I snort into my drink.
“Hey, don’t laugh,” she adds. “They might blow up. I might end up regretting not getting their numbers now.”
We both laugh. She takes a breath. “But still… I’m proud of you, Sawyer.”
Macee’s smile falters just a little as she studies my face.
“You’re happy,” she says slowly, “but not happy happy. What happened when you got home last night?”
I glance down at my coffee. “He was there. He apologized. We kissed. He stayed over.”
Macee says nothing to my small rundown of last night, but the silence is deafening.
“It wasn’t a fight,” I add quickly. “He was… nice. Sweet, even.”
“Mm-hmm,” she hums, not buying it. “And did you want any of it? Or did you just let it happen because it’s easier than blowing it all up?”
I don’t answer. I don’t have to. She knows me too well.
I open my mouth to change the subject, but then the bell above the café door jingles, catching my attention.
My heart stutters.
No. Oh, god. No.
I turn myhead fully, and yep, there he is.
Jasper Reign.
Black hoodie. Dark eyes. The devil incarnate. He walks in like he owns the place, but not in the loud, look-at-me way of a rockstar, more like a shadow that chooses exactly when to be seen.
I refuse to be noticed. I shrink into my seat, sunglasses still on, jaw locked. He doesn’t look at me—but somehow, that’s worse. Like he’s letting me wait for the moment he does. And goddamn it, part of me is holding my breath for it.
Macee notices immediately. “Um, what the hell?”
I can’t answer her. I can’t even blink, afraid it will draw attention to me.
Instead, I watch him as he stands there waiting for his order. The barista sets his drink down with an overly friendly smile that stirs feelings in me I’m not ready to acknowledge.
He takes the coffee, turns toward the exit, and that’s when his eyes lift.
Straight to mine.
He winks at me, the corner of his mouth curves just a hint and I forget how to breathe. That smirk cuts through me like a knife through static. He knew I was here. Knew I’d look. And even as my pulse quickens, I remind myself that I don’t want him. I don’t.
But then why the hell am I still staring at the door after he leaves?
Macee blinks once, twice, and then leans across the table as if about to deliver a holy prophecy. “Okay, what the actual hell was that? Did Lucifer himself wink at you?”
I’m already grabbing my phone and fumbling to stand, but she keeps going, all teeth and chaos.
“You kissed your toxic boyfriend last night, and now the lead singer of Her Last Confessional is stalking you into coffee shops. Girl, you’re living my Wattpad dream.”
I shoot her a look, but she only smirks. “Go—before he comes back and autographs your soul.”
I don’t wait any longer. I slide out of the booth, nearly trip over the table leg, and make a beeline for the bathroom, my skin burning like it might actually catch fire if I stay out there another second.
The second the door clicks shut behind me, I grip the sink with both hands and drop my head. Breathe. In. Out. In. Out.
