Page 57 of Tension
I stare at her, bewildered. “I didn’t go to any dinner. She didn’t invite us.”
The fire behind her eyes dims just slightly, and Vaeda looks at me for a long, quiet moment, as if reassessing everything. “She said—”
“She lied, or you misheard her,” I interrupt. “I’m having dinner with himalonein a bit before he has to leave.” She swallows hard, retreating a step. “Vaeda,” I rasp, “don’t push me toward someone else just because it’s easier to pretend this doesn’t mean anything.”
She doesn’t answer, and I don’t push. Instead, I leave her there with the truth of her feelings echoing in the swell of her lips and flushed cheeks.
TWENTY-THREE
Vaeda
The lock clicks into place as I close the studio door behind me, the chill of the evening wrapping around my ankles like a balm over my injury. I pause on the sidewalk, my hand still on the handle, as if letting go means admitting what just happened inside. Mateo’s kiss still lingers on my lips, the ghost of his touch a brand I can’t scrub off with denial.
I should feel triumphant because I pushed him away, but all I feel is the insistent ache of not having something I want and no power to erase it.
My heels click against the concrete as I start walking, my mind still flashing with the warmth of Mateo’s lips against mine. The sky above is ink-dark, clouds swallowing the last remnants of the day. I focus on the movement, on the cold air against my face, on the city sounds that press in like static to drown out the thunder of my thoughts.
I make it two blocks before my phone rings and Greyson’s name blinks up at me. I nearly let it go to voicemail. I don’t havethe energy for lightness, and I know that’s what he’ll try to give me, but I’m desperate to hear any voice but my own right now.
“Hey,” I answer, the single syllable barely audible.
There’s a beat of silence on his end before he says, “You sound like hell.”
“I feel worse,” I admit, surprising even myself with the truth.
“You want to come over? I’ve got whiskey, and judging you is not on the menu.”
A flicker of something close to gratitude warms my chest. “That sounds like exactly what I need.”
“Then get your ass over here.”
I smile, small and tight. “I’m on my way.”
The next cab that passes, I flag down, and the moment I slide into the back seat, the weight inside my chest shifts just enough to breathe again.
Greyson’s apartment is warm and dimly lit with a cocoon of soft jazz and flickering candles that scream curated calm. He opens the door dressed in sweatpants and a hoodie, and for a moment, I’m struck by how different he looks outside of the studio. Real and human, not my business partner or my voice of reason, but my lifelong friend.
He hands me a glass before I’ve even shed my coat. “I poured you the good stuff.” He snickers. “I figured anything less would be an insult.” I take a sip and let the burn settle under my ribs. “Want to talk about it?” he asks, nodding toward the couch.
“No.”
“Want to drink until you do?”
“Maybe.”
I sit, tucking my legs under me, the exhaustion creeping into my bones now that I’ve stopped moving. Greyson settles beside me, close but not too close, and waits.
“It’s Mateo,” I finally say.
He hums, unsurprised. “It usually is.”
“I can’t keep doing this, Grey. I push him away and then I let him back in. Over and over. It’s like I’m watching myself ruin everything I’ve built and I can’t seem to stop.”
“Because you don’t want to.” I shoot him a look. “I mean it,” he presses, gently but firmly. “You want him, and you’re not used to wanting something that you think is bad for you. You’re used to being the strong one. The structured one.”
“I’m also married.”
Greyson’s expression softens. “You are, but you’re also lonely. You’ve been lonely for a long time. You know how I feel about your marriage, so to me, this has been inevitable. Gerardo is a great man, but he’s not meant for you.” The truth hits hard. “Your reaction to Mateo is like gasoline on a fire. You burn so hot.”
