“Alysander?” He looks up, startled, like he’s been caught doing something he shouldn’t. The blue-and-white checked menu slips from his hand. “What are you doing here?”
I don’t love the way he’s looking at me, like I’ve intruded. And maybe I have. Showing up at his favorite restaurant alone could come off as… odd.
“I could ask you the same thing,” I say. “Why aren’t you at the party?”
He shrugs, his eyes sliding away. “I got bored.”
Hayes ditching a party? That’s not like him at all. Whatever’s going on with his family must be worse than I thought.
“Actually, I’m glad I ran into you.” I slide into the booth, pretending not to notice the way his posture stiffens. “I feel awful about last night. I didn’t mean to push. I’m sorry. I just—I want you to know I’m here. For whatever you need, whenever you’re ready to talk.”
I offer a small, hopeful smile.
“That’s great,” he says, too quickly. “But can we do this later? I’m kind of here with someone.” His eyes flick toward the back of the restaurant, to the bathroom.
A cold tendril of intuition curls at the base of my skull, slick and unwelcome.
Then I see it.
The extra place setting. The half-empty DietCoke, a pink lip gloss stain bleeding into the straw. The combo appetizer platter Hayes always orders for us—hummus, baba ghanoush, tabbouleh, dolmas—barely touched.
Hayes isn’t alone.
He’s waiting for someone.
Someone who isn’t me.
Of course,I think, feeling stupid.He’s here on a date.
“Right.” My voice comes out brittle as I scramble to my feet. “I’ll just go, then.”
“I’ll call you later, okay?” His eyes flick toward the back of the restaurant again, like he’s worried whoever he’s here with might come out at any moment and catch us talking.
Which is… strange.
Hayes has never cared before if I was around his dates.
Not that I enjoyed it, but I’ve third-wheeled through more of his flirtations than I can count. We’ve even joked about it—how he’d split his fries with me while ignoring some poor girl he had zero plans of ever asking out again.
But this?
He’s jumpy. On edge. Acting guilty. Something about his behavior sets off alarm bells in my head.
I glance at the lipstick stain again, heart plummeting because, suddenly,I know.
I know exactly who he’s here with.
And then, like a cosmic punchline I should have seen coming, my sister walks out of the bathroom, smiling and waving as she heads toward us.
“Don’t be mad,” Hayes says, his voice just a little too smooth, a little too rehearsed. “This isn’t what it looks like. It’s just dinner. I really needed a friend tonight.”
He neededAmber?
She’s the friend he turned to?
Like I’m not the one who’s known him since we were five and has always been there for him.
“I’myour friend, Hayes.Me.”
