Page 61 of Caden & Theo
I smile, a little apologetic, but honest. “Thanks, but I’m not really looking for anything.”
Elias nods. “Still not dating, huh?”
I exhale a small laugh. “Told you. Complicated.”
“Fair,” he says, backing off with a casual smile. “Still think whoever eventually gets you is lucky. Even if you’re terrible at making time for a social life.”
I chuckle. “Tell me about it.”
He lifts his glass. “To complicated hearts.”
“To simple exits,” I reply, tapping my water bottle to Elias’s glass. The music behind us thumps with another remix, but I take a long sip and let the cool water wash down the heat lingering in my throat.
The dance floor is still packed, the beat insistent, but my legs are starting to ache and my shirt clings to me like regret.
I motion toward the tables on the far side of the club, where a couple from our group are already reclaiming their seats. “Mind if we sit for a bit?” I ask.
Elias nods. “Honestly, I was about to suggest it.”
We weave through bodies and low tables, finding the half-empty booth near the back wall. Marcy and Kahlil are there, deep in a tipsy debate about the ethics of grading curves, and barely glance up when we slide in across from them.
Elias settles beside me—not too close, not touching, but still comfortably present. It’s nice, easy even. We fall into conversation about school, swapping stories about professors, finals prep, and the chaotic mess that is registering for electives.
“I still can’t believe you’re taking two 300-level lit classes this semester,” Elias says. “Do you hate yourself or something?”
“I think I might,” I admit, laughing. “But I want to finish with options. And both of them cover periods I love. Victorian realism and queer theory in twentieth-century American fiction? It’s like academic catnip.”
He chuckles, tipping his chin toward me. “You’re kind of a nerd. It’s hot.”
I roll my eyes, grinning. “You’re drunk.”
“Only a little.”
We keep talking, low and easy, and for a moment, I forget how tightly wound I’ve been lately. School, the distance, trying to pretend like I’m not already counting the days until I can see Caden again. It’s been weeks. Our last weekend together felt like a lifetime ago.
And then, I feel it.
A shift in the air. Like a string pulled taut behind my rib cage. I straighten, glance toward the entrance, then over to the bar. I don’t know what I’m expecting—maybe nothing. Maybe everything.
But I see him.
He’s standing just off to the side of the bar, half obscured by a huddle of people laughing and waiting on drinks. His cap is low, shadowing his face, and his hood is up like he’s trying not to be noticed, but I’d know him anywhere.
Caden.
My breath stalls. It catches mid-chest and refuses to come back down. The club noise blurs, my pulse kicking up like someone grabbed a volume dial and cranked it all the way.
He’s here.
He’s actually here.
The fuck?
My brain short-circuits for a beat, trying to make sense of it. The last text I got from him was six hours ago.
Caden: Early night. Crash hard. Love you.
It was like he was settling in for sleep, not making a five-hour drive to Louisville. But now he’s standing in this club that smells like sweat and citrus vodka, looking at me like I’m the center of his universe.
