Not only because dating is explicitly forbidden, but because as much as he tries to lie and pretend otherwise, he cares.
And maybe that’s the part that fucks with my head the most.
This place is changing me. Not in the way I expected, but in the way I think I needed.
In a way that feels good.
I’ve been here almost a month, and I feel like I’m slowly starting to peel off the layers of who I used to be.
The things that used to keep me up at night—obsessing over every little detail, replaying conversations in my head, and wondering what people thought—don’t matter as much anymore.
I still haven’t heard from anyone.
A few weeks ago, that silence would’ve swallowed me whole. I would’ve picked apart every moment, searching desperately to figure out what I did wrong, the reason I wasn’t enough.
But now? I just…don’t care.
I don’t even want Kolson anymore. I’m not sure I ever really did. I think I liked the idea of beingKolson Kennedy’s girlfriendmore than actually being with him. I liked the attention, the approval. But the reality is that he never really cared—about me, at least.
Tori’s silence doesn’t surprise me. She’s always been all in or all out—no in-between.
But Mia’s hurts. I know she’s busy on her press tour, but part of me wishes she’d still make the effort and check in.
I’ve decided to stop expecting Wesley to be anything other than who he is. I think it should help make things between us easier. Make it easier to breathe around him. Easier not to care. Well, maybe not easier, just…manageable.
He still knows how to push my buttons and make things difficult, but I’m done letting it ruin my whole day like it used to.
Still, things between us are weird. And maybe they always will be.
The other night, I was curled up on the couch with Lane, my legs draped across his lap while the guys argued over poker. His thumb drew circles on my knee beneath the blanket—tiny, rhythmic, almost hypnotic. A secret that made my skin prickle, an easy distraction from my thoughts.
Then the door creaked open.
Wesley stepped inside, and the air shifted instantly around his presence.
He didn’t say anything—just crossed through the living room to the fridge, grabbed a beer, and leaned against the counter with his usual silent and unreadable expression. But I couldfeelhis gaze burning into me.
The conversation dipped, even the laughter softened, but Lane didn’t pull his hand away and the pressure in my chest only heightened.
Wesley and I didn’t talk about it. Just like we haven’t talked about any of it. And now too much time has passed—it would be weird to bring it up, but the tension hasn’t vanished entirely. It’s only sunk deeper, humming softly beneath the surface instead of screaming.
Maybe that means we’re finally moving on—or trying to, at least. Pretending and avoiding until it eventually fades into nothing.
It’s strange—I always thought I’d need an official label in a relationship before I could take things to the next level. I wasn’t ready to give all of myself to Kolson, but I thought if I did, he would finally choose me. Claim me. Let me be the girl on his arm.
I know, I was so naive and stupid. Butthisis different.
Lane is different.
Since that night in his truck, I’ve been the one pressing forward—asking for more, finding reasons to be alone with him, sneaking down hallways and into rooms I shouldn’t be in. Letting my hands wander a little farther each time we’re alone, chasing the feeling before it can slip away.
But just when it seems like Lane’s about to give in, he stops. Always with the same soft expression in his eyes, like it hurts him more than it hurts me.
It should make me feel safe.
Instead, it makes me restless, infuriated, and humiliatingly desperate.
I love kissing him. I really do. But it isn’t enough anymore. I need more than his mouth, more than the slow, tender restraint—because if he would just give in, if he would stop being so careful, maybe I wouldn’t have the space to think at all.
