Page 116 of Love Felt Like This

“Who? Told you what?”

He doesn’t answer. “You look good.” His eyes shamelessly scour over me, from Griffin’s necklace over my collarbones, to the low-cut square neckline, and then the slit up the side of my skirt. He doesn’t look embarrassed when I catch him. “That dress looks impeccable on you.”

My body is both cold and hot at the same time. Shivers explode over my skin.

“I’m taken,” I blurt out.

Beau’s jaw tics. “So I’ve heard. How’s the family liking Griffin, anyway? Nana must love his long hair, huh?”

Even through the purple-and-blue haze of the bar and my bubbling mind, I can sense sarcasm. Senior year, Beau grew out his hair to his chin, and Nana wouldn’t stop calling him a ragamuffin, which I think is a type of cat, but I don’t know.

“Steak likes him,” I say.

Beau scoffs with a smile. “That cat doesn’t like anybody.”

“He likes Griff, though.” Well, technically he likes Ava, but we don’t talk about Ava. “Also, I’ve never once called him Griff in my life.”

“Uh-huh.” He tilts his head to the side with a little smile. Griffin might not have been admiring me earlier—I’m not sure—but I know for a fact Beau is right now. I’ve known him for so long that, even after being broken up for two years, I can still recognize every twitch of his lips or narrowing of his eyes. I know him as intimately as I know myself.

He wasn’t always this version of Beau. He was kind once. He lived with my family when his didn’t support him. We took him in, and it felt seamless between us. Easy. And now…he’s sarcastic. Mean.

“We’re in a relationship, you know,” I say again. “Griffin and me. Griffin and I.”

Beau nods, leaning over to rest his elbow on the counter. He tucks his chin into his palm. “You’ve mentioned that.”

Beau squints a little, like he’s parsing through my brain to get to the squishy good stuff. The soft stuff that’ll make him laugh, and I could always make him laugh up until I couldn’t.

“So, how’ve you been?” he asks, and it’s sweet. No haughty air from his new fame clouding it. It’s like we’re seventeen again. “We haven’t talked in forever.”

I snort, unashamed as I say, “Because you called me names.”

“I called you names?” he asks on an incredulous laugh.

“ ‘Social climber’? Remember that one? In the video?”

His face is stone, and he looks almost sorry about it. Is he?

“Come on,” he says, dipping his head. “You know I didn’t mean that. It was a tough day; I was tired from recording…”

“We broke up after.”

“My career had just exploded.”

“I’m taken,” I repeat.

He smiles. “You know, you say it enough times, I might actually believe you, Bev.”

I sigh. He sighs. He’s good at this, making this feel like home. Like we’re on the porch with the rocking chairs, a summer breeze, and stolen beers from my dad’s cooler. We only bantered like this when I was drunk, unbound by the flowing alcohol in my veins. It’s when Beau admired me the most.

But we’re not in Elk Grove, and we’re not seventeen. Instead, we’re in a club / bar / dancing place in LA, and he’s dyed his beautiful ginger hair a dull brown, and I’m in a dress that’s way too tight.

“Let me text you sometime,” he says.

My head jerks back. “What?”

“Let’s talk. We haven’t talked in a while. Remember how we used to stay up late talking? For hours. We timed it once, didn’t we?”

“Stop, I—”