Page 93 of Seven Lost Summers
It was never about wanting a piece of their fame. It was about our friendship. About not wanting to lose what we had, while clinging to any small fragment of the past I could hold on to.
But sitting here now, the distance between who we were and who we are feels impossible to ignore.
When Theo’s coffee is ready, he turns back toward me, lifting the cup to his mouth. He takes a slow sip, dragging it out as though he’s got nowhere to be and nothing better to do than watch me squirm.
He doesn’t speak. He only stands there on the other side of the counter, his eyes locked on mine.
Then his gaze dips lower and stays there. It drags over my chest, lingering, settling on my tits like they’ve got something to say. Heat sparks in places I don’t need igniting. And fuck, he’s not even trying to hide it.
How the hell did he change?
Back then, Theo barely made eye contact. Always in a hoodie, hands shoved in his pockets, carrying that damn stress ball he squeezed the life out of whenever someone talked too fast or stood too close.
Now he stands tall. Skin, ink, and enough tension to make my breath stutter in my throat.
I cross my arms, shifting my weight as I raise a brow. “Hey, buddy, eyes up here.”
He smirks into his cup, not the least bit sorry. “I’m just multitasking. Admiring while I’m having my morning coffee. It’s called efficiency.”
“Oh, is that what we’re calling perving now?”
He takes a slow sip, eyes never leaving mine. “Can’t help it. They were practically waving good morning.”
I scoff. “Jesus. You’ve been awake five minutes and you’re already a walking HR violation.”
He shrugs. “What can I say? If there’s a view, I’m gonna look. That’s basic hospitality.”
“Well, let me know when you start asking for reviews. I’ll be sure to leave a complaint.”
He leans against the counter, that lazy smile spreading across his face. “I’d like to see where you’d stick that complaint.”
I launch a sugar packet at his head. “You’re disgusting.”
He laughs, full and unbothered. “You’ve missed me.”
“Missed insulting you, maybe.”
He taps his chest. “That’s still love in my book.”
I take a slow sip of my coffee, stalling. Letting the bitterness coat my tongue so I don’t say something I’ll regret. Or let myself stare too long. Or both.
“You want something to eat?” Theo asks, stepping toward the fridge. He pulls it open, cold air spilling out and sweeping across his chest and abs. And fuck, my eyes dip again before I can stop them.
Behind me, the soft slap of bare feet against marble steals my attention. I turn toward the sound, heart already racing.
Nate.
Bare-chested.
Jeans slung low, clinging just above that sharp V. His arms stretch overhead in a lazy yawn, muscles flexing, back arching, and I swear if I were standing, my knees would give out. Sunlight pours through the glass doors behind him, threading through his hair, kissing the hard lines of his body, turning him into something close to holy.
My mouth goes dry. My pulse kicks.
Coffee stalls halfway to my lips, and I freeze, staring at him like I’ve never seen a man before.
And then I see it.
The tattoo on the right side of his chest.
