“Your guy, Tessa? Really?” I mutter as we step into the dim aisle.
“What? He was being too pushy,” she says, settling into her seat. “And youaremy guy.”
“He was just asking about the movie,” I counter. “Being friendly.”
“You think striking up conversation like that? Three whole questions and holding up the line is just being friendly?”
I shrug. “What else would it be?”
Scoffing, she stops next to the seat she’s about to claim. “Of course you’d think that’s just friendly.” She sits down. “You’re such a dummy.”
“Hey, what’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means you keep coming over to my apartment to fix things,” she says, pouting her lips as she blows a huff of air. “You do that ’cause you’re friendly?”
I’m about to respond, but the lights dim down. Before it’scompletely dark, I admire the screening room we’re in. The place is a once-grand theater remodeled as a movie house, with ornate moldings and red velvet curtains framing the screen. I used to come here all the time in college, alone or with friends. Now, between work and leaving my schedule open for Robyn’s last-minute changes, I can’t remember the last time I was here.
I drag my gaze back to Tessa. “Also, I’m not,” I say, settling into the seat beside her but leaning to the right, my elbows on my knees, putting as much distance between us as the narrow seats allow. “I’mRobyn’sguy. I’m your friend, Tess.”
“Oh, you know what I mean. Guy, friend. Same thing.” She takes a sip, her tongue darting out to catch a trailing drop. “So, you said Robyn’s schedule changed?”
I’m about to tell her that Robyn saves lives, and that’s more important than my Friday night plans, but the opening credits bloom across the screen.
Once we get sucked into the movie, reciting the same lines and laughing at the same scenes, I relax. This was exactly what I needed, just enjoying myself without complications for a night.
At the most memorable scene, right when the character’s about to scream his meme-worthy line, I turn to her. It’s dark, and all I can make out is the shape of her nose and the shadow of her lips. Sharing something as simple as this, though, feels…good.
I lean in, my forearm slipping into her side of the armrest. She places hers right over mine, her palm resting against the back of my hand, and the scar in the center of her palm catches my attention. When she tripped during a cross-country tournament and needed stitches, I waited next to her for Coach to bring the first aid kit, then till the ambulance came, assuring her she’d be fine. The feeling of beingneeded, irreplaceable, washes overme.
She turns her head, eyes widening when she finds me already watching her. When she gasps, I drag my gaze lower to her tongue-licked lips catching the light of the screen.
Andrzej’s words echo.Don’t shoot yourself in the foot.I exhale hard, shift back, and put my arm back in my own seat. The ice in my cup clinks as I finish what’s left of my drink.Fucking hell, what am I doing?
A few minutes later, when I glance at Tessa, she’s laughing again, head tipped back, at ease. She isn’t wasting a second thought on me, because nothing’s happening here. Because a prank isn’t messing with her head. It’s messing withmine.
When we say goodbye, she gives me a quick side hug, her body pressing against my side. I hate that I’ve never noticed before, but I can’tunfeelit.
“Yes, I’m sure,” I say when she asks if I really don’t want to grab a nightcap up the street.
When I get home, I finally check Robyn’s texts. Photos, little jokes, reminders she’s thinking of me. For the first time since we started dating, I stare at the screen, thumb hovering, pulse uneven. And I go to bed without texting her goodnight. Becausegoodnightsits like a lie on my tongue.I gotta figure my shit out.
CHAPTER 7
The Tension
Robyn
These weekend shiftsare hell on earth. Off-the-grid time starts Sunday evening, and by the time we’re out of the hospital, even Julian’s ready to sleep until Tuesday’s 6:00 a.m. rounds.
I check my phone. Nate’s given me a thumbs-up. There’s nothing wrong with it—or with any of the texts he’s sent—but something about them doesn’t feel right. The train adds another hour to my trip, and I would’ve gotten home sooner if I hadn’t closed my eyes and missed my stop. It’s why I stopped driving in for these shifts. They’re just brutal.
When I let myself into Nate’s apartment, it’s so quiet it’s eerie. With how early it is, he should be up. Inhaling the mix of cedar and laundry detergent, I look around, wondering if he’s even home. Everything is neutral cream and gray tones, tidy and precise—Nate’s brand of obsession. Except for the bright-green note on the coffee table.
I biked along Lakeshore today, and I’m beat. There’s foodfor you. That white bean stew you like. Wake me up when you get home.
– Love you, sweetheart.
I purse my lips. The note is perfectly Nate but still not quitehim. The handwriting’s steady, but the loops of his letters are tighter than usual, pressed hard enough to dent the paper. There’s something in it, or maybe something missing, and the hairs on the back of my neck rise.
