This isn’t the first time they’ve mentioned high school, and honestly, I’m starting to feel the same way I did before I found out Jamie was cheating on me.
For a split-second, my thumb hovers over the location-share app, but I stop myself.
This is nothing. Zach doesn’t lie to you. This is just another one of those anonymous assholes who seem to get off on making me question everything.
I shove the phone face-down on the couch cushion and focus on the TV. My hands won’t stop shaking. I curl them into fists until my nails bite my palms—anything to ground myself.
“You okay?” Chris asks quietly, leaning closer so the others can't hear. “You look tense.”
“Just tired,” I lie, forcing my shoulders to relax. “Long week.”
He studies my face for a moment, like he can see right through my bullshit, but he doesn't push. Instead, he reaches for the bowl of popcorn and offers it to me.
“Movie's getting good,” he says simply.
I nod, pretending that this is normal. That I'm just a regular college student having a regular movie night with regular friends. After all, this is what college is all about. I shouldn’t be worrying about some random person texting me constantly. They don’t know me. They don’t know Zach and letting them get into my head is doing a disservice to my relationship.
So I put my phone in my pocket, sit back, and try my best to focus on the movie.
I push through the door of Murphy's Tavern, scanning the dimly lit interior until I spot Jenni at a corner booth. The place is nearly empty, with just a few regulars nursing beers at the bar and the sound of some old rock song playing too quietly in the background. Not exactly what I expected when she texted asking to meet.
She looks up as I approach, her smile too bright for the setting. “Zach! Thanks for coming.”
I slide into the booth across from her, keeping my distance. “So,” I say, cutting straight to the point, “why couldn't we justmeet at Hail Mary's? It's on campus, and—”
“Because I didn't want anyone seeing us together and getting the wrong idea,” she interrupts, her fingers fidgeting with her drink. “You know how people talk, especially about you. The last thing I'd want is a repeat of the porch incident.”
I study her face, trying to read between the lines. It's a reasonable explanation, but something about the way she says it feels too rehearsed.
“Right,” I say slowly. “So you wanted to go over the party?”
Jenni’s expression shifts. “Yes!” she says animatedly before pulling out her phone and scrolling through a long list of notes. As she leans forward to show me the screen, her hand brushes against mine on the table. The contact is brief but deliberate—I can tell by the way she lets her fingers linger just a second too long.
I pull my hand back, not saying anything, but not missing the flash of something in her eyes when I do.
“I reserved a space at The Holy Oak. Figured it would be less crowded than Hail Mary’s and I took her there last week and she loved it.” She’s talking faster now, and I want to believe it’s because she’s enthusiastic about helping Honey, but there’s something forced about it all. “Chris and his team have some leftover decorations we can use, and I’ve also spoken to the bakery across the street from campus that Honey likes.”
“Sounds like you have it handled,” I say, leaning back in the booth. “Not sure why you needed me here to go over this.”
“Well, I wanted to make sure you approved of everything. It isyourgirlfriend we're celebrating.” Her hand moves across the table again, this time landing on my forearm. “And I thought maybe you could help me pick up the cake tomorrow morning?”
Is she serious? I have a game in the afternoon and she knows it.
I remove her hand again, more firmly this time. “Jenni.”
“What?” she asks, all innocence, but there's a challenge in her eyes.
“You know what.”
She sighs, sitting back in her seat. “I'm just trying to be a good friend to Honey, and to you. I know things have been tense between us, but I really am trying here.”
“Are you?”
“Yes!” The word comes out sharper than she probably intended. She takes a breath, composing herself. “Look, I know you don't trust me. I get it. But can't we at least try to get along for Honey's sake? She's caught in the middle of whatever this is between us, and it's not fair to her.”
She's not wrong about that, and the fact that she's right irritates me more than anything else she could have said.
“Fine,” I say. “But let's be clear about something—this is about Honey. Nothing else.”