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I laugh, letting her order while I scan the room. The crowd is a mix of Toronto’s finest weekend warriors—finance bros in tailored blazers, fashion girls in slinky dresses, groups of friends dancing near the high-top tables. It’s a scene I’ve been in a hundred times before, and yet…
I don’t feel here.
Not completely.
Because while Vee chats with the bartender, I’m thinking about Graham.
I shouldn’t be. I know I shouldn’t be. But after this morning—after the way he looked at me, the way he felt—it’s impossible to pretend he’s not still under my skin.
And the worst part?
He hasn’t texted me.
Not since I told him I had plans.
It’s stupid. I’m busy. I’m out. I don’t want him to text me.
…Do I?
A martini glass slides into my line of sight, breaking through my spiraling thoughts. “Here,” Vee says, handing me a drink.
I take it, clinking it against hers before taking a slow sip. It’s good. Smooth, slightly tart, with a sugared rim that leaves a sweet contrast on my tongue.
Vee studies me over the rim of her own glass, eyes sharp despite the warm buzz of alcohol that’s already making her more relaxed.
“Alright, spill,” she says. “You’re here, but you’re not here. Who’s in that overactive brain of yours?”
I scoff, taking another sip. “Nobody.”
Her brows lift. “Nobody, huh?”
I stay silent.
Her smirk turns smug. “I swear to God, if you say Graham, I’m going to start charging you a therapist’s fee.”
I groan, pressing my fingers to my temples. “I hate you.”
“No, you don’t. You love me. And you also love torturing yourself.”
I shoot her a glare. “I do not.”
She shrugs, sipping her drink. “Then why haven’t you just texted him?”
My stomach tightens. “Because—”
Vee cuts me off with a pointed look. “Ana. Babe. You want to text him. So just do it.”
I hesitate, fingers tightening around my glass. “It’s not that simple.”
“Why? Because you’re pretending that whatever this is between you two doesn’t actually mean something?”
I exhale sharply, shifting on my stool. “No, because we work together. And because he’s older than I am. And because I told him I had plans, and he didn’t ask questions. No ‘who with?’ No ‘when will I see you next?’ Just… radio silence.”
Vee considers that, then sets down her drink. “Do you want him to be jealous?”
I shake my head. “No.”
She gives me a look.
