My breath catches. His eyes drop to my mouth. Then lift again.
That same old almost. That same restraint.
The thing about Tristan is not that he comes close. It’s that he always stops close enough to leave an outline of what could have happened.
“You should go up,” he says.
I don’t move. “Probably.”
He doesn’t move either.
From somewhere across the quad a laugh drifts through the dark. A group of girls crosses under the path lights. One of them—tall, long-legged, still calibrated for competition even at midnight—turns her head briefly.
Stella.
Too far for details. Not too far for recognition.
I look at Tristan. Just for a second.
And there it is again. The pause. The shift. The tiny fracture line under everything warm we’ve built.
He doesn’t step away. But some part of him goes elsewhere for one heartbeat. Then he’s back. Too late. Always too late.
I smile anyway. Girls like me know how to bleed without ruining the dress.
“Goodnight, Vale.”
His gaze fixes fully on me again. “Night, Texas.”
I go upstairs. I do not look back until the second-floor landing.
He’s still there. Hands in his pockets. Head tipped up. Watching until I’m safely inside.
And that should be enough.
Maybe for someone else it would be.
For me—it’s almost enough.
And that almost is becoming its own kind of addiction.
I was already in my seat, notebook open, hoodie up, trying to disappear into the back row when the door opened and the air changed.
Wood soap. Pine. And something softer underneath—something sweet and powdery that didn’t belong on a six-foot-four football player.
I didn’t have to look up to know who it was.
Drew Travers.
Hoodie up, sleeves cut off at the shoulders so those ridiculous tan biceps were on full display. Shorts slung low. Sneakers untied. He moved down the aisle like the room belonged to him, then tried to drop into the empty seat beside me.
“There’s no room,” I said before he could even get comfortable. “I’m reserving that seat. Besides, you’re so big you’d take two anyway.”
He paused, one big hand braced on the back of the chair, and grinned plopping down anyway.
God. His teeth were stupidly white. Perfect. I’d never noticed that before.
“What are you doing in this class?” I asked.
