Page 77 of Well That Happened

Grayson leans in when I talk. Caleb keeps brushing his knee against mine under the table. Even Hunter—grumpy, broody, maddening Hunter—won’t stop watching me like I’m a problem he’s trying not to solve.

“You’re quiet,” I say to him after a while, poking at his arm.

“I’m drinking,” he replies, flat.

“I didn’t say it was a bad thing.”

He shrugs but doesn’t look away. “You got what you wanted. That’s good.”

It should feel like support. It doesn’t.

It feels like distance.

Like he’s already bracing for me to leave.

And I hate how much that gets to me.

So I down the rest of my drink, throw a fry at Caleb, and lean back in the booth like I’m not one text away from spiraling.

I grab a mozzarella stick, dunk it in marinara, and take a bite—only to let out a soft, involuntary moan because it’sexactlythe kind of greasy, cheesy heaven I needed after the day I’ve had.

The table goes quiet.

I glance up—and all three of them are staring.

Grayson’s still. Focused.

Caleb’s biting his lip.

Hunter blinks, looks away fast, then takes the longest possible sip of his drink.

Okay, that was weird.

“Another round,” Caleb says to our server. “And more of those mozzarella things she likes,” she says, eyeing me.

The happy hour is perfect, exactly what I needed.

And through it all, I notice things.

Like how none of them flirt with Lexi. Or the cute waitress. Or the two girls blatantly eyeing our table from across the bar.

They only flirt withme.

I can practically hear Lexi’s voice in my head—Denial ain’t just a river in Egypt.

For now?

I’ll let myself have this.

Fries. Friends. Three very different kinds of tension.

And four months left to figure out what the hell I’m doing.

Chapter Nineteen

Caleb

I’ve showered, used the nice body wash, and shaved and trimmed all the important areas. I even cleaned up the mess in my room.

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