Page 53 of Vegas with my Ex’s Best Friends

I pause.

“He's been watching you the way I watch a room. Like he's waiting for confirmation.”

She takes that in.

“He didn't tell me.”

“No.” I shake my head. “If he was certain, he would've said something. He's waiting for you to come to him.”

A long pause. The air between us goes quiet.

“I haven't let myself think past next week,” she says. “Connor. Portland. What I actually want to do. It just sits there waiting and I can't make myself think about it.”

“You're not avoiding it,” I say. “You're carrying what you can.”

A sideways glance.

“Still kind,” she says.

“Also true,” I say.

She tips her head back against the cabinet. “I don't know what I'm going to do with any of it.”

“You don't have to know today,” I say.

“I'm going to need to know eventually.”

“Not like this.”

Something in her face shifts—more like she stops bracing. Her shoulder finds mine and stays.

I don't know when the conversation becomes something else.

Her head on my shoulder. My thumb moving across her knuckles. The distance we've kept for weeks slowly disappearing without either of us deciding to end it.

Her face turns up toward mine.

I glance toward the hallway.

“Come on,” I murmur. “Let's go somewhere more comfortable before someone wakes up.”

She nods.

I help her to her feet, keeping my hand around hers as we move quietly down the hall. My room is closest. The door shuts softly behind us, sealing off the rest of the penthouse.

The bed dips beneath our weight when we sit, facing each other in the early morning light.

Her eyes lift to mine.

Close enough to feel her breath hitch against my lips.

Waiting—like she's giving me the choice.

I brush the hair back from her temple. She closes her eyes.

I stop half an inch away to feel her wait for it.

“Ethan.”