Something still tightens around his eyes when he sees me, subtle enough that nobody else in the room would ever notice it. Then he turns back to the table and types a reply. Even after he sets the phone down, his hand stays right beside it.
It’s like part of him can’t fully let go either.
My phone buzzes.
George: Trevor set it up. Y’know how he gets.
I know exactly how Trevor gets. I’ve watched him pull this shit before—loud enthusiasm, too much confidence, acting like everybody secretly wants to be set up if he pushes hard enough. Half the time, what starts as a group thing somehow turns into George alone with somebody by the end of the night.
I’ve been on the receiving end of it myself once. I’d found it annoying and funny in an affectionate way, easy to laugh off. George would roll his eyes at me across the table like we were surviving the same bad joke together. I’d leave amused, mildly irritated, and never think about it again afterward.
Right now, I don’t find this fucking thing funny and affectionate. I’d like Trevor lightly thrown into the ocean, along with a formal request that he stop arranging dates for his stepbrother from now on. Effective immediately.
When I look up again, he’s already turning back toward her, but it isn’t seamless. He says something with that same small lift of his hand and slight tilt of his head I know well enough to recognize as an apology without even hearing it.
His date smiles and keeps talking because she already has his attention again.
And there it is—that sickening realization that somewhere along the way, George stopped feeling entirely separate from me. We fit into each other’s lives so naturally that I never noticed how used to him I’d become until I had to watch him turn that attention toward somebody else.
George says something and stands, heading toward the restrooms. A few minutes later, I follow him, my feet moving on their own.
The hallway is narrow, dimly lit, the walls close enough that voices from the bar feel muffled and distant. I catch him just as he’s stepping out. He stops short when he sees me, surprise flashing across his face.
“Hey,” I say.
“Hey.” His eyes drag over me slowly. “I was about to come find you.”
“Yeah, well…saved you a trip.”
We stand there in the cramped space, neither of us moving. The heavy and uncomfortable silence stretches, like we both know we shouldn’t be meeting down here while his date waits at the table.
A loud group pushes through the corridor, laughing and talking too loud, forcing us to move. I step sideways into the small recessed alcove by the restroom door to let them pass. George follows on instinct, ending up backed against the wall with me pressed close in front of him. One of my thighs slips between his. The group squeezes by, and we’re suddenly trapped in the tight space, breathing the same air, bodies aligned from chest to hip.
Neither of us pulls away.
“Fuck,” I mutter, bracing one hand on his chest for balance. I can feel his steady but fast heartbeat under my palm. “Sorry, didn’t mean to—”
His hand is still gripping my arm from when he steadied me. He doesn’t let go.
Guilt twists sharp in my stomach. There’s a woman out there waiting for him, and here I am, cornering him in a hallway like I have any right to steal these extra seconds.
But I don’t fucking step back, and George doesn’t push me away.
His gaze drops to my mouth, the heat between us starting to feel dangerous, thick enough to choke on. Another person squeezes past, muttering “excuse me,” and forces us even tighter together. George’s thigh now presses firmly between mine. His free hand lands on my waist like instinct, fingers flexing against my side. For one long, charged second we’re locked there—the faint scent of his skin and cologne filling my head. Close enough that if either of us moved even closer, our mouths would crash together.
I think I want it so badly my hands shake, but I try to break it.
“You should get back,” I say roughly. “She seems…nice.”
George exhales sharply through his nose, almost a laugh but darker. “She is.”
“Good.” The word tastes bitter. “You deserve nice.”
His fingers pull me fractionally closer for half a heartbeat before he catches himself. I can feel the restraint, see the tight line of his jaw, the way his eyes flicker with something frustrated and raw.
“Lance.”
I swallow hard. “Be careful, yeah? Wrap it up. Safety first and all that shit.”
