“Oh my god.” Lacey grins and side eyes me, I glare at her. “I heard Ethan’ssingleagain now.”
“Troy was flirting with a girl at the bar,” Brianna says casually, and I feel that flip morph into something tight and sour. “But I’m pretty sure it wasn’t serious.”
Chloe eyes me, curious. “Wait, are you guys still working on that grant thing?”
“Yeah,” I say, too fast. “For the project.”
Brianna narrows her eyes. “That’s right. You never told us how that’s going. Is he, like… still annoying-hot?”
“He’s fine,” I say. “It’s professional.”
Brianna smirks. “That’s not what I heard.”
“What does that mean?”
“Just rumors. You know. Troy always ends up insomeone’sbed eventually. It’s like he can’t help it. Or they can’t.”
I stab a piece of lemon from my water with the straw and don’t respond. I can feel Lacey watching me.
“I mean, if I were working with him,” Brianna continues, “I’d take advantage. Brainstorming sessions and orgasms, back to back.”
“I’m sure he’d love that,” I say dryly.
She shrugs. “Just saying. I wouldn’t waste the opportunity.”
I excuse myself a little early, citing an imaginary bookstore shift. Lacey hugs me tight and tells me to come outwith them soon. Chloe barely looks up from her phone. Brianna’s already talking about something else.
I step out into the cold and feel it hit like clarity.
And suddenly, I’m not even mad about the Troy thing. I’m not thinking about his hands or his mouth or the way he looked at me that night on the couch like he could see straight through to my soul.
I’m thinking about them. About how it feels like I’ve been orbiting their little world for years, always just slightly out of sync. Like they got close enough to say we were friends, but never quite enough to know me.
It stings.
Especially now. When I’ve seen what it looks like—real connection. Like what I’ve seen flicker between Troy and his friends, that warmth, that belonging.
I walk faster, stuffing my hands into my pockets.
I’m fine.
I’ve always been fine on my own.
And yet, there’s a small, stubborn part of me that whispers.
Maybe youwant morenow, maybe I could have more.
27
TROY
The engineering building smells like printer ink and despair. It’s the Friday before Thanksgiving break. The hallways are full of half-dead students in sweats clutching Starbucks cups like IV drips, and I’m feeling... oddly okay.
Our project’s on track. Delilah’s still letting me drive her to campus—which feels like a miracle every time she texts me a reluctant “Fine, 9 AM pickup is okay.” I haven’t even pushed it. I just show up. Like I always do.
AndI haven’t hooked up with anyone since her.
Not that I’m counting. (Okay, I am counting. But only because I used to not go three days without at least thinking about who I would be hooking up with next.) After I stayed at hers and opened up, things have been weird between us. We haven’t spoken about it and I’m not about to push it, but I’m also not going to throw away the chance with her for some random hookup.
