Page 8 of It's Only Ever Been You

As he talks about camp—the grueling practices, the unbearable heat—I focus on his voice, low and steady, the kind of voice that makes everything else fade into the background. I try to act normal, pretending I’m just listening to my best friend, but my heart’s racing for reasons I don’t fully understand.

My eyes drift, catching the way his Adam’s apple bobs when he talks. It’s such a simple thing, something I’ve probably seen a hundred times before without a second thought. But now? Now it feels different. My cheeks heat up, and I look away quickly, not sure why I’m noticing that or why it suddenly feels…hot.

What’s wrong with me? I’m supposed to be listening to his story, but instead, my brain’s stuck on things that never even registered before.

We’re halfway through one of his football camp horror stories when his hand brushes against mine. It’s barely a touch, nothing anyone else would notice. But to me, it’s like the air shifts, my skin has been set on fire with something electric. My breath hitches, and before I can stop myself, I pull my hand back, fingers curling into my palm as if that will somehow calm the storm brewing inside me.

I glance up at him, praying he didn’t notice, but he pauses mid-sentence, his eyes flicking to mine. There’s a question there, unspoken, and for a split second, time feels frozen.

He grins, that lopsided, devil-may-care look that’s somehow different from the Ethan I remember. “What’s up with you?” he asks, tilting his head. “You’re acting weird.”

“I’m not acting weird,” I say, probably a little too fast. “You’re the one who’s acting weird.”

“Me?” He laughs, raising an eyebrow. “Nah, I’m exactly the same. You’re just seeing me through fresh eyes, that’s all.”

I snort, even though his words make my heart do a funny little flip. “I don’t even know what that’s supposed to mean.”

“It means you missed me,” he says, nudging me with his shoulder. “It’s okay to admit it.”

I roll my eyes, trying to ignore the butterflies in my stomach. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

“Yeah,” he says, smiling, “but I’m your best friend, so you’re stuck with me.”

Best friend.

The words echo in my mind, grounding me a little. That’s all this is, right? Just best friends catching up after a summer apart. Why does that kinda hurt then?

I try to shake off the strange, tingly feeling in my chest, reminding myself that this is Ethan. But every time I look at him, I can’t unsee the changes. The way his muscles shift under his shirt when he stretches, the way his eyes linger on me just a little longer than they used to.

……………………………………………………………

We fall back into our old rhythm over the next few days, but something between us has changed. It’s subtle, a thread pulled too tight, ready to snap if I make one wrong move. He’s always been touchy—an arm slung around my shoulder, a casual hand on my back when we’re walking—but now, every touch feels charged, like there’s a hidden message behind it that I can’t quite decode.

I’m at the park one afternoon, sitting on the swings and reading, when he shows up out of nowhere, dropping into the swing beside me. “You’re still reading those fantasy books?” he teases, leaning over to peek at the cover.

“Of course,” I say, lifting my chin. “Not everyone spends their free time tackling people and lifting weights.” I grin at him.

He laughs, pushing his swing back and forth lazily. “Hey, I bet you’d like tackling people. You’d get out all that pent-up aggression. Lifting also does the same thing. You should try it sometime.”

“Right. No thanks and as if I’m aggressive.” I scoff.

“Oh, you definitely are!” he says, grinning.

He’s clearly enjoying himself, and I’m rolling my eyes, but there’s a part of me that can’t help smiling back. I push off with my feet, swinging a little, trying to act casual. “So, is this what you missed all summer? Bugging me?”

“Oh, definitely,” he says, smirking. “You’re a way better challenge than any linebacker.”

I snort, giving him a skeptical look. “Right, because sitting on a swing and annoying me is somehow harder than tackling people twice your size?”

“Hey, don’t sell yourself short,” he teases. “I’ve missed this—our talks, you know? You giving me a hard time, keeping me humble.”

I can’t help smiling. “Well, someone has to.”

He chuckles, his expression softening just a little. “Guess that’s why I kept thinking about you while I was gone. No one else would have dared to keep me in line.”

He leans in closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. “I’ve been gone all summer. You must have missed me at least a little.”

“Ethan,” I say, half-annoyed, half-amused, “don’t you have, like, a football to throw somewhere?”

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