Page 55 of Verdict

"And then immediately iced him out afterward," Aria tacked on.

I buried my face in my hands, heat crawling up my neck. Mortified.

Aria grabbed my wrist and forced me to look at her. “Ava. You didn’t take what you wanted. He gave it to you. This isn’t just on you.”

I swallowed hard. “We had such a good routine with Ellie. And now it feels like he can't get away from me fast enough. It’s so awkward between us now.” I laughed, sharp and humorless. “My rules existed to prevent exactly this from happening.”

“And you broke them,” Aria said gently.

“And I broke them,” I echoed.

She hesitated. “Can I ask you something?”

I nodded.

“Why can’t you two be together?” she asked. “Have you ever actually talked about trying it out? Because from where I’m sitting, it’s always been obvious you two have a thing for each other. I saw it when we were eighteen.” She smiled faintly.

I shook my head. “We were kids. I had a crush on him—sure—but that’s all it was. And yes, I still find him hot as hell, but it would never work.” I sighed. “It’s lust. Nothing more. He doesn’t do relationships. I’ve known him for almost ten years, and he’s never once had a girlfriend. Commitment isn’t his thing.”

And after everything he told me about his childhood the other night, I understood why. But I wasn’t about to tell Aria that. That was his story to tell.

I leaned back against the couch. “And I’m focused on Ellie. On my career. She needs two parents she can count on—not drama. And that’s exactly what Cohen and I would be.”

Aria didn’t look convinced, but she didn’t push. She just took another sip of wine.

“What?” I demanded.

She shrugged. “Nothing.”

“Bullshit,” I said. “You want to say something.”

She smirked over the rim of her glass. “I just think you’re both so focused on all the reasons it wouldn’t work that you’re completely blind to the ways it might.”

I rolled my eyes. “I appreciate your optimism, but it’s not happening. I just need to figure out how to get our friendship back on track. The way it was.”

Her phone buzzed on the coffee table. She leaned over to grab it, a smile spreading across her face.

“Who’s that?” I asked.

“Drake,” she said. “He sent me a picture of Cohen getting attacked by a butterfly.”

She turned the screen toward me. Cohen’s hand was mid-swat, his face twisted in something between horror and concentration. Ellie was tucked securely in his arms, staring up at him like he hung the moon.

That familiar ache hit hard. The one I felt every time I was without them.

I pushed it down and smiled at Aria. “So, you and Drake just sit around and talk shit about us, huh?” I teased.

She shrugged. “He thinks you two need to get over yourselves too.” She pushed off the couch and held out her hand. “More wine?”

“Yeah,” I said quickly. “I need it.”

As she headed back to the kitchen, my gaze drifted toward the balcony—memories rushing in, vivid and uninvited.

Were Aria and Drake right?

Were Cohen and I just self-sabotaging?

I wasn’t sure it was worth the risk to find out.