Page 25 of The Hearts We Fumble
And when she catches me still watching her, I brace myself for the usual—her turning away, pretending I’m not here.
But this time?
She makes the first move. Wyatt walks straight toward me.
She rounds the group of guys, her steps slow and purposeful like she’s already decided how this is going to play out.
My heart hammers in my chest as she stops just close enough to make me feel her but not close enough to touch.
I turn to face her, taking a small step back, not trusting myself.
“Happy birthday.”
Her voice is soft, her gaze flicking up at me from beneath her lashes.
I don’t hesitate. I pull her into a hug, arms wrapping tight around her before she can stop me.
She’s soft, warm, and familiar. I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from groaning at the way she fits against me, at the way my fingers flex against the curve of her back without thinking.
I dip my head just enough to murmur into her ear, “Thank you. It’s always meant the most coming from you.”
I feel the second she tenses. The way she locks up like she’s forcing herself to hold her ground instead of leaning in like she used to.
“I only came over here so Colter wouldn’t wonder why I’m avoiding you on your birthday,” she whispers back.
I shouldn’t be surprised. And honestly? I don’t blame her.
Her hand slides up my chest, not in the way I wish it would, but in a way that makes it very clear she’s about to push me away.
And she does.
A pat on my chest, followed by a fake-ass smile, the kind that doesn’t quite reach her eyes.
“You know you’ve always been like a brother to me, Zane.”
The words are a gut punch, and she knows it.
I swallow the bitter taste in my mouth, refusing to react because I deserve it. We both know I do.
Still, I try again.
“Can I get you a drink?” I nod toward the bar, hoping—praying—she’ll let me buy her one so I can use it as an excuse to get her away from everyone so we can talk.
I should have done this when she was locked in my car on the drive back from Keaton.
But I didn’t.
I was too pissed off after watching her walk out of that frat house, looking too good, too tempting, and belonging to someone who wasn’t me.
And if I had opened my mouth back then, I know damn well I would have said something I’d regret.
Something that would’ve made this even worse.
Wyatt steps back, shaking her head.
“You don’t have to do that.” Her voice is steady, but there’s something in her eyes—something I can’t quite read. “It’s your birthday, after all, not mine.”
I’ve spent the past year convincing myself that Wyatt moving out of the house next door was for the best.
