The second the words are out, horror floods me. George stares at me, eyes wide, then lets out a choked, disbelieving sound.
“Jesus Christ. You’re fucking killing me.”
We finally break apart as the hallway clears. The loss of contact feels worse than being pressed together. Cold rushes in where his body had been.
“Yeah…see you later,” I say, backing up on unsteady legs. “Or not. Whatever.”
George nods once, jaw tight. “Later.”
I turn and walk back toward the table, chest aching with every step. Charlie gives me a questioning look when I sit down. I just shake my head.
The sharp and unrelenting feeling digs in deeper. I suddenly know I need to leave before too much of it shows on my face.
“I’m heading out,” I say, already reaching for my jacket.
Charlie frowns. “Already?”
“Yeah. Got a headache.”
She studies me for a second, then softens a little. “Okay. Text me when you get home? And drink water. You look a little dead.”
“Looking clinically dead is pretty standard for us nurses,” I say, managing something close to a smile. Out loud, it comes out light. Inside, I’m already fucking done.
I nod at the others, throwing out a quick goodbye that comes out easy enough.
I don’t look back at the corner table. I step out into the night air, warm with the smell of the water, and walk to my car. It leaves me alone with this angsty feeling, and it doesn’t ease up just because I’m not looking at him anymore.
Him sitting across from someone else shouldn’t feel like this. He’s my friend. That’s the line this was always supposed to stay inside.
Except somewhere along the way, I stopped standing on my side of it.
Watching somebody else have pieces of him I didn’t realize I’d already started claiming in my head burns a little inside, more than it has any right to.
10
Lance
I toss my keys onto the counter hard enough that they skid halfway across it before clattering to a stop. The apartment is too quiet. It makes every thought in my head louder than it has any right to be.
Fantastic.
I drop onto the couch and press the heels of my hands against my eyes like I can physically shove the thoughts back where they came from. I should be exhausted enough to pass out face-first into the cushions.
Instead, my brain has chosen violence, because the second things go still, there he is again.
George on his date.
George leaning down toward her at the restaurant table. His hand settling on her waist. Him smiling that small, unfair smile he only does when he actually means it. My brain, being a fucking traitor, immediately swaps her out.
George leaning toward me instead, looking at me like that. Those same hands on my hips instead. Thighs. Throat.
Jesus fucking Christ.
“Stop,” I mutter out loud to my empty apartment.
The apartment, shockingly, does not help.
The memories just keep coming anyway. Azure Tides slides right back in next. That night with our friends, the moment when neither of us moved away for one long, charged second. The heat of him behind me. The way my stomach tightened and stayed like that even after he stepped back.
