He takes my arm off his.
Not rough.
Not cruel.
Worse.
Firm.
Final.
Like the choice to remove me from him costs thought, and that thought happened before he acted.
He leans back and folds his arms across his chest, broad shoulders tightening under the T-shirt, eyes locked on Stella.
Dark.
Sharp.
Dangerous.
“What game are you playing now, Stella?”
And there it is again.
That thing between them.
Combustion.
History.
A voltage that makes the table feel too small for the three of us.
Stella tilts her head.
“What, I can’t change my mind?”
“Not like this.”
His voice is low.
Controlled.
Then his eyes flick to me.
And they soften.
Just a fraction.
Just enough to make this even worse.
Like he’s trying to protect me from the scene unfolding while still being fully inside it.
Stella sees that too.
Of course she does.
“Or is this about the fact that I moved on?” he asks her. “With someone… like you?”
