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I take a long sip, don’t look away from my glass. “Do you remember Geostorm?” I reply coolly.
He sniffs but I think it’s a laugh.
“Yeah, you walked out of it.”
I still don’t look at him. “Well, it was terrible.”
“You’re avoiding me,” he tells me, looking for my eyes.
“Yes,” I say. And now I look at him.
Oh my god. He’s beautiful.
It hits me in my chest, spreads through me like a spider web. He looks different but the same all at once. Older, I think. But healthier, maybe?
Some new freckles.
More scruff on his face than when I last saw it. Just a tiny bit.
My favourite forget-me-not bow still on his thumb.
I fight the old urge to push my hand through his perfect hair — an urge I thought I shook but I guess you can’t ever really, not with a boy like him.
And his stupid pillow mouth rips at the seams of my resolve not to love him how I worry I always will, and my mind falls through an infinity of memories I’ve had with him and thought I’d have with him and worry I won’t ever have with him again.
I swallow. Count to three, breathing through my nose.
I won’t let him know he does this to me still. I’d sooner die.
“I am.” I look up at him and nod slowly. “Thank you so much for respecting my wishes and not approaching me—”
He smirks and goes “hah” and I miss him.
“Come on,” he chides with a half-cocked smile. “Had to say hello. Rude not to…”
I take a sizeable sip of my drink. “I suppose.”
Peak-Lapel wool suit and the Pre-Tied Silk-Satin Bow Tie, both from Tom Ford. White Formal Button Up Shirt from Dolce & Gabbana with the Jordaan Horsebit Gucci loafers. I love him in a suit.
BJ licks his bottom lip and tilts his head to look at me. “Oi, are you in lilac?”
Fuck. I purse my lips for a second and then roll my eyes.
“I didn’t pick the colour palette.” I shrug demurely.
“Yeah right,” he scoffs. “You’re gonna tell me Marsaili picked out this monochromatic masterpiece on her own?”
I get the feeling he’s trying to flatter me but I roll my eyes anyway because I don’t want to make anything easy for him.
He nods at me playfully. “What’d you call the Pinterest board?”
“Nothing,” I tell him, my nose in the air.
“Tell me—” he presses.
“No.” I cross my arms over my chest.
“Violet Supernova?” he guesses.
