Theylook natural.
And why wouldn’t they?
She’s exactly what he’d look for in a partner.
Sophie holds her notebook out toward Eric and hands him a pen, and my heart sinks as he jots something on a page and passes it back. She takes it with a bright grin, says something I can’t hear, then tucks it into her bag like treasure.
It’s his number, or his email, or some way to reach him. He’s asking her out. He has to be.
I stare at him, handsome as ever in the golden light. She’d be an idiot to say no.
Eric has dated more girls than I care to count over the years, though I can picture all of their faces. Long-term a few times, short-term usually, and a handful of fleeting one-night stands. It always hurt, but I never blamed him for the pain when he never knew he caused it.
These last few weeks, things have felt different between us, though, and I was foolish enough to think he might be starting to feel the same.
Reality crashes in again until I’m dizzy with it. I was sitting here daydreaming about asking him to dinner, spinning magical what-ifs that will never happen.
Eric isn’t mine.
Not in the way he could be hers.
My throat closes. I stand mechanically as I shove my phone in my pocket, then fold the blanket into a jumbled, messy ball. I don’t rush. I’m not evenangry. I just can’t stand to watch him with someone else, because this time the hurt feels different. Still, I lack the self-preservation to walk away from him, so I turn my back and wait.
After a few more minutes, familiar footsteps approach from behind me. “Hey… are we… done?”
I force a smile that feels wooden. “You looked busy, so I just…” I trail off, gesturing at the empty space where we were just studying like it explains anything.
“I wasn’t busy.” He steps in front of me, forcing me to meet his eyes. “Sophie needed notes.”
My laugh comes out harsh and brittle, nothing like it should. “Looked like more than notes.”
“What does that mean?”
“Listen, you don’t need my approval to ask someone out, okay? That doesn’t mean I want to be a third wheel and watch it happen.”
Eric’s brows draw together, but his voice stays unnervingly calm—missing his usual fire. “She missed class and asked for a copy of my notes.”
I finally meet his eyes. “She was flirting, and you know it. Half the girls on this campus have been hanging off you at some point, so don’t play dumb. Don’tfightme on this.”
His brows shoot even higher, and he reaches out tentatively to grip the edge of my shirt between his fingers. “I don’t want to fight.”
A quiet, sad laugh escapes me. “You always want to fight.”
“Not with you,” he says as he takes a half step closer. “Why can’t we get this right? We never used to argue like this.”
My posture loosens, surrendering at the same time he does. “Because we’re idiots,” I choke out.
“Yeah, well, I can’t argue with that.” He laughs under his breath and runs a hand through his hair. The motion is agitated, nothing like the gentle way I touched it minutes ago. “I don’t want her, D.”
My heart stutters with something that feels an awful lot like stupid, foolish hope. “Why not?”
His expression is unreadable for a long moment before he lifts a single shoulder in an evasive shrug. “Doesn’t matter. I just don’t.”
He sidesteps the question the way he always does when something gets too close. No explanation. No real answer. Just that quiet, stubborn wall.
I want to push. I want to ask what’s stopping him from pursuing a sweet, pretty girl who clearly wants him. Why he came back to me instead of staying with her, and why his hand is still on my shirt, fingers curled like he’s afraid I’ll walk away.
But I don’t leave, and I don’t push for answers.Pushing would mean naming the thing we’ve both been circling for so long, and neither of us is ready.
