Roadside Attractions

Twenty

HARVIE HEIGHTS, AB

A couple drinks in, I unwind. My shoulders relax, and I begin to laugh freely at the stories Astrid and her friends share about their escapades.

Wyatt gets along with them like a house on fire, and I find myself envious, wondering what it must be like to fit in so easily. To open yourself up to someone you’ve just met. To be comfortable in your own skin, no matter who’s watching. I’m jealous of Astrid, Mei-Lien, and Owen too, even if their friend group has shrunk over the years. For the first time, I wonder what it would be like to have a constant, devoted group of friends. Roman brought me along when he hung out with his friend group, but even for him, most of those friendships were surface-level, aside from Wyatt. I’ve won the lottery with Noor, though I can’t help but feel a pang of longing when I imagine having a more substantial support system.

Wyatt finishes telling them about our stay in Elbow, and the army of dolls that shared our room with us, something that has Astrid and Mei-Lien’s eyes shining with horrified delight. Owen chuckles into his glass as he takes a sip, shaking his head.

“You’re fucking kidding ,” Astrid emphasizes. “We might have to stay there in the near future. Then again, housing a few queer people might be a little too much for Edith, by the sounds of it.”

Wyatt barks out a laugh. “She had a hard enough time letting us share a room out of wedlock.”

His statement is met with a chorus of laughter, and I take a long swig of my cider, smiling at the memory. I peek in Owen’s direction. He’s the quieter one of the bunch, but we keep having little moments of covert glances and private smiles.

Maybe flirting with someone else is exactly what I need to get Wyatt off my mind. It doesn’t matter what Hannah said before about him being into me. The likelihood of Wyatt and I developing any relationship beyond being friends is slim to none. We might have grown closer, but he’s still Wyatt Song—my ex’s best friend. So, as a newly single woman, I think it’s well within my right to do a bit of harmless flirting.

The music shifts. I don’t recognize the song that comes on, but whatever it is, it makes Mei-Lien sit straight up, latching onto Astrid’s arm.

“Bitch, this is our song,” she says.

They both spring up from their seats and head for the dancefloor, somehow dragging Owen along with them.

“You coming?” Owen asks, directing the question at me, and my eyes widen.

I hold up my hands quickly. “Oh, no. I’m good here.”

His gaze lingers on me a second longer. “Suit yourself.”

Owen follows after his friends, grinning as they twirl each other around. I watch them for a few beats, feeling my lips pull up into a smile.

“You’re gonna break that poor guy’s heart,” Wyatt says, and I give him a look.

“What are you talking about?”

He reaches up, adjusting the brim of his ball cap with a shrug. “Owen obviously wants to dance with you.”

The disinterested expression on his face stirs up a flicker of hurt in my chest. My jealousy from this morning at the sight of him and Hannah together feels even more unwarranted. Wyatt clearly doesn’t care about me like that. “I can’t dance,” I mutter, looking away.

“You most certainly can. I’ve seen it. Twice, in fact.”

I refocus on the pub table, staring at the rings left behind by our glasses. “Well, I don’t know anything about him.”

“I didn’t realize you needed to do a background check before dancing with someone.”

Our eyes meet. I can practically hear Noor’s voice in the back of my head, encouraging me to dance with the handsome stranger who’s been making eyes at me all night. And I think about the version of me from earlier in the week, the one who was brimming with confidence after trying new things. Just days ago, I was full of adrenaline after my tattoo, ready to kiss the first person I saw.

I’ve been coming out of my shell a lot more than I expected over the past nine days, so why stop now? It’s not like I’ll ever see these people again. Besides, maybe dancing with Owen will get rid of these unwanted feelings about Wyatt for good.

Turning to watch Owen on the dancefloor, I chew on the inside of my lip. He really is attractive. As if he can read my thoughts, his eyes flicker to mine again.

“Go for it,” Wyatt urges, gesturing to the group.

I hesitate. “Is that okay with you?”

