She stares at me like she wants to argue.
Like she should.
Like she’s trying to hold on to that line she drew.
Then—slowly—she picks up her fork.
Takes a bite.
And I feel the victory of it down to my tortured soul.
That’s my good girl.
I lean back in my chair, forcing distance between us before I do something reckless.
Before I forget we’re not alone.
Before I forget she’s not mine. Not yet.
Because that’s the truth I’m starting to accept.
I don’t understand what this is.
I don’t understand why her. Why now. Why it feels like something inside me locked into place the second I saw her.
But I do know this—I don’t like anyone else near her.
I don’t like distance between us.
And I sure as hell don’t like pretending this is casual.
I rattled her just now. And maybe I meant to.
But she’s not the only one who feels that way. But maybe I did it because she needs to understand something.
Even if she fights it.
Even if I fight it.
See this thing between us?
It’s not going away. And neither am I.
This time, I’m trying for something I never have before. I’m trying for a future. For her and me together.
This time, I’m trying for us.
Chapter Eighteen
Hilary
Holy. Fucking. Shit.
The rest of the night flies by in a blur.
At some point, someone—noticeably not Jake—comes in and clears the table, packs up the leftovers, wipes everything down like we didn’t just sit there pretending to be normal people.
I nod. Smile. Exist.