” by Kylie Minogue
“Everywhere” by Fleetwood Mac
“when the party’s over” by Billie Eilish
“Summer in the City” by Regina Spektor
“Shameful Company” by Rainbow Kitten Surprise
“I Walk The Line” by Halsey
“Ho Hey” by The Lumineers
“Again” by Lenny Kravitz
“Underneath Your Clothes” by Shakira
“Wasted” by Rainbow Kitten Surprise
To my readers
February 2015
Stupid fucker. I clutch my champagne glass, hoping it doesn’t shatter in my hands as I watch some blonde rake her manicured hands down his shirt-clad chest. I scan the crowd, my vision slightly blurred thanks to my fourth glass of champers, and make sure no one is watching me.
Owen is in the corner chatting with some mates while my brother, Ali, checks his phone, no doubt replying to his current but soon-to-be-ex girlfriend, Poppy. She just doesn’t know it yet. Poor thing, she’s a close girlfriend of mine but anyone can tell she isn’t right for Ali.
Anybody who would notice my visual path is occupied, and that means I can continue to creepily gaze at Reeve, the stupid fucker I referenced initially, and the dumb blonde practically giving him a breast exam. Breast exam, is that what it’s called for men? Fuck, I’m drunk.
I chug the rest of my champagne and place the glass on the bar countertop, smirking at how the surface looks. I cleaned that shit for hours today, so Ali’s bar opening looked amazing. Saint Street, this bar, has been closed for the past few years since my parents’ unexpected deaths, but after some healing and a healthy dose of grief, Ali decided to reopen it four months ago. The place has been packed ever since, and tonight is no different—we’re celebrating Valentine’s Day. Too bad I’m alone, like all the other years.
Tonight’s supposed to be fun, but fucking Reeve has to go and pull this shit. I grab another glass of bubbly from the bar, and my heels lose their balance in the carpet, causing me to reach for the woman next to me for stability.
“Sorry,” I say as I pull away, and she gives me an awkward smile before turning back to her friends. Fuck, do I really look that pathetic? I’m feeling like a complete Bridget Jones right now. Total and utter joke.
I mean, here I am, two months shy of twenty and everyone can probably tell I can’t hold my liquor for shit. Plus, toss in the fact that I’ve been watching a lad who thinks of me more like a sister. Did I also mention he’s my brother’s best friend and I’ve been totally obsessed with him my entire life? I am a hot mess and I don’t even seem to care.
I pick at the embroidered flowers on my dress, the scratchy fabric a bad choice for tonight’s festivities. Maybe if I’d dressed like that girl all over him I’d have a shot, she looks incredible. But that isn’t me at all, and I’m not too keen to change who I am. This is all total crap. And now I feel like crap. Fucking men.
I pull my eyes from my dress, sneaking one more peek at Reeve before I head out for the night, but of course he and the little blonde are no longer there. Shit—they’re probably snogging in the back room for all I know. I snag another drink and take a gulp, the bubbles causing pressure in my chest.
“You sure seem to be enjoying the champagne,” a familiar voice says from beside me. I turn quickly, not bothering to hide my excitement that Reeve has clearly ditched the girl.
“I’m an adult, Reeve. I can have a bucket of champagne if I want,” I retort.
He runs a hand through his overgrown black hair, his green eyes shining down on me. I’ve never been a tall girl at five foot four, and Reeve’s six-foot stature towers over me, not that I’m complaining.
“I’m just observing, Emmy,” he says, clearly doing more than observing.
“Can you not call me that?” I snap. “I’m not a child anymore, Reeve. I mean, just because I’m not out snogging every guy I see doesn’t mean I still play with Barbies.”
At my mention of kissing other men, Reeve’s eyes pinch together before he recovers quickly.
“I know you’re not a child, Emilia”—he says my name painfully— “but since your brother is too caught up elsewhere tonight, someone has to look out for you. You’re not really a huge drinker, and it’s easy for anyone to get carried away.”
I scoff, then shove the champagne glass into his hand and walk toward the stairs. I like to think that I’m not leaving because of him, that I was already planning my exit, but deep down I know it’s because of Reeve Sawyer. I’ve been in love with that asshole for as long as I can remember.
As I reach the top of the stairs and push open the big fucking door to exit, my heel snags on the step and I stumble.
“Fuck,” I mutter, pulling the strappy shoes off my feet, angry at myself that I didn’t wear my chunky Betsey Johnsons and instead let Poppy convince me these were more sophisticated. Fuck sophistication. If I wanna wear bright red high heels with silver stars on them, I bloody well will.
I race down the paved streets of Notting Hill to get to the Tube, and it’s eerily quiet for a Saturday night, so it doesn’t take me long to realize someone is walking behind me. My gut drops for a moment, and I fear I’m about to be a segment on the morning news.
“Emilia, wait,” Reeve calls out, and I stop abruptly.
“Jesus Christ, has anyone ever told you not to follow a girl alone at night? You nearly scared me half to death, you dickhead.”
“Has anyone ever told you that you probably shouldn’t walk home in the middle of the night after a few drinks? One wouldn’t exactly call that safe.” He smirks at me, and I want to slap it right off his face.
“Asshole,” I mutter before I continue to walk.
“I’m sorry I scared you,” he says, now walking next to me. I try to hide my surprise at Reeve apologizing. I doubt I’ve ever heard him say it before.
“You didn’t scare me,” I say stubbornly.
“Come on.” He nudges my side. “I’ll give you a ride home.” He heads toward his Beamer parked out front of my favorite coffee shop, The Blue Café. I’m still, not making any move to hop in, annoyed at how tonight turned out.
“Come on, Emilia, I’m not letting you take the Tube home at this time of night.” He stands stoic with his arms crossed over his chest.
“Whatever,” I mumble, getting into his fancy-ass car. He chuckles while I buckle my seat belt.
When he hops in, my body instantly heats at his close proximity. I sit on my hands as he revs the engine and pulls out of the space.
“You should text your brother. Ali will be worried.” He keeps his attention on the road as he says it, not even bothering to look at me.
“Yes, Dad.”
His hands tighten on the wheel and we both ride in silence until I can’t bear it anymore. I turn the radio on, Selena Gomez’s new song blasting. I turn it up, then hum along as we drive until Reeve reaches out and changes the channel to old rock.