The Other Guy by Cary Attwell Read Free Book Online Page A

softly. "I'll keep that in mind."
We bid each other goodnight, and I trudged back to my room with a mess of thoughts in my head too tight to unravel.
***
    Acting is one of those talents I must've been asleep for while they were handing them out, relegated since my early youth to entirely expendable, sometimes made-up roles like Pine Tree and Villager #12 when school plays rolled around and the teacher was morally obligated to cast everyone in the room.
    This breathtaking lack of talent had been discovered at our first-grade Nativity play, when, overtaken with anxiety as the spotlight swung onto my fake-bearded face, I lost the single line I'd been given, and improvised by bodily harrying Mary and Joseph off to the stage wings while shouting no at them. In all fairness, "no" was one of the words I'd been supposed to say.
    I can only imagine what kind of lucrative, successful lifestyle I'd be leading now if I hadn't given the mother of God so much shit for asking if they could stay at my inn.
    The following year, my bid at redemption as one of the Magi met with utter failure upon committing a similar faux pas, with even fewer words to say this time round, making it quite clear that I could never again be trusted on stage. My ensuing school years would thus involve being fourth alternate to the understudies of minor characters and pulling curtains for the children less inclined to contract retrograde amnesia on contact with theatrical glue.
    That said, if ever you need someone to play the part of Forlorn Idiot, I'm your man.
This explains why I sat on the patio at breakfast, drinking my tea in slow motion for the better part of two hours.
It was pointless trying to convince myself that I wasn't doing it solely because I was hoping Nate would show up again and we'd go and have ourselves another adventure, at the end of which I'd probably scurry off again in typically maladroit fashion. But I didn't have to this time, because he didn't come.
There was a measure of relief at that, but it was largely drowned out by disappointment.
What had I expected, anyway? Just because we'd met at breakfast twice in a row didn't make it a routine.
And it wasn't like he owed me anything; neither of us had made any overtures at definite plans, nor was it reasonable of me to expect him to keep letting me trail alongside him while he navigated all the back streets and open road. We were simply fellow travelers who'd met by chance, and there was no rule that said we had to stick together, even if I kind of wished there was.
Nate was fun, and a real joy to be around. There are friends you have sometimes of whose company you never tire, no matter how much time you spend with them, and I had a feeling that Nate was that kind of friend, if we were actually friends.
Tipping the dregs of my tea past my lips, I decided that I was done waiting and to get on with my life. I was in Thailand, for god's sake; I could moon over someone all I wanted back home, not when I was halfway across the world with things to do that I'd never get to do otherwise.
One of those things was to get a Thai massage, for a single person, which I'd finally sorted out with the in-house spa, and tacked on all kinds of extra things involving hot stones and seaweed, on the reasoning that it was something I'd never normally do.
It passed a couple of hours at least, and I emerged from the spa freshly pink and pliable, and covered head to toe in essential oils. I smelled lovely.
I strolled back to my room to shower it all off, pretending not to be keeping a peripheral eye out for Nate-shaped passersby as I walked through the resort.
With nothing else on the docket, and feeling sleepy after the whole massage experience, I headed out to the beach to while away the rest of the day, making sure to douse myself in sunscreen beforehand.
Half a novel went by, as I sprawled under the shade of a helpful palm tree, and soon I was reading only by the light of a fading sun. I set the book aside, drawing