I shake my head just slightly, like I can knock the memory back into the basement of my mind.
Locked away.
Where it belongs.
Trish clearly doesn’t believe me. She turns to Kirsten, eyebrows lifting in a silenttell me the truth.
Kirsten holds up her hands like she’s being interrogated. “Not as far as I know. And I’ve seen them together a lot.” She glances at me. “Beck practically lived in our dorm freshman year. Half the time he’d crash on the floor if we were watching movies and it got late.”
I smile before I can stop myself.
Freshman year. When Beck and I decided to come to the same school, both of us on scholarship, both pretending we weren’t terrified to leave our moms alone. We’d stuck together, the way we always had. Studying side by side. Late-night takeout. Movie marathons. The blanket I’d gently lay over him when he fell asleep.
We were close.
Closer than anyone else.
And yet somehow, over the last year, we’d drifted apart.
Kirsten shoots me a look, the kind only good friends can pull off, the one that carries an entire argument without a single word.
He likes you.
He always has.
She’s said it forever. Fought with me over it. No matter how many times I told her it was ridiculous, that Beck was just Beck, that we were just friends.
She’s always questioned it. I’ve always said no.
“He must have a girlfriend,” Trish says, cutting into my thoughts.
“He did,” I say, deliberately not looking at Kirsten. “They broke up. I just found out.”
“Oh.” Trish’s eyes brighten. “So you wouldn’t care if I went after him? Like…tonight?”
Something sharp twists in my chest. Annoyance, maybe. Or something else I don’t want to look at too closely. I wish she’d drop it. This whole conversation has me wound tight, restless in a way I can’t quite name.
“Do what you want,” I say. The words come out sharper than I mean them to. “I’m not in charge of him.”
Trish smiles, bouncing a little in her seat. “Okay. I’ll ask him to dance when he gets back.”
“Yeah,” I mutter. “Whatever. Great.”
I reach across the table and grab the shot of whiskey sitting in front of Devon.
“What the fuck, Gracie?” he yells.
Too late.
I knock it back, flipping him off as the alcohol burns its way down my throat. I drag the back of my hand across my mouth, heat flaring through my chest.
“I’ll buy you one later,” I tell him, absolutely not meaning it as an invitation.
His eyes light up anyway.
“I’m holding you to that,” he says with a grin.
I roll my eyes so hard it almost hurts. “Drink your beer, Devon.”
