I’ve seen the way she looks at him. The way she actually seeks him out, laughs with him, settles into his silence like it doesn’t bother her at all. Like she understands it.
And last night…
The way they looked at each other, the way he moved with her, slow and deliberate, like nothing else in the world mattered?—
That wasn’t casual. That wasn’t just sex.
That was something real.
Which means this has to work.
Not just for me—for all of us.
The problem is, a lot of that hinges on Reid.
As far as I know, he hasn’t been with anyone since things ended between them. Whatever happened back then, it left a mark. He’s never talked about it in detail, but he doesn’t need to. You can see it in him if you look long enough.
The first time I met him, he was sitting alone in a bar, staring at a glass of brandy like it had personally wronged him. Not drinking it. Just staring.
I’d seen enough addiction meetings to know what that looks like. This wasn’t it.
He wasn’t fighting the drink.
He was staring at something inside it. Something only he could see.
That was enough to get my attention. I’ve always had a thing for people who carry something a little broken under the surface.
I slid into the seat across from him.
It took him a while to even notice I was there.
When he finally looked up, I smiled. “Hey.”
He didn’t smile back. Just gave me a look that clearly translated to fuck off, then went back to the glass.
“First time?” I asked.
Nothing.
“You know it tastes better once you actually drink it.”
“What do you want?”
“Would you believe me if I told you I wanted to be your friend?”
He gave me a slow once-over and shook his head. “I’m flattered, but you’re not my type.”
“You’re not mine either. Also, I’m not gay or bi. Just friendly. You look like you could use one.”
“You look like you could use an ass-kicking,” he said calmly. “Keep pushing, and you’ll get one, rich boy.”
I frowned. “How do you know I’m rich?” I was dressed down—plain white T-shirt, faded jeans. Nothing flashy.
“I can smell it on you,” he said. “Old money. Parents don’t give a damn, so you manufacture problems to get their attention. You like getting a rise out of people, maybe even like getting hit. That’s why you hang around places like this. You’re not from here. Northeast, probably. New York, New England. Came out here to reinvent yourself where nobody knows you.”
“What the fuck?” I just stared at him. It was like he’d read me in under thirty seconds.
He didn’t look away.