I followed his gaze across the patio, my eyes finding Nyah without effort, as if drawn by something magnetic. She stood with Beth and a few women I didn’t recognize, relaxed in a way that felt earned rather than performative, her posture open, her smile easy.
From the moment Elle mentioned the club to standing here now, I realized I’d said yes without ever asking myself why the thought of Nyah being there sparked something in my chest.
It wasn’t that I didn’t enjoy clubs—I’d spent enough nights in them over the years—but this invitation felt different the moment it left Elle’s mouth, as though it carried weight I hadn’t agreed to carry. Still, the image of Nyah flickered in my mind long after the conversationended, the faint crease that appeared between her brows when she was annoyed, the way she never wasted words pretending she wasn’t.
When the door to her apartment had opened, my mind went completely blank.
For a split second, I had forgotten why I was there.
Nyah had stood in front of me in that emerald dress, and it felt entirely different. The colour was richer, catching the light like it was alive, clinging to her in a way that felt almost unfair. The neckline dipped just enough to be distracting, the fabric skimming her waist and hips as if it had been designed with her body in mind and no one else’s.
I stopped breathing.
Not metaphorically.
Actually stopped.
At the club, I had tried to stay present with Sarah, but my attention kept drifting, tugged by instinct more than intention. The music was loud enough to blur thought, lights slicing the darkness in pulses of colour, but my eyes wouldn’t leave Nyah.
She wasn’t trying to be noticed. That was the thing that struck me hardest. She danced because her body wanted to move, because rhythm lived in her muscles, because the noise gave her permission to exist without vigilance for a few stolen minutes. Her hair caught the light when she turned, her mouth curved into a smile that wasn’t guarded or sharp, and something inside my chest shifted painfully, like a rib knocked loose.
This wasn’t desire in the way I was used to—quick, indulgent, easily compartmentalised. This was slower, heavier, threaded with restraint and something like reverence, and it rattled me more than lust ever had. I didn’t want to touch her; I wanted to stay exactly where I was and absorb the fact of her, to lock the moment into my mind before I did something careless.
I watched her longer than I should have. Long enough to notice how she’d scanned the crowd automatically, how her shoulders tensed before she consciously registered the change around her, how instinct never quite left her even in moments of ease. And then the men approached her. I don’t think she remembered that when she woke upthis morning. Their movements casual in a way that set my teeth on edge, their smiles calculated, their bodies positioning themselves not beside her but around her.
Anger rose in me so fast it startled me.
It wasn’t righteous anger or performative outrage; it was visceral and ugly and protective, curling tight in my gut before my brain caught up. I didn’t weigh whether she wanted intervention or whether it would embarrass her, or how it would look. I only knew that the space around her had narrowed and that I couldn’t stand still while it did.
When I stepped in behind her, my hand settling at her waist, it felt like grounding myself as much as her. I felt the heat of her body through the thin fabric of her dress, the quick intake of her breath when she realized it was me, and then the subtle way she leaned back just enough to acknowledge my presence without surrendering herself to it. I spoke calmly, evenly, my voice cutting through the noise, and when the men finally backed off, irritation flickering across their faces, relief washed through me so sharp it left me light-headed.
Nyah stayed close after that, not clinging, not dependent, just aligned with me as if our bodies had negotiated a truce before our minds could interfere. When the tempo slowed and the music softened, I held her without thinking about how intimate it was, without considering that I was memorizing the shape of her back under my palm, the way her breathing synced with mine after a few seconds, the faint jasmine scent of her perfume.
I told myself it was temporary. I told myself it meant nothing.
Neither lie lasted long enough to matter.
Driving her home later, when I helped her into the car, and she leaned against me half-asleep, I felt something click into place that scared the hell out of me. Tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear, I made my expression neutral and safe—just in case she opened her eyes.
Inside, though, something irreversible had already happened.
Because seeing her like that—no music, no crowd, no excuses—made one thing painfully clear: the dress wasn’t what had undone me at the club.
It washer.
I had tried to press for information from Elle and Donna about Nyah, but they were tight-lipped. Nyah had probably warned them already.
Still, I wanted to know everything about her. Every damn thing.
Now, as the afternoon sun was bright over the patio and the smell of barbecue thick in the air, I was already off-balance. “We’re not together,” I said, though the words sounded less certain than I’d intended. “Why would you say that?”
“Three reasons,” Greg said, flipping pork chops with the confidence of a man who enjoyed delivering truths disguised as jokes. “First, you brought herhere—to my home—which you have never done with any other girl. Second, you’ve turned into a completely different person over the past couple of weeks—someone I barely recognize. And I would know, especially since we’ve been in and out of touch.” He peered at me over his sunglasses. “Props to you, man, but you don’t do introspection on your own. Somebody pushed you. You’re calmer. Less wound up. It’s like the version of you from college finally grew up instead of burning out.”
I took a slow sip of my beer, buying time. “And third?” I asked. “You said there were three, if myintrospectionrecalls correctly.”
“That’s recollection, not introspection,” he said dryly. “I’m just calling it like I see it.”
“I know,” I said, exhaling. “And you’re not wrong. Things have changed.” My gaze drifted back to Nyah despite myself, tracking the way she laughed softly at something Beth said. “She’s played a part. Just not in the way you think.”
