The way she says it, so casual and admiring, the hair on the nape of my neck rises and the image of her and Zach at the hockey game comes front and center again.
Maybe it’s the whiskey, or the way she bites her lip to suppress a smile, but before I can stop myself, the words slip out:
“Sometimes I wonder if there really is something going on between you and Zach.”
Jenni freezes, clears her throat, then sits back, letting the words hang between us.
“You’re kidding, right?”
“I know,” I rush, my cheeks burning. “Iknowhe hates—” I stop myself. Even tipsy, I can’t say it out loud. I can’t let someone know Zach is anything less than the perfect quarterback he likes to portray. “—that he’s never exactly warm toward you.”
“That’s an understatement,” she says dryly, lifting her glass. “Zach barely tolerates me. The idea of him secretly pining after me is… hilarious.”
I want to believe her. I do, but the memory of that picture claws up my throat—Jenni leaning into Zach, his phone in her hand, their heads bent close like they were in on some private joke.
“Then why did I see a picture of you holding Zach’s phone? At the rink. You two looked…” My throat tightens. “Close.”
Jenni blinks, startled. “Photo?”
I nod, heat rising in my face. “Yeah. Someone sent it to me.”
For a second, something unreadable crosses her expression. Then she lets out a soft laugh, shaking her head. “God, that. We were—” She pauses, her eyes flicking away before coming back. “He was showing me a picture of you. From your vacation. You looked cute.”
The fight drains out of me at once, leaving only embarrassment in its place. Of course. Of course Zach wouldn’t—
My stomach twists as guilt slides in to take the place of suspicion. I feel ridiculous, paranoid.
I force a laugh, weak and uneven. “Right. That makes sense.”
“Honestly,” Jenni adds with a smirk. “If anyone should be worried, I think it should be Zach.”
I nearly spill my whiskey at that. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
With furrowed brows, I try to think through any scenario, anyguythat could even be misconstrued as something else, but I draw a blank.
“You don’t know?” Jenni leans back in her chair, studying me. “Come on, Honey. You can’t seriously think Chris doesn’t have feelings for you.”
“Chris?” My brows furrow in confusion. “No. We’re just friends.”
Jenni’s smile softens. It’s pitying and makes me feel pathetic. “How have you not noticed he’s always around you? How he’s always listening, watching, and laughing at your terrible jokes? He’s completely gone for you.”
I close my eyes, trying to process her words, but the whiskey is starting to get to my head. “He’s not,” I insist, but my voice wavers.
“You don’t see it, but everyone else does. Even Zach,” she says lightly, twirling the stem of her glass between her fingers. “Even when we first met—you know he was staring at you from across the room? I felt so bad for him, I offered to help introduce him to you.”
“That’s not—” I shake my head. “You’re making that up.”
“I’m not. He’s been like this since day one. Always finding excuses to be near you, asking what you like, what makes you laugh… You should’ve seen him the day he found out you had a boyfriend. He was devastated and told me he wished he’d met you first.”
No. No. That makes no sense. Chris is in love with his ex. Not me.
“Chris is… He shouldn’t have said that.”
“Maybe not.” Her tone softens, and it’s almost pitying. “But I think he meant it. He talks about you like you’re… inevitable. Like you make it impossible for anyone to see past you once they’ve seen you.”
My pulse stutters, and Jenni studies me over her glass.
“Honestly, it’s not surprising. You clearly have a way of becoming someone’s whole world. Zach’s obsessed with making you happy, and sometimes… well, sometimes I wonder if you aren’t happy because you don’t know how to exist without being someone’s everything.”