He folds his arms across his chest, one brow raised. “So you remember what happened when you did that with the ice cream?”
“Yep,” I say, lifting another spoonful to my mouth. This time, I don’t bite. I lick it. Slow. Deliberate. Eyes locked on his. My tongue flicks along the back of the spoon, teasing and playful. “I don’t think you’re going to tackle me in the cafeteria.”
His jaw flexes. His eyes drop to my mouth. And just like that, it’s like all the air’s been sucked out of the room.
For a split second, he looks at me like he used to, right before we’d… well, you know.
Like he wants me.
More than just this.
Like nothing else exists.
Like it hurts to look at me.
Then he blinks, clears his throat, and looks away.
The tension fizzles fast, reality pouring cold water over the moment. God, I hate how quickly I miss what was just there.
I set the spoon down, suddenly needing to ground myself in something solid. Something safe.
What was that?
It’s like muscle memory kicked in.
This ismeandJensen.
It felt so natural—so normal—I didn’t even think about what it might do to him.
Or to me.
“Sorry,” I murmur, eyes dropping. “Got carried away.”
“It’s fine, Al.”
“So…” I force my gaze back to his. “Tell me about Switzerland.” I offer a small smile, a peace offering, and he takes it.
“Switzerland was great. Cold as shit, but really beautiful. Great food. Clean air. Matt made me do a fucking polar plunge in the Alps.” He chuckles, shaking his head. “Thought I’d never see my balls again.”
My smile’s back. It’s that easy with him. “Oh my God, that’s insane. I could never.”
What I don’t say is that I’ve already watched that video a hundred times… along with other things I probably shouldn’t admit to.
He keeps talking—about the mountains, the hikes, the long talks with Matt.
“I loved it. And I’m really glad I got to spend that time with Matt. It was good for us, but—” He pauses, eyes catching mine. “I kept thinking about you. Wishing you were there.”
He shrugs. “I don’t know. You’ve always wanted to go. It just… didn’t feel right without you.”
My eyes sting. My throat tightens.Goddammit. We were feeling the same thing, thousands of miles apart. I do want to go to Switzerland. Badly. And even now, after everything, I still want to go withhim.
“It sounds like you had a great time either way,” I say softly. “I’m happy you got to experience that.”
I shift the conversation, asking more questions about his family, his job…
But I don’t ask about rehab.
Part of me doesn’t want to hear about it. Ican’thear about it.
