He doesn’t answer straight away.
“Something like that.”
There it is.
I don’t push it further.
Not now.
Instead, I let my thumb move once against his side, grounding, the same way I’ve been doing without thinking.
“Seems like a waste,” I say.
He looks at me, something flickering there. Not quite a challenge. Not quite agreement.
“Does it,” he says.
“Yeah.”
I hold his gaze for a second longer.
Because I mean it.
And because I don’t say things like that unless I do.
He studies me for a second, then something shifts in his expression. Lighter. Curious.
“Right,” he says. “Your turn.”
“My turn.”
“All these dates your brothers apparently lined up for you,” he says. “Why didn’t any of them turn into a grand, sweeping love story?”
I huff out a quiet breath. “Top secret.”
“Oh, come on.”
“Classified.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“It is,” I say. “You just don’t like it.”
He leans in slightly, narrowing his eyes at me like that’s going to help.
“I think,” he says, “given everything we’ve already covered tonight, I’ve earned a slightly better answer than that.”
“Have you?”
“Yes.”
I shake my head. “No.”
He exhales, somewhere between a laugh and frustration. “You’re impossible.”
“Occasionally.”
He shifts then, turning more fully towards me.
