I leaned back in the chair, staring at the ceiling like it might give me answers. My half-eaten dinner sat cold on the counter, forgotten. Somewhere down the hall, the fridge hummed, a low, steady noise that only made the room feel emptier.
Ellery James. Calling me in the middle of the night, laughing, slurring, saying things she’d never say sober.
I could still hear her voice — “You were bossy. But nice-bossy.” Then she’d giggled. Actually giggled. And when I told her she was drunk, she said “Obviously” like it was the funniest thing in the world.
And then she’d hung up to go dance with some guy.
I rubbed my jaw, half-smirk tugging at my mouth. “You’ve gotta be kidding me.”
The thing was, I should’ve just laughed it off. Anyone else, I would’ve. But something about it stuck — that image of her smiling, the sound of music behind her, the way she said my name like it meant something.
If she’s drunk enough to call me, she’s drunk enough to get herself in trouble.
I hated that thought. Hated how fast it settled in my chest. She wasn’t my problem. She had a boyfriend — the boyfriend — golden boy Reynolds with the scouts and the charm and the press.
I wasn’t supposed to care.
But I could picture it anyway: her at some bar with Naomi, lights spinning off the lake, hair loose and eyes bright. The same mouth that called me impossible, smiling up at some stranger who had no idea what he was stepping into.
I pushed off the counter and paced the length of the apartment. My place was too clean, too organized — a side effect of living alone. Everything had its place except for me.
I glanced at the phone again, thumb hovering over her name. I should text. Just to make sure she got home okay. That was what decent people did, right?
But decent wasn’t the word anyone used for me.
I set the phone down instead, pressing the heel of my hand against the counter like that could steady the restless pulse in my chest.
“Don’t be an idiot, Mason,” I muttered to the empty room.
The city hummed beyond the windows — cars, laughter, life I wasn’t part of. I could almost imagine her somewhere out there, laughing too, forgetting all about the stupid call, forgetting about me.
I poured myself a glass of water, tried to focus on the sound of it filling instead of her voice.
It didn’t help.
Because even now, hours later, the words still circled in my head like a match sparking over dry kindling.
Why did you have sex with me in my dream?
I exhaled a low laugh — quiet, humorless. “You really don’t make this easy, James.”
I grabbed my keys. Didn't think about it. And somewhere between the shadows and the silence, I realized the worst part — I didn’t want easy anymore.
The second I walked into that bar, I knew I didn’t belong there.
The bass hit like a heartbeat gone wrong — too loud, too steady, rattling through the floorboards and straight into my teeth. Lights flashed in dizzy patterns, and the air smelled like sweat, perfume, and bad decisions. I hated places like this. Too many people pretending they weren’t lonely.
But I wasn’t here for the music.
The bouncer hesitated when I showed up — maybe because I wasn’t exactly dressed for the scene — but one look must’ve said enough. He stepped aside, muttering something about not breaking anything.
I moved through the crowd, scanning faces, ignoring the stares that followed. I spotted Naomi first — easy to find, dancing like she owned the place, drink in hand, hair swinging. And then I saw her.
Ellery.
Barefoot, heels dangling from one hand, laughing at something Naomi said. Her hair had come loose, tumbling down around her shoulders. Cheeks flushed, eyes bright — not the composed foundation director, not the woman who never stopped moving long enough to breathe.
Just… her.
