Phil turns.
Tommy grins at him, then at me, his expression shifting into something unmistakably pleased.
“Well,” he says. “About time.”
Heat rushes straight to Phil’s face.
He looks at the table. At his glass. At anything that isn’t Tommy.
Alex smirks. It’s clear who’d spread the gossip about me and Phil.
Phil sits down quickly.
Across from me.
Tommy drops into the chair beside him, clapping a hand against his shoulder.
“Knew it,” he says. “Told you lot.”
Phil lets out a breath that isn’t quite a laugh.
“It’s not—”
He stops.
He glances at me.
His ears are red.
His fingers tighten around his glass.
Tommy keeps talking. Alex joins in. Something about bets. Something about timing.
Phil smiles, but it’s thinner now. Careful.
His foot bumps mine under the table.
He stills.
For a second, he doesn’t move it away.
Then Tommy leans closer, saying something too low for me to hear.
Phil pulls his foot back.
He picks up his glass.
Drinks.
Sets it down again with more care than necessary.
His eyes flick to mine.
There’s apology there.
And something else.
Something like panic.