Page 101 of If It Can't Be Us

“Admit what?” I ask, feigning innocence.

“Oh, you know what.”

“I really don’t,” I say, shaking my head. “You’ll have to be more specific.”

She lets out a sigh of frustration. She’s desperate to know the truth, and I’ve never seen her so flustered. It’s fucking adorable, honestly.

“Yes,” I say. Yes, I think about you, all the goddamn time.”

I lean in closer, my voice low and intimate. “But I don’t just think about you. I imagine every detail—how you’d feel, how you’d taste, the sounds you’d make.” I let my words hang in the air, watching the flush spread across her cheeks. “And now, I’m going to think about how you look when you’re flustered and biting your lip like that.”

“Mmm. I love that,” she murmurs, her eyes gleaming with satisfaction. “Thinking about you thinking about me… that’s hot.” She leans closer, her voice dropping to a whisper. “Maybe next time, I’ll let you watch.” She smiles deviously, as if there’s more where that came from.

The intensity in her look sends a heat coursing through my veins. I lean back, taking a slow sip of my drink, chuckling to myself.

This game is far from over.

* * * * ** * * * *

It’s a perfect summer night. The breeze from Lake Michigan cools the warm air, making our walk home pleasant.

As we pass the outdoor patio of a popular bar, our conversation is interrupted.

“Leo?” a familiar female voice calls out.

I turn to see Ashley slide out of her bar-top seat and walk toward me.

Fuck me, sideways.

This is the last thing I need right now. My grip on Vivian’s hand tightens involuntarily as Ashley approaches, and I feel a bead of sweat form at my temple.

“Oh, hey, Ashley,” I say awkwardly. Awkward is not a word I’d ever use to describe myself.

Vivian tenses beside me, her hand going limp in mine. Great, just great.

Ashley is beautiful, a very successful Instagram influencer, and she’s wearing a shirt, if that’s what you’d call it, that leaves very little to the imagination. She doesn’t compare to Vivian, in my opinion, but all of that aside, this is not an encounter I want to have right now.

“Who’s your friend?” Ashley asks, staring Vivian down.

“Oh, sorry. Ashley, this is my friend, Vivian. Vivian, this is Ashley,” I say, immediately regretting the use of friend. Vivian is so much more to me than a friend. Butfriend… it would have been better to say nothing at all, just ‘this is Vivian’.

Ashley smiles, satisfied with my fucking stupidity.

She barely glances at Vivian, giving her a little wave. “Hi,” she says, dismissing her just as quickly. She reaches out to touch my arm. “You look good. Give me a call later if you’re free,” she adds coyly.

“I’m actually tied up all night,” I reply, looking at Vivian and silently pleading with her not to hold this against me.

“Well, some other time then,” she says confidently. “See you later.” She turns and walks back to her seat, completely ignoring Vivian.

“God, I’m sorry, Viv.” I don’t know what else to say.

“It’s fine,” she says, but I know from her tone that it most definitely is not.

A stifling discomfort settles between us, making the clean Chicago air feel suffocating.

“That was Ashley.”

“She said that,” Vivian replies sarcastically.

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