Chapter 19

nineteen

ISLA

I'm nervous. Choosing my outfit for this evening was far too big an ordeal. I tried on seven different dresses before settling on a deep peacock green number. It makes my eyes pop, my skin glow, and my hair looks amazing against the rich color. It's pinned in a loose chignon at the base of my head with artfully arranged tendrils escaping the style around my face and neck. My eye makeup is smokey, my skin looks dewy with just enough highlighter to shimmer without looking ridiculous, and my lips are a bright red.

No matter how many times I tell myself I'm worried about looking my best because there will be photographers and reporters at the dinner tonight, I know the truth. Because every time I think about Maddox and the flirty texts he's been sending me all week, my stomach erupts in a flurry of butterflies. He's snuck past my defenses, and that scares the hell out of me. It's exciting, too, but scary. He just wants to be friends , I tell myself. That's all you should want too , I say in my head again and again.

I'm a terrible liar.

I'm even more nervous because the photo I posted of Maddox and me went a bit viral. There were thousands of comments on it. Some kind, some not. Some were just downright disgusting. The dumb football players in high school who were obsessed with finding out if my pubes matched my hair are in good company. There are a lot of disgusting men on the internet.

I blocked all the random strangers who started following me because of the photo and set my profile to private. The attention made me uncomfortable, and I'm worried someone will bring it up at dinner tonight.

My vague caption had the desired effect. There is a hell of a lot of speculation about Maddox and me now. It's just a lot of nosey strangers doing the wondering instead of Alex like I'd hoped. Who knows if he's seen the photo?

Or if he'll care.

I'm swiping on one final coat of mascara when my phone buzzes. Nev and Jess are here. I slip into my gold heels, grab my purse and a soft wrap in case the night turns chilly, and head out of my apartment.

"Oh. My. God." Jess squeals when I slide into the car. "You look so stunning. I mean, wow."

"Thanks," I say with a chuckle.

"You really do," Nev agrees, grinning at me from the driver's seat. "Maddox Graves won't know what hit him."

"This isn't for Maddox."

"Suuuuure it's not." Nev winks at me. Whatever. Even I don't believe that. Still, I roll my eyes and don't admit to the truth. They would never shut up about it if I did .

"You guys look hot. Planning on picking up a hockey player?"

Jess laughs. "I wouldn't mind. Have you seen photos of Ryder Hanson? He's a rookie this year, but he already has a huge female following. He's hot. Plus, I hear a few of them are bona fide sex gods."

"Yes," Nevaeh agrees. "Like Griffin Wright? I've heard he's an absolute beast in bed."

That has me laughing. Griffin? The goofy blond with endless jokes and pure golden-retriever energy is a beast in bed? Somehow I can't see it. A good time, sure, but a beast?

"What?" Nev narrows her eyes at me. "Why are you laughing?"

"Nothing, he's just… Griffin's so not your type."

She and Jess exchange a loaded look before pinning me with the full weight of their attention.

"What? Can we just go? We're going to be late."

"Hold on. What do you mean, he's not my type? How would you know that, Isla?"

I shrug. "I told you I hung out with Maddox and some of the guys last Saturday when they rescued me from that awful shithead, Blake. Griffin was there."

Nevaeh squeals as she pulls out of my building's parking lot. "Who else was there?"

"Um, Sebastian and Logan. I think the four of them are good friends. At least, that's the impression I got. They're all really nice, but total players. Well, maybe not Sebastian. He seemed quieter and chill. Less fuckboy." I could see him and Maddox being close. They probably hang out and play video games or sit in the same room and read books while Griffin and Logan are out screwing anything with a half-decent pair of boobs and two brain cells to rub together.

"You have to introduce us," Jess says. "Ohmygod, what if we all ended up with sexy hockey players? We could triple date."

That earns a snort of laughter from me. "Good luck. I don't get the impression that they're the dating type."

Jess considers it for a moment as her brows furrow. "That's okay. How many guys are on the team? Like twenty, right? Plenty of dick to choose from."

"Never pegged you two as jersey chasers."

