Page 72 of Verdict

They couldn’t keep their hands off each other. Her fingers were in his hair, his mouth was at her neck… her laugh was too fucking loud.

He isn’t that funny.

I could feel the anger bubbling up, hot and reckless. I should have kept my mouth shut. But I didn’t.

I blame the shots.

“Can you two just fucking leave and get a goddamn room already?” I snapped, pointing toward the exit. “We get it. You want to fuck each other. Do the rest of us a favor and see your way out.”

Aria’s hand shot to my arm, and Hudson’s grip tightened around my waist, as if I was about to launch myself at them. Drake slumped down further into the couch.

Cohen’s eyes snapped to mine but then dropped. To where Hudson’s arm was wrapped around me.

He stood abruptly. “You know what, Ava?” he said coolly. “You’re right. That’s a great idea.” Cohen looked down at Blondie. “Let’s go back to my place, Kate.” She eagerly scrambled to her feet. His hand settled low on her back. “I could use a good fuck,” he added casually over his shoulder as he led her toward the door. “It’s been a while.”

Drake dropped his head into his hands and groaned.

Everything inside me went still. I watched him choose her. Watched him walk out of the club with someone else, like it was just another Saturday night. And for him, that’s exactly what it was because this was who he was. Who he had always been.

“Some things don’t stay on the table forever.” Weston’s words chose a cruel time to echo in my head.

I couldn’t help but feel like we had just crushed something fragile between us.

And worse, I couldn’t help but feel like this was all my fault.

I stumbled into my kitchen the next morning in desperate need of strong coffee and something greasy enough to soak up my bad decisions. Like an angel sent from heaven, Aria was already seated at the counter. Two coffees sat in front of her alongside a paper bag from my favorite taco place down the street.

“I figured you could use tacos,” she said, sliding the bag toward me.

I nearly teared up. It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve cried for tacos. I unwrapped one and shamelessly shoved half of it into my mouth. “Thank you,” I mumbled around a mouthful, grabbing the coffee and washing it down.

Aria watched me over the rim of her cup. “So,” she said carefully. “Last night was… interesting.”

I sank onto the stool beside her. “Yeah. I need to lay off the shots. I’m almost thirty,” I muttered with a dry chuckle.

Her eyes narrowed slightly. “That’s not what I’m referring to.”

I sighed.

“I’m talking about the pissing match you and Cohen seemed determined to win.”

I stared down at my taco. Or what was left of it.

“You don’t want Hudson, Ava,” she continued, voice steady. “You want Cohen. And after what I saw last night? I’m pretty positive he wants you too.”

I scoffed, even though the sound felt hollow. “I don’t think so, Aria. Cohen just wants what he can’t have. He has zero interest in commitment.”

“Did he tell you that himself?”

My mouth opened. Then shut.

Aria reached across the counter and wrapped her hand around mine.

“Ava,” she said gently, surgically. “You’ve spent years assuming that if someone doesn’t fight for you loudly, they don’t want you.”

I swallowed.

“But Cohen doesn’t fight loudly,” she continued. “He just… stays. He shows up.”