Page 81 of Shared By my Ex's Best Friends
He pours slowly, carefully, like always. Every movement intentional. I watch his face, the way the light catches on the curve of his jaw, the soft crease between his brows. He’s always so careful. So present.
The words bubble up before I can stop them.
“Do you ever think—”
He turns to me fully, patient. Steady. “Yeah?”
My breath catches.
Say it, my mind begs.Say you’re scared. Say you don’t know how to hold them all without breaking.
Instead, I smile—thin and fast. “Do you ever think we should learn to cook something that isn’t eggs or pasta?”
He pauses. Long enough to let me know he heard the truth behind the joke.
But Ethan just leans back with a smile, eyes gentle. “I did make you risotto once.”
“Right. The slightly crunchy one.”
“Al dente,” he says with a smirk.
I laugh, the sound too brittle around the edges, but it passes. I lean into his side again and close my eyes.
I don’t say:I’m scared I’m not enough.
I don’t say:I love you so much it hurts.
I don’t say:Please don’t go.
Instead, I laugh. I pretend.
When I glance up again, Ethan’s already looking at me. Maybe he heard it anyway—and he’s already decided to stay.
Chapter thirty-three
JAKE
The beer in my hand is already warm. I haven’t even touched it.
Which says a lot.
Liam’s place is all modern-rustic vibes - clean lines, warm woods, stainless steel, and just enough personality to keep it from feeling like a model home.
Right now, it’s just the three of us slouched around his kitchen table, a slab of reclaimed wood that probably cost more than my first car. There’s an open bag of pretzels in the middle, untouched. A half-empty bottle of whiskey Liam brought out before realizing no one was in the mood.
The fridge hums quietly behind us, the only real sound in the room besides the occasional creak of a shifting chair.
We look like exhausted dads at a PTA meeting—if PTA meetings involved three grown men trying to figure out how to be in a relationship with the same woman.
Liam leans forward, arms braced on the table, jaw tight. “We can’t keep floating like this.”
“Floating?” I raise a brow. “We’re not floating. We’re gliding. Gracefully. Like synchronized swans.”
No one laughs.
Ethan just gives me a slow blink. Liam’s face doesn’t budge.
Tough crowd.
