Page 84 of Cold Front
I wished I could be like that.
The thought tightened my chest as I gripped the steering wheel. Because I knew what I was doing. Driving an hour away. Picking a place where no one from campus was likely to be. A spot where no one would look at us andknow.
I was a fucking coward.
Which cast my mind to the other night on the Ferris wheel when Eli had asked me if I would tell anyone about us. ‘I don’t think it’s anyone’s business,’ I’d said. The second the words slipped out so carelessly, I’d known I’d fucked up. Eli hadn’t said anything about it, but I wasn’t stupid. I could tell Eli was hurt, disappointed. He was the kind of guy who wouldn’t hide us—he’d never even think to. He didn’t need to. And here I was, taking him on a date that wasn’t really a date to anyone watching. They’d likely think we’re just two guys hanging out, nothing more.
The neon glow of the restaurant’s sign came into view as I pulled into the lot, scanning for a spot. The place was packed—cars crammed into every available space, a group of people in jerseys spilling out of the doorway, their laughter carrying through the night.
I was about to drive past when brake lights flared ahead. A pickup backed out of a spot near the entrance, and I took the opening before anyone else could claim it.
Eli sat up straighter, taking it all in. “Okay, now I’m curious. Whatisthis place?”
“You’ll see.” I put the car in park, my palms weirdly clammy as I gripped the wheel for a second longer than necessary.
He shot me a playful side-eye but didn’t push. Instead, he hopped out, stretching before falling into step beside me.
The second we stepped inside, warmth wrapped around us—grilled steak, fresh bread, the low hum of conversation weaving through the rustic space. Big-screen TVs lined the walls, sports highlights flashing between plays, the energy in the air electric but easy.
Eli let out a low whistle. “Damn, this isnice.” He turned to me, eyes bright with surprise. “You drove an hour just to bring me here?”
Heat rushed to my face. “Figured we could use a change of scenery,” I mumbled.
His gaze flickered over me like he was searching for something, then softened as a slow smile spread across his lips—one of those smiles that made my chest feel too tight.Thatsmile. The one I was getting addicted to.
“Well, I love it,” he said, like I’d just given him the best damn gift in the world.
The hostess led us through the restaurant, weaving between tables packed with groups of friends, couples leaning in close, and the occasional lone guy nursing a beer while watching the game. The air buzzed with conversation, the clink of silverware against plates blending into the steady rhythm of the place.
As we slid into a booth near the back, something in my periphery caught my attention. A couple in the corner—two men in their mid-twenties. One was slender, dark brown hair falling into his eyes, his body angled toward the other like he was drawn by an invisible force. The other was broad, covered in tattoos, his posture relaxed but protective. Military, without a doubt. They weren’t paying attention to their food, too wrapped up in each other, eyes locked, soft smiles exchanged like the world around them didn’t exist.
My heart wept. Envy curled in my chest, sharp and sudden. They didn’t care who saw. They didn’t hesitate. Meanwhile, I couldn’t get three simple words out of my mouth: Eli’s my boyfriend.
I forced my gaze away, swallowing the ache that had lodged itself in my throat.
Eli, oblivious to my internal spiral, leaned back, taking in the space with that same intrigued expression. When the server dropped off menus, he barely glanced at his before smirking at me.
“You already know what you’re getting, don’t you?”
I huffed, flipping mine open just for show. “Maybe.”
He shook his head, amused. “You seriously get the same thing every time?”
I shrugged. “If it’s good, why mess with it?”
That earned me a dramatic eye roll before Eli turned his attention to his own menu, and a few minutes later, we placed our orders.
Eli, always effortlessly charming, teased me over my choice and stole fries off my plate with a smirk that made it impossible to care. We talked about nothing and everything, laughter slipping between us with the ease of something built naturally over time. His foot brushed against mine under the table, casual, lingering, and I didn’t pull away.
Then the restaurant door swung open, and the shift in energy was immediate.
Loud voices. Confident strides. The kind of presence that turned heads before people even registered why. I didn’t have to look—I could feel it. A group of guys walked in like they owned the place, their energy crackling with post-game adrenaline. Then I caught the flash of a team logo on a jacket sleeve, and my pulse kicked up.
Professional players. The visiting team.
Of course, they’d be celebrating somewhere after an away win in Michigan. And of course, with my luck, they’d pick the same damn steakhouse.
Eli leaned in slightly, his curiosity piqued. “You know any of them?”
