Something in me gave a small, hopeful tug. Six months.
Jesus, I wasn’t the type to lose my head over some guy. I didn’tdopining. Except apparently now I did because there Finn was, living rent-free in my head while I tried to act like a functioning adult. Fucking embarrassing. Good thing Shane wasn’t the judging kind.
“Maybe. I just…” I shook my head. “Pretty sure it’d still be seen as inappropriate.”
“It’s not nothing.” Shane sent me a quick smile along with a nudge against my foot. “But it’s not the same. You’d be…two adults, on the other side of it.”
For a second, I let myself imagine it. “Still complicated,” I said then.
“Name me one thing that matters and isn’t.”
Yeah.
We sat in comfortable silence for a moment, offset by the flow of laughter and an upbeat cover of a loosely familiar melody I couldn’t place, all jangly and summer-drenched, like trying to blink through sunspots.
“Or.” Shane turned the word into a full sentence. “Hear me out here, okay? Maybe you just need to get laid.”
I snorted. “Yeah, no. Wish it were that simple.”
He gave me a sideways look. “When’s the last time?”
“Seriously?”
“Come on. I was your roommate for four years.” One of his brows inched up, halfway between teasing and pointed. “I know that when you go quiet, it usually means you’re in monk mode.”
“I, uh.” I reached for my mezcal but didn’t drink. “Haven’t. Since him.”
Shane’s whistle was soft and low. “Dude.”
“It’s not that weird. I’ve been busy.” Now I did take a sip, relishing the burn. “Some of us get just one real weekend every couple of months, you know?”
“Ah, the sweet smell of deflection in the evening.” Shane tossed me a smirk, eyes crinkling up with it. “All I’m saying is: It might help. Go out, find someone for a night. Reset the mental compass, you know?”
It wouldn’t.
But the alternative was creeping home to a dark, lonely apartment and feeling sorry for myself. I swirled the liquid in my glass and watched the slow trails it left behind. Fuck, maybe I should hit a bar. Couldn’t hurt, could it?
I exhaled a slow breath through my nose, then glanced up and shrugged one shoulder. “Yeah. Maybe.”
Bourbon and bass. It felt like a déjà vu.
The crowd was weekend-heavy tonight, strobe lights flashing over sweating bodies and bare skin. I should be in there trying to lose myself in the heat and the grind. Instead I was propped against the bar, slowly nursing my drink like someone watching a film that didn’t really move them.
Same place I’d first met Finn. It wasn’tdeliberate, though. Just—it was close. Convenient.
And it did nothing to soothe the buzz beneath my skin.
Another sip, the flickering lights leaving bright smears along the backs of my lids, mixing with the amber glow of monitorsthat clung to the wispy edges of my thoughts. Too much, too loud, too everything. Some guy bumped into me and smirked like I should be flattered, all confident swagger and bleach-white teeth. Attractive, and he knew it. I shot him a thanks-but-no-thanks smile, same as the three guys that had come before him. Reset my mental compass? Yeah, bang-up job there.
This wasn’t helping. I’d finish my drink and leave—only I didn’t want to go home either, my brain whirring like a fan that wouldn’t shut off.
Fuck. I wasn’t eventrying.
Enough. I rolled my shoulders back and tipped up my chin, reached for a loose, easy stance. All right. I knew how to do this.
One more sip, then I let my gaze skim across the packed space. Faces and swaying bodies, the thick taste of desire in the air—a need to be seen, wanted. Tank tops showed off muscular forearms, hands raised in the air, drinks sloshing.
Try.
