Page 25 of It's Only Ever Been You

She smirks at me, “I think it’s worth a shot.”

I text Ethan, and to my relief, he replies almost immediately.

Me:Hey, are you available to hang out? I miss your face.

Ethan: Yeah, I’m actually free, meet at my place?

Me: Perfect! Be there in 30?

I feel a flutter of excitement that I try to ignore, chalking it up to finally spending time with my best friend, nothing more. In front of the mirror, I smooth down my hair, running my fingers through it one more time before deciding to let it fall loose over my shoulders.

I throw on a fitted T-shirt and my favorite jeans—nothing fancy, but I still take an extra second to adjust them, making sure everything looks just right. I swipe on a hint of lip gloss, telling myself again it’s no big deal, just hanging out with Ethan. But as I catch my reflection, I feel a flicker of something I can’t quite name. Brushing it off, I grab my bag, take a steadying breath, and head out the door. But as I approach his front door, my heart is beating a little too fast and my hands are getting clammy.

When I knock, the door swings open to reveal what I assume is one of Ethan’s roommates, a tall guy with a messy head of brown hair and an easygoing smile.

“Hey, you must be Emma,” he says, raising an eyebrow. “Ethan mentioned you were coming over.”

I smile, trying not to overthink what exactly Ethan’s said. “Yeah, that’s me. Is he around?”

He steps aside, gesturing toward the hall. “He’s in the other room. Yo, Ethan!” he calls over his shoulder, “Your friend’s here!”

Ethan appears a moment later, leaning around the corner. When he spots me, his face lights up with that familiar, warm grin. “Hey, Em.”

He waves me in, and I follow him down the hall, past the cluttered common room and a few shut doors. He opens the door to his room and lets me step in first. The space feels cozy and lived-in, with his textbooks stacked on the desk and posters on the walls. The familiar scent of his cologne hits me instantly, stirring memories of all our late-night study sessions and movie marathons back home. I feel myself relax as he shuts the door behind us, a soft smile still playing on his lips.

“Thought you forgot about me,” he teases, though there’s something guarded in his tone, something I can’t quite read.

I nudge him lightly, rolling my eyes. “Hardly. Just got lost in my mountain of homework.”

He chuckles, “At least you don’t have to ask a squirrel for directions on that.”

I roll my eyes at him again, laughing softly, but his grin lingers a moment longer than usual. There’s a flicker of something in his expression—something that makes my pulse quicken. Ethan gestures toward the couch with a casual wave.

“Here, have a seat. Make yourself comfortable.”

I nod, settling into the soft cushions as he sits down next to me, close enough that our knees almost touch. I tuck my legs up under me, settling more comfortably on the couch as we fall into our usual rhythm, chatting about anything and everything except what we should be saying.

But somewhere in the middle of our conversation, I notice the way his arm stretches along the back of the couch, his fingertips brushing the edge of my shoulder. It’s not intentional—at least, I don’t think it is—but the closeness makes my skin tingle with awareness. He shifts slightly, his knee grazing mine, and I swear I feel the warmth of his touch straight through my jeans.

I start to say something, my voice barely above a whisper. “So, I was thinking—”My words falter for a moment, and I glance up at him, catching the way his eyes are focused on me. Not on my words, not even on my face entirely, but on the way my handabsently plays with the hem of my shirt, a nervous habit I can’t seem to break. It’s like he’s seeing right through me.

“You do that when you’re nervous,” he says, his voice quieter now, almost teasing.

I frown slightly. “Do what?” Even though I know what he’s talking about.

“That.” He nods toward my hand, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “Fidget.”

Heat rises to my cheeks, and I let go of the fabric, crossing my arms over my chest in mock annoyance. “I am not nervous.”

His grin widens, and he leans a little closer, the warmth of his body suddenly too noticeable in the small space between us. “No? Then why are you blushing?”

“I’m not blushing,” I mutter, avoiding his gaze, but the smile tugging at my lips betrays me.

He leans back slightly, letting the silence stretch out for a moment, and I hate how much I notice the way his shirt clings to his shoulders, the way his fingers flex idly against the couch cushion. I steal a glance at him, and my breath catches when I find him watching me, his expression softer now, more serious.

“What?” I ask, my voice barelyabove a whisper.

“Nothing,” he says, but his gaze doesn’t waver. “You’re just…different tonight.”

---