Barely there.
But I hear it.
And suddenly I hate her.
Not in a dramatic, world-ending way.
In the sharp, clean way you hate someone who says the thing out loud you’ve been trying to downplay in your own head.
He doesn’t answer right away.
Stella leans back slightly in the chair like she didn’t just throw lit gasoline into the center of the table.
“Maybe we should grab a bite,” she says. “And talk about it.”
The silence after that is obscene.
My arm tightens around Tristan’s.
Claiming.
Instinctive.
Humiliating.
“Are you asking us out, Stella?” I ask, sweet as sugar and cut glass underneath.
She looks at me then.
Really looks.
Then smiles.
“No.”
Her eyes flick to Tristan.
“Just him.”
The room tilts.
I don’t know if it shows on my face.
God, I hope not.
“But you can tag along,” she adds lightly. “For funsies.”
That nearly gets a laugh out of me.
Not because it’s funny.
Because it’s insane.
Tristan moves first.
Slowly.
Deliberately.