“Why are you asking me?” he asks. I catch the strain in his voice. His jaw tightens, but then he gives me his signature Wyatt smile. “You deserve to have fun, Moore. Don’t worry about me.”

“Are you sure? You could come too.”

He leans back in his seat, folding his arms over his chest tightly. “I’ll spectate.”

Disappointment seeps through my skin. I’m not sure what I expected him to say. But there’s a tiny part of me that wishes he would’ve objected, would’ve said fuck that guy, you should dance with me instead. I feel foolish for letting Hannah’s words get in my head. There’s nothing for me to lean into. Wyatt doesn’t seem bothered by what I do, or who I do it with .

“Okay,” I say, forcing my voice to sound lighter than I feel as I prepare to get up. “Off I go, then.”

Wyatt lifts his beer in a toast before taking a sip. With no final objections, I take a deep breath to brace myself, rising to my feet. I head in Owen’s direction, nerves dancing in my stomach, fervently wishing I’d had another drink first. This would be significantly easier if my inhibitions were lowered. At least the lights are dim, and the dancefloor is packed.

Owen’s back is to me when I approach, so I tap him on the shoulder delicately, heart pounding. He turns, face lighting up when he sees me. “Hey,” he greets.

“Hi,” I say, immediately shy.

He grins. “I thought you were going to leave me hanging.”

I square my shoulders, trying to inject myself with a boost of confidence. He’s made it clear he finds me attractive, so what do I have to worry about? “Well, here I am.”

“May I?” He offers me his hand as a slower song comes on.

I smile as I take it, and he pulls me closer. Owen settles his hands on my hips, and I loop my arms around his shoulders, trying to ignore the burn in my cheeks and the fact that Wyatt is no doubt watching us. I’m not used to this—the immediate intimacy with a total stranger. I don’t know how I feel about it. But I think this is what trips are for as a single person. You meet someone, have a short-lived fling, and then move on. No harm, no foul. The perfect remedy for a breakup. Although it occurs to me that I haven’t actually been upset over Roman since I found out he cheated. I’ve been a little distracted.

I peer at Wyatt across the room.

“How long are you here?” Owen asks, bringing my attention back to him.

“Not sure,” I say as we sway in time with the music. “We’ll either leave tomorrow or the next day.”

“Damn,” he remarks. “Not very long. Lucky I get to dance with you tonight, then.”

The flattery makes me blush, dipping my head as I laugh lightly. “I guess so.”

Owen smiles before twirling me, and the skirt of my sundress fans around me in response. When he brings me toward him again, he lines us up so my back is to his chest, keeping our fingers interlocked. My pulse spikes. We’re a lot closer than we were before. My eyes find Wyatt on their own accord. He’s still at the table. His face is stoic, but he’s watching us, taking a slow sip of his beer.

We sway a little more, and I try to guide us so Wyatt is out of my eyeline, nerves peaking. I don’t know if it’s because of my close proximity to Owen—or Wyatt’s heavy stare.

“This okay?” Owen murmurs, referring to our new position.

“Yeah,” I breathe out.

Goosebumps rise on my skin. I haven’t been touched like this by anyone other than Roman. At the thought of him, I feel a tug of guilt. I thought he’d be the last one to touch me, the only one. But then I remind myself of Margot’s existence, of the overlap between the two relationships, and suddenly I don’t feel quite so bad.

Owen twirls me again so we’re facing each other. I can’t tell which way feels more comfortable. With my back to him, I didn’t have to meet his intense gaze. Now, there’s no escape unless I stare down at my feet. I force myself to maintain his stare, lips curving upward.

“Do you dance like this with all the girls who come through here?” I ask. He may be quiet, but he has a silent confidence to him, and he’s clearly not afraid to go after what he wants.

“Only when they’re as pretty as you,” he says, voice low. I laugh again, ducking my head bashfully. “I like your smile. And your dimples.” He briefly removes his hand from my hip to poke my right cheek gently.

“You’re full of compliments,” I remark. “You don’t know anything about me.”