"Normally we wouldn't be, but after we won that date for you with Maddox, we went on a bunny trail. We spent like three days staring at photos of the team, even watched a couple games online."

"Really?" That surprises me. None of us are all that sporty, and I can't remember the last time either of my friends expressed even the smallest interest in any kind of game.

Jess nods. "Yep. And the whole suits-on-game-day thing?" She fans her face. "Seriously, Isla. Those men wear the hell out of those suits. I mean, damn."

That I could see. They're all tall and muscular, and I've seen Maddox in a suit. Jess is right. Maddox wears the suit. When Alex wore one? The suit wore him. It's the difference between a man and a boy.

"Well, good luck with that. Every other woman in the building will have the same idea, but you two certainly look hot tonight. I'm sure you'll snag one of them." As soon as I say the words, my stomach tightens uncomfortably because I know I'm right.

Most of the women there will be on the prowl, hoping to catch the players' attention. Maddox has been texting and joking around with me, but will he even look my way when he's surrounded by prettier, more confident women? Probably not. And that's okay. That's fine. Maddox isn't my type, anyway. He just wants to be my friend, and that's all I want, too.

Maybe if I keep telling myself that, I'll finally believe it. Physically, Maddox is everyone's type. But after he agreed to speak at my school and then saved me from a scary jerk, my attraction to him became more than physical.

All too soon, we're stepping out of Nevaeh's car at the valet station. My stomach is a tangle of nerves, and I can't stop fidgeting.

"Come on," Jess says, grabbing my hand. "Let's go have some fun. This is just a fancy night out with the girls. No dates, no pressure, no expectations."

A few photographers snap photos of the important-looking guests as they walk down the red carpet leading into the arena. They shout a few names, ask a few questions, and their cameras flash brightly. At least no one will bother taking photos of me. I'm not rich or important.

"Isla Harding?" a young woman calls out as the girls and I make our way up the carpet. "Is it true you're dating Maddox Graves? Can you tell us how long you've been in a relationship?"

Oh, no. That stupid Instagram post. I stammer, at a loss for words because I never expected any of these people to have seen that photo, let alone ask about it. Cameras flash at us. Jess tugs at my hand.

"Just ignore them," Jess whispers in my ear. "Smile and show them what a babe you are, but ignore the questions."

I try to do as she says, but I'm sure my smile looks forced and the only color left in my face is the blush I brushed on over my foundation.

"Tell us," that same reporter calls as we pass her, "are you worried that Maddox will break your heart like he's broken his previous girlfriends'?"

My chest tightens as we step into the arena's massive foyer. Am I worried Maddox will break my heart? Of course, I would be. If there was anything between us. But her words, spoken so casually, are like a splinter in my palm I can't quite see. It burrows under my skin and stings. Could she so easily see that I'm the kind of girl who ends up broken-hearted and left in the dust? Are the words stepping stone blinking in neon over my head? If my dating life were a horror movie, would the audience know the first moment I stepped onto the screen that I'm not final girl material?

"Hey." Nevaeh tugs me over to the side of the coat check so we're not in anyone's way. "Where'd you go?"

"What? I'm fine."

My best friend eyes me skeptically. "You sure?"

"Totally. Should we grab a glass of champagne from one of those servers before heading upstairs?" Please don't call me on my deflection .

She and Jess stare at me for another moment before deciding it may be best to let whatever's bothering me go. Hopefully, they assume I'm just overwhelmed by being recognized. Maybe they think I'm panicking that the world is curious about my dating life. And that's all true. But I don't need them to know the core of it. They've been worried enough about my headspace since Alex broke things off with me.

My mind wanders to the strands of blonde hair in his Instagram post. I never should have looked at his feed. Even if he's not with someone else, it's clear he's moved on. I should move on, too.

The problem is, I'm terrified of being hurt like that again. If anyone asks, I'm happy to list out the myriad reasons I'm not ready to date. They all sound healthy and empowering, and usually, it gets people to back off and stop asking. Which is what I want.

But the real list? The real list has only one reason on it. One paralyzing reason I haven't started dating again.

I can't shake the fear that Alex left me because I'm not enough. Because I'm unlovable. And if he could see that, someday everyone else will, too.