His eyes flashed. “I was trying not to let him stand there looking at you like he still gets a vote.”
My throat went tight.
Drew saw it.
Of course he did.
He saw everything when I least wanted to be seen.
“He had his chance,” he said, voice lower now. “He had your attention. Your hope. That careful little smile you use when you’re pretending something doesn’t hurt. He had all that, and he still kept one eye on Stella.”
I looked away first.
Bad move.
Coward move.
Human move.
“He cared about me,” I said, but it came out weaker than I meant it to.
“I know.”
That was worse.
Drew stepped closer again, this time slowly. “I’m not saying he didn’t. I’m saying caring about you didn’t stop him from hurting you.”
The waves rushed in.
Foam curled near my boots.
Something inside me twisted, mean and tender at the same time.
“You don’t get to use his mistakes as your opening,” I whispered.
His mouth hardened. “That what you think I’m doing?”
“I don’t know what you’re doing.”
“That makes two of us.”
The honesty landed too hard.
For a second, neither of us moved.
Behind us, someone whistled. Not at us. Probably at the keg or a stupid dare or one of the players doing something athletic and unnecessary. But the sound reminded me that we were not hidden. Not really.
People were watching.
People were always watching.
Drew’s gaze flicked over my shoulder toward the bonfire.
Then back to me.
The corner of his mouth lifted, but his eyes stayed hot.
“We should kiss and make up,” he said.