“Hm.” He pretends to be deep in thought. “I know your name is Stella, you’re from Toronto, you had a falling out with your friend, you’re a little bit guarded, and you’re probably the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. Is that enough?”

I scoff gently. “For right now, I guess so. But I don’t know much about you. ”

Owen gives me a dubious look. “Is that what you want? To get to know me?”

“I. . .” I trail off.

I guess not.

That kind of defeats the purpose of sharing a dance with a stranger. The mystery is part of the allure, and learning more about Owen would shatter the illusion. Right now, all I need to know is that we have a mutual physical attraction. Despite this, I feel rigid, aware that Wyatt is probably still watching.

The energy in the room changes as the ballad comes to a close and is quickly replaced by ABBA. Owen’s mouth spreads into a grin. We pick up the pace, and soon I’m laughing as we spin around, moving in time to the beat of Dancing Queen. We’re joined by Astrid and Mei-Lien, the four of us dancing in a circle.

I glance over in Wyatt’s direction. He’s still sitting at the table dutifully, and he shoots me a smile and a stiff thumbs up when he catches me looking. Pursing my lips, I wave him over to join us, but he shakes his head. It seems like he’s determined to stay as far away from the dancefloor tonight as possible.

Hypocrite.

Out of the blue, Owen places his hands on my waist and lifts me into the air. I squeal in surprise before dissolving into laughter, latching onto his shoulders for balance. When he lowers me again, my cheeks are flushed, and I feel giddy, my skin buzzing.

We continue until the song finishes, and I’m out of breath. Astrid and Mei-Lien dismiss themselves to get more drinks, and then Owen and I are left alone in the crowd again.

He ducks his head toward my ear. “Do you want to go outside?”

I find myself nodding, and when he threads our fingers together, I let him. All of this is so new to me. I feel like I’m in a dream as we weave through the crowd toward the back door. When we step outside, I’m hit with a blast of cool mountain air, and somehow, it makes me feel tipsier.

Keeping a hand on the wall for balance, I walk alongside Owen until he stops short, and I do the same, facing him. He takes a step toward me. I lean back slightly, hitting the wall .

“Hey,” he says, eyes shining with amusement.

“Hey,” I mimic, grinning.

Owen releases my hand, skating his fingers up my arm, leaving goosebumps in their wake. He doesn’t stop until he’s cupped a hand under my chin, thumb stroking my cheek. The smile slowly falls from my face as he dips his head closer, and suddenly, I feel like an idiot.

For some reason, I hadn’t considered that he might actually want to do more than dance with me. But this is what people do when they have flings. Or so I’ve been told.

I hear Noor’s voice in my head: Kiss him, or I’ll do it for you .

And so, when he leans in, closing the gap between us and pressing his lips to mine, not only do I let him, but I kiss him back. His fingers thread into my hair as our lips move together, and I lift a tentative hand to the back of his neck, his skin unfamiliar beneath my touch.

My pulse is loud in my ears as he slips his tongue into my mouth, his other hand settling on my waist. I expect to feel something—desire, instant gratification, butterflies, anything —but the moment feels flat, empty. Distantly, I can hear the music from the pub, the shouts and choruses of laughter, the crunch of gravel beneath tires, and the chirp of crickets. I’m too aware of my surroundings.

Owen exhales, clearly enjoying this far more than I am, and for some reason, that’s what makes things slide into focus.

All at once, it hits me: the shock of kissing someone other than Roman, and—even more devastatingly—the disappointment that it isn’t Wyatt.

Suddenly, my brain is full of him. His shit-eating grin, the way he constantly fidgets with his ball cap, the way his dark eyes seem to see straight through me. His voice, teasing me, encouraging me, telling me I’m pretty, telling me not to waste my love on my ex, to save it for someone who would be lucky to have it. How his presence has somehow shifted from a disturbance to a source of comfort. I think of the way it felt to hold his hand in a crowded bar, his fingers scorching me through my shirt as we posed for a photo, and then his hands on my back, deftly examining my tattoo .

