And I fucking hate that I miss her more than I miss the group.
The doors swing open and there she is. My pulse jumps as she walks in.
Goddamn.
Same jeans she always wears, frayed at the knees. White sneakers with Sharpie doodles on the sides. A hoodie two sizes too big. Phone in hand and a bottle of iced tea in the other. She’s got highlighter on her fingertips and one of those big-ass tote bags slung over her shoulder, filled with books that probably have color-coded sticky tabs and neat little annotations.
She hasn’t seen me yet.
She’s too busy scrolling through her phone, pausing to swipe a loose strand of hair behind her ear. She’s focused. Then she looks up and freezes.
Just for a beat.
Long enough for me to catch it.
Long enough to know I still get to her, even if she’d rather pretend I don’t.
I give her a slow grin. The familiar kind.
“Hey, Bells.”
Her lips press together as she walks toward the table and drops her bag with a dull thud.
“Don’t call me that.”
“Why not?” I lean back in my chair, hands laced behind my head. “You used to love it.”
“That was before you turned into a dick.”
I chuckle softly. “Pretty sure I’ve always been a dick. You just stopped pretending I wasn’t.”
Her eyes flick up, blue and pissed, and for a second, there it is. That old spark. The one that used to crackle between us before everything went to shit.
She pulls out the chair across from me and sits, with her spine straight and all business now.
“We’re here to study. Not to flirt or whatever the hell it is we usually do. Got it!”
“Relax,” I say. “My cock’s already been used today. This is strictly books and bullshit.”
She gives me a glare sharp enough to draw blood, the kind that used to make me laugh harder because I knew I’d earned it.
“God, you’re unbearable.”
“And yet,” I tilt my head, eyes locked on hers, holding the stare just a second longer than necessary, “here you are.”
She exhales sharply through her nose, then reaches into her bag and pulls out her notebook. Calm and in control. She flips it open, clicks her pen, and finally glances back at me with that no-nonsense look she reserves for when she’s finished indulging my nonsense.
“Four to five. Tuesdays and Thursdays,” she says. “No excuses. You show up, we get through what Ms. Mallory assigned, and then we’re done.”
Straightforward and blunt. No warmth or ambiguity.
“Missed you too, Bells,” I murmur, quieter now. Softer. On purpose.
Her hand stills.
The page pauses mid-turn, just for a beat. That small hitch reveals everything. She looks up at me.
The room falls silent in a way that has nothing to do with the library rules.
