A Different Slice

1.1 - Partners in Shattered Dreams (Naomi)

What would help Greg get over his break-up? Clearly, the shots and drinks hadn't helped. Naomi wished they were still sixteen, so junk food and a Star Wars marathon would erase his pain. But he wasn't trying to forget a poor test mark or their classmates being judgemental jerks. His ex had ended their two-year relationship, and no matter how excited Naomi was about it, he didn't echo those sentiments.

"Going out is weird without her," he muttered and didn't make eye contact, as if he hadn't meant for Naomi to hear.

She squeezed his hand for a moment. "She's the one who made a mistake."

Greg's stormy eyes met hers. "You think so?"

Naomi's heart fluttered in her chest. The whites of his eyes were redder than usual, but he focused on her.

This is your pitch. Swing for the fences.

"You're amazing, Greg, and if she can't see that, screw her."

He smiled, but it flickered out seconds later. "You're obligated to tell me that as my friend."

"I mean it." She stared at him, her heartbeat slowing and drowning out the loud bassline with each second. "You're supportive, funny, a kickass outfielder with a hell of an arm, smart, ambitious, and I can't imagine a day without you in my life."

Each breath extending the silence between them weighed down Naomi's chest. Greg pressed his lips together while his Adam's apple bobbed up and down. 

He had to see how amazing it would be to date someone who knew and loved his quirks. How a piece of her heart had been devoted to him since they were fifteen. She would never leave him or hurt him like Tara did. 

He blinked, breaking their stare. "I-I" He looked at the dance floor again, and his voice emerged as a slur, "I need a drink."

As he stumbled past the brick and wooden pillars toward the bar, a slow-motion explosion rocked her chest, sending fragments of her heart at the unsuspecting tables of people nursing drinks on their metal barstools. Ten years of build-up to this moment, and she was ditched. He didn't even have the decency to reject her.

It took all her willpower not to sprint away or crumble onto the sticky floor.

"That was cold," a deep, gravelly voice echoed from behind her.

Naomi didn't turn around, as she assumed the comment was for someone else. Instead, she leaned her elbows on the wobbly table and rested her forehead in her palms. But the voice grew closer, asking if she was okay. She looked up at a man in an out-of-place black Iron Maiden t-shirt. He was well past the six-foot mark and stockier than Greg but without the muscular definition. What was he doing at this club?

"I'm fine."

"What a coincidence. I wince like I got struck by a two-by-four full of nails when I'm fine too." His eyebrow piercing shot up as he half-smiled.

Naomi crossed her arms over her low-cut dress, yet had to fight a laugh. If she were walking downtown at night, she wouldn't want to be followed by this guy, but here he was a breath of fresh air from the overconfident, sleazy guys who made sexist comments when she walked without a male escort.

"Do you always eavesdrop on strangers' conversations?"

"Only when I hear dreams being crushed." He grinned. "I live for that."

"How kind of you."

"I'm looking for a partner in shattered dreams. I also got rejected tonight, but unlike your friend, mine bailed completely. At least you still have half a shot."