Images flicker through my mind like a slideshow reel—Wyatt in the evening light, golden hour warming his skin. Wyatt fresh out of the shower, droplets of water trailing down his chest. Wyatt with fire in his eyes as he watched me dance.

Wyatt, Wyatt, Wyatt .

I wish I were kissing Wyatt.

I place my hand on Owen’s chest, pushing him a little more roughly than I intend. He immediately stops, concern darting across his features when he sees the look on my face. I feel like I can’t breathe or do anything besides gape at him.

“Stella?” he asks. “Is everything okay?”

“I can’t do this,” I blurt. “I’m sorry.”

Owen holds his hands up in surrender. “Hey, don’t worry about it.”

I cover my face with my palms, wide-eyed, trying to cool down my cheeks, but it feels like someone has taken a blow torch to my skin, setting my whole body ablaze. What the fuck am I doing? Why am I out here with a stranger when I could be with Wyatt right now?

No, it’s not supposed to be like this. I’m not supposed to have real feelings for Wyatt.

But I do.

“It’s just,” I begin, “I’m coming off the heels of a long-term relationship, and I’m—”

“In love with the guy you came here with?” he finishes for me, lifting an eyebrow in amusement.

I laugh shortly in disbelief. In love . The thought leaves me breathless, lodging itself in my chest.

Then my mind shows me a new memory—my conversation with Wyatt about his dating history. I met this girl a long time ago, and I’ve been trying to find someone who makes me feel the way she does ever since. The words make my stomach drop.

He’s in love with someone else.

“I had a feeling,” Owen admits. “But neither of you said anything, so I wasn’t sure.”

“I’m sorry,” I say, offering him a weak smile. “I shouldn’t have led you on.”

He waves a hand dismissively. “Like I said, don’t worry about it. I enjoyed it while it lasted.”

I smile gratefully, glad that he doesn’t appear offended. It’s not like any of this meant anything anyway. He takes a step back, so we’re a chaste distance away.

“I’m gonna head back inside,” he says. “You coming with?”

“I think I need a minute,” I say, fidgeting with my fingers.

Owen nods once. “See you in there.”

He heads back inside, leaving me to my own devices. I exhale a curse, sinking into a squat and placing my head in my hands. Holy shit . This is bad. Really bad. It’s one thing to be attracted to Wyatt physically. I’ve been trying to squash those feelings, but somewhere along the way, it’s become a lot more than that.

I’ve opened up to him, showed him parts of me that I’ve rarely shown anyone else. And we’ve shared the grief of losing the same person. He’s pushed me, challenged me, in a way nothing else has for a long time. When I look at it like that, I suppose my feelings make sense.

Then again, it doesn’t matter if it makes sense, because there’s no way he feels the same. I’m Roman’s ex-girlfriend, and Wyatt’s heart belongs to someone else.

“Stella?”

My head jerks upward at his voice, my stomach twisting. He hurries over to me, the glow of the lights behind making a halo around his head. Crouching down next to me, he touches his fingers to my shoulder gently, worry etched all over his features. All I can think about is how pretty he is, and I hate myself for it.

“What happened?” he asks. “I was keeping an eye on you, and then you disappeared. Are you okay? I was worried he. . . did he do something to you?”

I stare at him blankly for a moment, too distracted to realize he’s talking about Owen. “What? No, I’m fine. He didn’t. . . he didn’t do anything.”

“Are you sure?” he asks, his face hard, like if I said yes, he would immediately find Owen and bring him to his knees. A butterfly flutters its wings in my stomach. “You can tell me the truth.”

“I’m sure.”

Wyatt visibly relaxes a little, leaning back and appraising my appearance. “Do you want to leave?”

The thought of spending the night in the same bed is ten times more agonizing than before. I’m not ready to deal with that yet. Instead, I spring to my feet, putting on a brave face. “No,” I say quickly. “The night is still young. And it’s been too long since my last drink.”

Wyatt rises to his feet slower, shock colouring his features. “Really?”

“Really,” I answer.

Before he can question me further, I duck back inside.