Page 60 of Trade It All

The way his attention kept drifting. The way he suddenly cared way too much about how long it was taking to get his coffee. The way he tried—and failed—to play it off like he wasn’t interested.

I smiled into my cup, trying not to laugh.

“So,” I said, nudging his foot lightly under the table. “Who is she?”

He blinked at me like I just asked him something ridiculous.

“Who?”

I raised a brow, not even bothering to turn my head. “The girl you’ve been staring at since we walked in.”

His eyes flicked toward the counter for half a second before he caught himself.

“Sienna?” he said, like the name was an afterthought. “I think she’s new.”

I didn’t say anything.

Didn’t have to. Because the way he shifted in his seat said everything.

And for a few minutes—it felt normal.

Easy.

Like I wasn’t carrying everything else around with me.

But that feeling never lasts as long as I want it to.

Now I’m here.

Lying in a bed that isn’t mine.

In a house that feels safe, surrounded by people who would drop everything if I needed them to—and still wishing I was somewhere else.

With him.

It hits me harder at night.

When everything quiets down and there’s nothing to distract me from it.

Because during the day, it’s easy to pretend we’re just… existing in the same space. Working. Moving around each other like we always have, just with something unspoken layered underneath it.

But at night—there’s no pretending.

I spend most of my time with him now.

Mornings in his kitchen. Afternoons at the arena. Moments in between that feel like they belong to something we haven’t fully defined yet.

And then I leave. Every time. Back to this room. Back to space. Back to trying to convince myself this is what I need right now.

I turn onto my back again, staring at the ceiling like it’s going to give me an answer.

It doesn’t.

My hand drifts to my phone again before I can stop it, my thumb hovering over his name.

Just one text.

Just something small.