Page 37 of The Has-Been

I nod, turning around and taking the long route to her condo.

“Probably fucking Schmitt driving like an asshole,” I say, referring to the mid-twenty-year-old neighbor that lives down the street from Aubrey. He was always speeding up and down their road.

Aubrey laughs. Her true one. Not at all like the forced, fake one she gives people when she’s trying to be polite and laugh at their jokes. I steal at glance at her when we come to a red light.

God, I forgot how much I missed the sound of her laugh. When she looks over at me, I quickly look away.

You got busted staring, dude.

Play it cool. Play it cool. Play it cool.

“What?” she asks.

I should know her better than that to think she’d let me get away with it.

“Nothing,” I mumble, looking her over. My brows raise as I take in her outfit. What the hell is she wearing? She’s never in anything but oversized sweatpants and a loose t-shirt.

I swallow thickly, trying not to think why exactly she’s dressed differently.

She’s looking at me now. Her eyes are dark, unlike any memory I hold of them. Black makeup lines them, deepening them, twisting the shade from a honey brown to a dark mahogany. Seeing her this way makes me wonder what else has changed since I last saw her.

We stay like that for several moments, staring at one another until the car behind me blows its horn, and my attention snaps back to the road. The light’s likely been green for some time, so I hurriedly hit the gas.

“I—uh,” she starts, but snaps her mouth closed. I hear her take in a deep breath, her leg bouncing up and down.

She’s nervous.

At least I’m not the only one.

“Yeah?” I question.

“I was—uh, wonderingifyouweregoingtoeatthat?” she asks eventually, her cheeks turning pink as I look from her to the box spread across my dash.

I shake my head, holding back laughter. “No. Help yourself,” but before my words are out, she’s already reaching for it. She instantly takes a big bite of my food, shoving French fries into her mouth like she’s fucking starved.

“Didn’t Noah feed you?” I question. The second the words leave my mouth, I want to take them back.

She stops chewing. Mouth full of food, she answers, “I was too nervous to eat.”

I blink, glancing over at her. I wish she hadn’t replied. In fact, I wish we were back to sitting in silence. The quiet is better than hearing that.

I nod, raising my eyebrows. “I didn’t know you were dating him,” I blurt, eyes glued to the road, like she’s Medusa and if I take another look at her, I’ll be turned to fucking stone.

“We aren’t dating. Noah Pierce doesn’t date. You know that.”

“Ugh,” I say, like I’m disgusted. “Forget I asked.”

She drops the burger back in the box. “Not that it’s any of your business—” she begins, and I hold up my hand. I can’t stand to listen to another second of this, but then she finishes, “This is the first time I’ve been out with him.”

My heartbeat steadies.

Why am I breathing easier suddenly?

Oh, I don’t know—probably because you’re relieved Noah isn’t fucking your ex-girlfriend into next week.

She’s right, though, it’s not any of my business. It’s her body. Her decisions on who she sleeps with. I’ll learn to live with it.

“Oh,” I voice plainly, reaching to turn down the heat. But I hesitate. Looking over her way, I find her staring at me. “What?” I press, my turn to ask her.