Page 64 of Floored (Frenched 3)
I felt myself sinking.
“Charlie,” I said softly. “You’re confusing me.”
“I know. I’m sorry. It isn’t fair.”
My throat closed up unexpectedly. Careful. “We should go.”
“OK.”
I dropped my arms and tried to move, but he held me in place. “Charlie,” I said, sternly this time.
“I wish things were different, Erin.”
“What do you mean?”
Silence. “Nothing. Never mind.” He removed his hands, and I moved away immediately, scooping up my purse and coat from the floor.
“Ready?” I asked, already opening the door
“Yes.”
We said nothing on the elevator ride down, as we waited for the valet to bring a car they’d just parked an hour ago (Jesus, what they must have been thinking), or on the ride to my car. My blood simmered with anger—at myself, at Charlie, at the situation.
At the entrance to the lot where I’d parked, Charlie told the attendant he was just dropping me off. The guy waved us in, and I directed Charlie to my car. He pulled up behind it and put his car in park. “You must think I’m crazy,” he said quietly.
I shrugged.
“I don’t blame you. The truth is, Erin, I wish I could be what you wanted.”
“How do you know you can’t?” I blurted without thinking.
“I can’t.” He shook his head. “Believe me.”
Get out of the car, before you say something stupid. Better yet, fix this mess. Clean it up.
“Charlie, the wedding thing is not that big a deal,” I said with false brightness. “Really.”
“Are you sure? Because if it’s important to you—”
“It isn’t. Don’t change your plans.”
He rubbed his jaw. “What time is the ceremony?”
“Five. But I mean it. Don’t change your plans.” I tried a smile. “In fact, I’ll be mad if you show up.”
He smiled too. “Thanks for taking me to the ballet.”
“You’re welcome. See you.”
I got out of his car and into mine, and he waited until I started it to pull away. I waited until he turned to go in the opposite direction to let my eyes fill with tears.
Then I cried the whole way home, for no good reason at all.
Coco’s wedding day dawned cold but sunny. The three of us met at the salon at eleven in the morning to have our hair and makeup done, giggling over glasses of champagne—sparkling juice for Mia—and taking a million photos. We all wore our hair up, and since it was Coco’s wedding, Mia and I each traded our usual softer colors for Coco’s signature bright red lips.
When we were done, I stopped at my house to grab a quick lunch and pick up my dress, shoes, and the Bridesmaid Survival Kit Mia had made for me. It contained hand lotion, antibacterial gel, hairspray, hairpins, tissues, breath mints, Motrin, a little bottle of whiskey, and a condom.
I won’t be needing that, I thought grumpily. But I left it in the kit and tossed the entire thing in my overnight bag. The girls were all getting dressed at Coco’s parents’ house, which wasn’t too far from where I lived, and then the limo was picking us up from there to go to the church. As I drove over, I wondered again what Charlie’s plans were for tonight that he couldn’t change. I hadn’t heard from him since Thursday night, but I hadn’t cried again either. I did spend way too much time thinking about that kiss at Cliff Bell’s, though.
