Maybe he just wasn’t in the mood to meet people tonight. Every conversation felt like a cage, and every time, he had to find a new combination of words to open up an escape so he could bow out.
And every damned time, as soon as he found that escape, someone else appeared.
This time, after Rachel caught sight of someone she hadn’t seen since high school, and they’d both gratefully parted ways, Matt made it two steps before he was stopped.
His cousin’s new wife came up to him, grasping the maid of honor’s elbow. “Matt, there you are! Have you met my sister?”
Here we go.
“I haven’t.” He switched his drink to his left hand and extended his right. “Matt Coolidge.”
The maid of honor, a pretty redhead with a cute sprinkling of freckles across her face, shook his hand. “Lisa.”
“I’ll let you two chat.” The bride flashed them each a grin before she disappeared into the throng of guests.
Lisa glanced after her sister and then turned to Matt. “So you’re Hal’s cousin?”
“Yep.” He forced a smile. “Hard to believe he’s grown up enough to be getting married.”
She giggled. “Sometimes I wonder.”
Matt laughed. “I guess some people never grow up, do they?”
“No, definitely not.”
And with that, they slammed right into an uncomfortable lull.
Come on, come on—conversation. Words. Say something. Ask something.
His gaze darted into his nearly empty glass, and then he met hers. “So, do you live in this area?”
She shook her head. “I’m living in Chicago while I finish my Masters.”
“Chicago? Really? I just moved back from there last year.”
“Oh yeah? Whereabouts did you live?”
They chatted about Chicago, commiserating about the weather and the traffic, and he asked about her Masters program. She was smart, and she was interesting, and once they’d broken the ice, he didn’t stumble quite so much while he talked to her. For the first time all night, he was enjoying a conversation and wasn’t looking for the nearest exit.
Like many of the other women he’d met tonight, Lisa was gorgeous. But like all the other women, she didn’t spark much in the pit of his stomach—or below his belt. Nothing about her could quite grab on to him and make the rest of the room vanish around them. Even while they talked about things that fascinated both of them, she couldn’t stop his heart with a look.
Not like Dara could.
That thought nearly made his heart stop.
His drink nearly slipped from his hand.
That was it, wasn’t it? None of the women in this room interested him, and it wasn’t because they were boring or they lacked personality or they were potentially just after his money. They weren’t Dara.
That was crazy, though. He and Dara were friends. They weren’t even sleeping together anymore. He was just being an idiot, and he banished the thoughts and focused on his conversation with Lisa.
Eventually, they reached enough of a lull for both of them to bow out and move on. She disappeared into the crowd, and he was alone. Just like he’d been all night, even while she’d been there, because even in a room with two hundred fifty people, one in particular had been missing the whole time.
Her absence by his side right now was all wrong. It was as if one of the members of the string quartet had walked out while the others kept playing—the music still played, and the people still danced, but something was undeniably missing.
His collar was starting to get tight again, and his heart thumped in his chest. He needed some air. Badly.
He took a glass of ice water from a passing waiter and headed for the door. There were a few people outside on the ballroom’s sprawling cobblestone patio, but it was less crowded than inside. Much quieter too.
He went to the railing overlooking the golf course. There, he took a few deep breaths and then a swallow of water. He sucked an ice cube into his mouth and rolled it around on his tongue, concentrating on the coldness and shutting out the noise from the reception hall.
Out here, away from the crowd, he could breathe a little better, but that vacant space beside him was even more conspicuous. The silence echoed in his ears where there should have been Dara’s voice. Her wicked laugh, her playful cattiness.
“You think this dress is low enough to piss off your mom?”
He heard himself laughing almost two decades ago. “I think she’s already pissed off that we’re going together.”
“Well, she’d better notice how I dressed. I didn’t wear these fucking stripper heels for my own amusement.”
He chuckled around the ice cube, gazing out at the darkened golf course. No, his mother hadn’t approved of her dress, or the heels, or her existence, but they hadn’t cared that night. Or any night, for that matter.