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It was like radar, like he wore a homing device for her in his chest. He knew the very instant she entered the room.

She looked…different. Different in a good way, of course, but not what he had expected. Perhaps it was because he had seen her in a professional setting so often that he’d come to take that image of her for granted. This was another side of her. High-waisted jeans, little tank top, even taller than usual shoes. She moved differently in this outfit, touching her hair more, smiling with ease, her posture more fluid.

He watched as she made her way directly to the bar, her eyes casting about the club as though she were searching for something, someone. He hoped against hope it was him she was looking for. And yet, her eyes never found his.

Making his own beeline to the bar, sidestepping as many greetings and conversations as possible without seeming completely rude—it was his party, after all—he rehearsed his lines in his head. Admittedly, he felt a little foolish for having spent most of his day trying to think of a comeback, but he couldn’t let her have the last word. Especially if it was going to be another Hanson takedown. Suffering one of those was more than enough. He absolutely HAD to respond. And that response had to be wittier and more devastating than anything he’d managed to throw at her previously.

He watched the bartender glance not-so-surreptitiously down her shirt as she leaned over the bar and felt a surge of disgust. But by the look on her face when she turned around, he knew that she was un-phased by the attention, that she hadn’t even noticed it. The swell of emotion ebbed. As she sipped heavily at the drink in her hand, he sidled up next to her, stopping just off her right shoulder before firing his well thought out comeback line.

He watched a look of barely masked anger and hurt flicker behind her eyes, although the expression on her face did not change. He didn’t feel as triumphant as he’d imagined he would, and for a second, considered attempting to take back the insult. He had touched a nerve that he hadn’t realized existed. She really was a Hanson fan. He imagined for a moment what one of his fans would have done if someone had said something like that about his band. He’d crossed a line.

But just as quickly as he felt guilty, her snarky response charged him up again. He fired another pithy, biting comment her way, stepping as close to her as he could. Feeling exhilarated by her proximity, by the rush of battle, he let his hip press against her body.

She stepped away, a flush of crimson rising up her chest and through her cheeks, eyes still flashing frustration. He wasn’t sure how to judge her reaction. She was not the same, not what he was used to. Things felt strange and new, as if he’d grown accustomed to their dynamic and that night something had shifted out of place…or into a better place. He’d thought something was different the very first moment he saw her that night. Perhaps he had been right. Perhaps something was about to go his way.

And then she backed into a massive figure behind her and turned away from him. In seconds he knew he’d lost her. Knew he’d misjudged the shift in the atmosphere around her. Her night would not be about him. The way her hand rested on the blonde man’s arm, the way she leaned toward him intentionally, as though she could not near the words Big Blonde was speaking (when he could hear them perfectly clearly from two feet away). Her shift would be towards this man. Her shift, again, would be away from him.

***

Logically, he knew he should be mingling, shaking hands and making painful small talk with girls who could barely string together more than a few words in front of him. It was his responsibility at a party like this. At the very least, he should be with his brothers, letting them do the work while he watched Aisling from a distance. But he knew he couldn’t focus enough to play nice with anyone else. And hanging out with his brothers had become a chore lately. It was as if everything he said was an invitation for warfare. Or worse, an invitation to be ignored or put down. It was exhausting.

So instead, he watched as Big Blonde pressed drink after drink into Aisling’s hand. She was having her fifth gin & tonic. If he hadn’t found it actually sickening to observe, he might have been impressed at her ability to hold her liquor. Sure, she was behaving differently. Giggling effusively, playing with her hair constantly, moving with a molten ease, buying Big Blonde’s every crappy line.

Sure, he wasn’t a drinker, and he never spent much time around people who were. But from the stories he’d heard, of girls and liquor, of stumbling and fainting and slurring words…she was doing none of this. She was just…different, yet again. The third Aisling he’d seen. He liked some things about this Aisling—he was drawn to her languid hips, her low, suggestive eyes, her sensuous voice—he liked these things against his better judgment. But he was more than a little bothered by her. By her sudden inability to keep her hands to herself or to see through Big Blonde, by the way she had suddenly become like other girls. And perhaps most of all, he was bothered by the fact that he still wanted her.

It was becoming mind numbing to listen to them. He could not believe the words he heard coming out of their mouths. Admittedly, he did not know her well, but this seemed below the Aisling he’d seen. The one who never cut him in inch of slack. Who ran business meetings, commanded the attention of executives easily twice her age, and made him feel slack jawed and cotton mouthed. There was just a lot of inane banter and unearned laughter, punctuated by unnecessary physical contact. There was no substance.

Out of the corner of his eye he could see her getting closer and closer to Big Blonde with each passing moment. He wondered when the spell would break, when she would step back and see the guy for who he really was. Big Blonde was clearly out to get into her pants. It irked him that she couldn’t seem to tell the difference. He wanted her attention, for real, for the right reason. This guy wanted one thing only, and she wasn’t even making him fight for it.

“So what did you say you wanted to be when you grow up again?” Big Blonde asked, his hand sliding to her lower back.

“I AM grown up,” she feigned insult and swatted at Big Blonde’s arm. He swore he felt bile rising in his throat.

“Oh come on, you can’t be more than…what? Twenty-one, twenty-two?”

“Very cute, mister. You know I’m twenty-five.”

“Not possible,” he feigned shock.

“Well played.”

“Hey Joe,” Nick said, appearing out of nowhere. He hadn’t even seen his younger brother coming.

“Shh,” he hissed, “I’m trying to—”

“Yeah, I know what you’re trying to do, but it’s not working. And frankly, you look pretty pathetic doing it.”

He pretended not to hear his younger brother, irritated most of all by the fact that he knew Nick was probably right. He probably did look pathetic, hovering at the shoulder of a girl who was paying him no attention. Who had quite literally turned her back on him and never looked back. But he couldn’t stop himself. He didn’t want to.

“Piss off, dude, I don’t want to hear it.”

“Joe, she’s not interested, when will you get that through your thick head?!”

“Stop talking,” he widened his eyes at his brother, attempting to express his urgency, fearful that she’d hear Nick’s words. As if they might change something.

“She can’t hear me,” Nick read his mind. “She’s too busy sucking that guy’s tongue out of his face. Now will you give it up?”

“What?”

He’d completely lost focus on Aisling as he tried to get rid of his brother, but now he realized the conversation had fallen silent. And a soft, feminine moan emanating from behind him was more than enough confirmation of what was going on. Still, he turned to see it. To see the girl he’d come for, locked in an uncomfortably deep kiss with another guy. His stomach churned and he swallowed forcefully to try and stop the chemicals rising in his throat, this time for real. Nick began to lead him away.

“That guy is an idiot,” he remarked, trying to convince himself Aisling already knew this. “She’s wasting her time with him.”

“Because you’re obviously a much better candidate,” Nick said with as much condescension as he could muster, rolling his eyes exaggeratedly. “You’re eighteen.”

“Doesn’t matter,” he shook his head, as if to dislodge the memory, “I know I’d be so much better for her.”

“No, you know you can’t have her, and that’s the only reason you want her.”

He wrenched his arm out of Nick’s grasp, but did not respond to the comment. Although he was sure he could not hide his reaction completely, he refused to respond verbally. Instead he pretended, once again, not to hear a word Nick was saying. He did not want to believe it was true. Did not want to believe his body could trick him that way.

When he turned around Aisling and Big Blonde were gone.