More accurately, I was insanely, unrelentingly furious over the way he’d let things end between us. I wasn’t over it, like I should’ve been. I hadn’t moved on, like a true adult would have.

In fact, four years after that particularly painful one-night stand, I’d go so far as to claim I felt more pissed off there in the bar than I’d been back then. And that was saying something.

Clearly, these thoughts didn’t reflect well upon my maturity level. I knew I should’ve grown up, walked away, traveled on, let it all go — or, at least, chosen to go into denial or therapy. But, see, a Zen-like acceptance of my fate just wasn’t my reality.

As I watched Sam steal glances at me while lounging at the bar with Camryn, I had only one prevailing thought — I wanted to get bloody even with him. A few related thoughts followed:

• I wanted to extract some serious revenge in return for the emotional damages I’d suffered that last week of senior year in high school.

• I wanted him to endure, if only for one day, a fraction as much hurt as I’d felt.

• I wanted to make his life such a living hell that night that he’d wake up in the morning clutching his ribs, feeling agonizing stabs of pain where his heart should’ve been.

• I wanted his whole body to ache from the emotional torment. Just like mine had.

• I was a really nice person, huh?

• I shrugged to myself. Having once come so close to loving Sam, no degree of hatred seemed too extreme or even remotely unjustified.

However, before I could work out my best strategy for dismembering his life piece by piece, I decided I needed another gulp of my drink. When I lowered the glass from my lips, Camryn was standing right in front of me.

“Look,” she said, her voice chilly, “Sam’s in the bathroom. I’ve only got a minute, so I’ll say this fast. He’s taken.” She paused, leveling those green eyes at me with utter gravity. “I saw the looks that passed between you two. I don’t know your history with him but, whatever it was, it’s over now and he’s with me.”