Eric gave one last look at the couple, shut his eyes for a beat, and pushed up from the table to head for the bar.
Then Carmen murmured, “Incoming. Be cool.”
“What’s up, everybody?” Diego and Nina stood in front of the table. Both smiling casually, his arm resting comfortably on her shoulder.
That got the girl’s attention.
“Diego!” she said, and stood up.
“Hey, Amanda. It’s good to see you!”
She hugged him from the side Nina wasn’t on, then he left his arm also hanging over her. I’d bet a kidney he was loving it.
“Look at you, man.” The smile I’d just seen on Daray was on my lips now. “Looking like a walking cliché from one of those songs you were blasting—complete with the objectifying lyrics.”
Diego’s brown eyes focused on me, but it was the embarrassment in Nina’s eyes that sliced through me. “Wow, thanks for the analysis, prof,” Diego said. “Careful, though, your skin is starting to turn green.” Just like that, he turned back to face the girl. “Is this everybody?” Diego asked. “Is your roommate coming, Amanda?”
She shook her head. “Not exactly her scene.”
Diego’s smile flickered for a second before he cranked it back up, louder and bigger than ever. “Alright!” he shouted, clapping once, the sound snapping heads his way. He hauled Nina tighter against his side. “We’re celebrating tonight, people! My Nina”—he gave her a little shake, grinning down at her—“has a killer pitch opportunity coming up. And she’s going to crush it, right?”
Her face flushed, and she laughed, tucking her chin for a second, but she didn’t draw away. When he spun her under his arm, she lifted her free hand in mock surrender, half shy, half delighted. She was enjoying being celebrated. Diego sharing her success front and center. She was blushing and loving every second.
“So,” Diego finished, his voice booming over the noise, “we’re drinking and dancing to Nina totally owning that presentation.”
The cheer rippled through the group, but all I could focus on was her smile: bashful, yes, but real. I choked on a puff of air that wouldn’t come. I’d done the opposite. I’d made her small, chipped away at her successes. Seeing her now, open and litfrom the outside, only reminded me of every success I’d taken away from her.
And yes, being around her was fuckingsuffocatingwith everything I’d done. But I’d be damned if I didn’t do everything I could to ensure no other opportunity slipped away from her.
Diego grabbed a pitcher and poured everyone a new drink, his arm momentarily falling away from Nina. I took my chance, stood up, and moved to her side.
Her smile faltered for half a breath. The last time we spoke, I’d been grabbing everything I could and asked her to stay at my place. Alone. Too embarrassed and guilt ridden to face her with my memories.
“Hey,” I said, my throat tight.
Her laugh was soft, awkward, but not unkind. “Hey, Linc.”
I managed a crooked smile. “Anything you need at the house?”
Something crossed her features. Her eyes shifted down, and she finally shook her head. I leaned in a little so she’d hear me over the loud music. “Congrats on the opportunity. I know you can land this with no help, but—let me help you get ready. I’d love for you to know someone’s got your back for this pitch.”
Her expression shifted, softening. “Thanks, Lincoln. Really. But I’ve got it handled.”
“Come on, Nina.” I just wanted to do something, anything. I held up my empty hands, palms out, as if there was something I could offer. “Graphics aren’t your strong suit—I can back you up.”
Her brows lifted, the smile slipping off her face. She crossed her arms, weight shifting to one hip, chin tilting in that way that told me she was done humoring me.Fuck.
“No, Lincoln. First of all, you can’t. Legally, you can’t—read your contract. Second…” Her voice tightened, eyes narrowing as they locked on mine. “I’ve seen how you’ve had my back before,and let me tell you, I can certainly do without it this time around. Third, my graphics are just fine. So, thanks, but no thanks.”
Her refusal landed heavily. I swallowed, walked toward the bar, and slid onto a stool. She didn’t need me to fight her battles—she could handle it herself.
Rage coiled in my chest, hot and fast. In my throat, a tightness ready to snap. The old pattern stirred—the urge to belittle, to dictate, to force her to see things my way. I’d done this before. She’d told me no once when all I wanted was to grieve with her, and she’d chosen to grieve alone. I’d vowed to make her grieving fucking hell. I wanted her to realize she couldn’t move past grief without me. If I pushed more, maybe she’d have sought me out. Maybe she’d have needed me. My hands clenched at my sides, every nerve screamed at me to do it again.
But then I looked up and, behind the neon sign that readDRINK UP, SUCKERS, in the mirror was asshole Lincoln, all smirk and dimples, raging at a seventeen-year-old for mourning her parents. He’d felt connection and thought it meant ownership. So when she’d said, “No” back then, it hollowed out every emotion but rage. Seventeen-year-old me hadn’t cared for Nina, he wanted to control her. My chest tightened as the heat faded into a colder, sharper awareness—shame.
To my right, Carmen smacked her shot glass on the counter. Her ashy-blonde locks bounced as she turned to face me, hands planted firmly on her hips. Her sharp gaze cut straight through me.
“If it isn’t the exclusive club of self-pity.” She blew a piece of hair out of her face. “You messed up? Big fucking deal. You’re just going to give up? What does that say about how much you want Nina?” Her hands flung without an ounce of subtlety toward Nina.
