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“Why? Why are you like this?”

“Because I find you entertaining.”

“Kiss,” May interjected as she grabbed Sariah’s jaw, tipping her head back for a quick kiss. “I have some things I have to do at the studio tonight. You enjoy your conversation.”

The kiss was casual and easy—the kind of affection they probably exchanged dozens of times a day without thinking about it. But again, that stupid ache in my chest appeared. I didn’t understand what that was like.

“Let me know you get there safely,” Sariah said and kissed her once more.

“I will.” May glanced at me and waved. “Bye, Rho-Rho.”

“Be safe, May.” I fell quiet while Sariah’s attention shifted completely to her—did she have everything she needed, more goodbye kisses, when would she be back, and more.

Eventually, May disappeared, and Sariah wandered around finding snacks before settling back into place.

“All right, regale me, oh sweet one in denial,” Sariah began as she made herself comfortable. “How is Theo?”

I should’ve known she wouldn’t let that go.

“Why do you keep telling everyone that I was dating him?”

“Because you were,” she replied. “Everyone knows it.”

“I don’t do relationships.” That had always been true. At least, I’d always considered it true.

“No, you just don’t think you do relationships,” she corrected. “Your fear of commitment doesn’t mean that you aren’t in relationships. It just means you can’t seem to recognize when you’re in one. Take Sloane for example—”

“Sloane and I never dated!” I cut her off, my protest louder than necessary. Sloane had worked security for Noise Dolls long before Sariah and I entered the picture. Since the brunch group was mostly band members, crew, security, and whichever strays had been collected—including the two of us—I’d known Sloane for almost ten years. Sloane and I had… a thing. It was a ridiculously complicated thing, but it wasn’t dating. “Yes, we had a complicated thing, but what do you expect when the guy is traveling around making sure your fiancé doesn’t get kidnapped?”

She just stared at me, one brow arching. I hated that look. That look always unnerved me as it weaseled its way under my skin. It was full of judgment.

“Sloane and I never fucking dated,” I repeated. “We hooked up for a few months, and that was it.”

Except Sariah still looked unconvinced.

“Do you regularly fly to Rome for hookups?” Sariah asked, that brow rising a bit higher, and I cringed. “I have it on good authority that there was a five-star restaurant involved.”

“It had good pasta,” I grumped. Even to me, that sounded pathetic.

“Mhmm. You can have damn good pasta in Florida without flying to another country to hang out with your non-boyfriend boyfriend.”

I opened my mouth and promptly closed it. Rome had seemed perfectly reasonable at the time—dinner at a few nice restaurants, all-night hookups, and I got to see quite a few iconic tourist spots. Unfortunately, in hindsight, maybe it was a little more complicated than I’d thought it was.

“Does Sloane think we dated?” I asked, the question escaping before I could decide whether I wanted the answer. I had to know if he’d thought that was what we had been—if I’d been the blind one in all of this.

“Oh, definitely.” She nodded quickly. Fuck. I leaned back in my chair and stared at the ceiling. Apparently, I had accidentally had a boyfriend for a while there. “If it helps, he’s not remotely upset about it. He knew exactly how emotionally unavailable you were going into it. I’m not saying he didn’t have an ‘I can fix him’ moment or two, but he’s also been around long enough to know how you are.”

“Fuck,” I muttered. How I was. That phrase shouldn’t have bothered me the way it did because it wasn’t wrong. Just how many non-relationship relationships had I had? I wasn’t sure I wanted to ask. Sariah probably had a chronological list complete with supporting evidence.

That question opened another one I liked even less: what number did that make Theo? My chest tightened. I knew the ten months with Theo felt more real than anything I’d had with anyone else and apparently, real enough to look suspiciously like a relationship from every angle except the one I was looking at.

Maybe the problem wasn’t that I didn’t do relationships. Maybe the problem was that I refused to call them that.

“What’re you thinking?” Sariah’s voice gently cut through the anxious thoughts in my head. She knew me too well to believe the silence meant nothing.

“Tell me about this yacht,” I said, needing to change the conversation.

Sariah knew when to push, but she also knew when pushing would make me bolt. For once, she let me have the escape. Then she started breaking down every inch of their yacht wedding plan while I listened, asked questions, and pretended I was fine.