We did.
Two simple words that felt like a hole in my chest, wind cutting through.
Fuck, Jesse. When I said get laid, I didn’t mean HIM.
I could just picture Shane—eyebrows scrunched in concern and mouth pinched in gentle disapproval, just like how he’d look when catching two of his first-graders fighting.
Best-laid plans?
Not funny.
No, it wasn’t—more like the furthest from funny I’d ever felt. I stared at the trickle of city lights and thought about Finn, walking home alone with my scent still on his skin, maybe a mark here or there where I’d held on too tight. And I just… I couldn’t. Couldn’t pretend this hadn’t happened, that it didn’t change things.
Breakfast? 9 at your place?
Make it 10
Bring carbs & an explanation.
I shot back a thumbs-up, then dropped the phone face down on the nightstand. The screen glow died and let the shadows in my room creep closer, walls crowding in. All just in my head.
I pulled the sheets up to my chest and closed my eyes. Years of working night shifts and long days had trained me to grasp at sleep with both hands when I could, something precious not to waste. It would come.
My heart thrummed loud like the beating of a drum.
“Carbs!” I brandished the paper bag like a ritual sacrifice to the gods.
Shane squinted into the soft morning light, then opened the door wider for me. Still in pajamas—red plaid bottoms and athreadbare tee I’d given him because it readTeachers Do It with Class.He looked half-asleep but mostly unimpressed.
“Huh,” he said. “Figured you’d opt for a scarlet letter.”
I took off my shoes and stepped past him into the familiar comfort of his studio apartment, steam already curling from the coffee pot on the kitchen counter. “Thought about it,” I told him. “But then I settled for chocolate croissants.”
He took the bag and peeked inside. “Smells like shame.”
“Dunked them in it.”
He snorted and gave me a once-over—damp T-shirt, flushed cheeks, energy still sparking just beneath my collarbone. “Seems you also dunked yourself in sweat. Jesus, man. You run all the way here?”
“Six miles.” I helped myself to a glass of water and snatched a kitchen towel I could sit on. “Didn’t help.”
“Didn’t help with what, exactly?”
I pulled out a chair, dropped into it, and let my head tip back. “Feeling like an idiot. But also… God. You should’veseenhim.”
“I’ll take your word for it.” Shane padded barefoot across the tiles to grab a couple of mugs from the cupboard. Kids’ drawings were pinned to it—sunflowers and what looked like an octopus with far too many tentacles. “Coffee?”
“Prescription strength, please.”
He poured, plated the croissants, and sat down across from me, bracing his elbows on the table. The domestic warmth of his place made last night’s shadowed rush feel like another dimension of reality.
Finn. Fingers pressing in and eyes open, watching me like I mattered. The way he’d held on to me.
“So,” Shane said—just that, heavy like a statement.
“So,” I agreed.
He tore a bite off his croissant, shiny with butter. “So?”
