Chapter 16 #2
I don't answer. I can't. Every nerve in my body lights up, a circuit overloaded. Vince, oblivious, continues anyway.
"Do you maybe... have a little crush on Gary?"
Oh, God.
Laughter bursts from me, folding me forward and away from his infuriatingly beautiful mouth. Every bit of tension drains out of me in a sudden rush.
"What?!" I turn to him, tears welling in my eyes from the force of my laughter.
"I'm just curious," he says, grinning. "We both know he's happily married. I won't tell."
I study his face, trying to gauge his sincerity. He's still close, too close, and his dark eyes sparkle with mischief. He's grinning, but something unreadable lies beneath the surface.
"Vince, you're a smart man," I say, smiling despite myself. "What do you think?"
For a moment, he doesn't respond. His gaze flicks to my mouth, and my heart stumbles. But then he leans back, reclaiming the small space between us on the log.
I take a deep, shaky breath and let my eyes wander back to Gary and Frank.
"I think Gary is one of the kindest people with the biggest heart I've ever met," I say thoughtfully.
Vince raises his eyebrows, looking amused. "Sounds like the start of a confession."
I laugh lightly, glaring at him playfully as I stare into the fire. "But it's not like that with Gary."
"Not like what?" he teases, his smirk making my pulse race.
"He's much older. And, honestly, he's not my type," I say, my gaze still fixed on the fire. I glance at Gary and Frank again, their quiet affection like a beacon in the night.
Vince doesn't respond right away, but I feel his eyes on me, steady and searching. I wonder if he's trying to read between the lines, or if I'm just imagining it.
The campsite buzzes with life, laughter echoing in the distance, but Vince and I stay by the fire, caught in our own little world. The flames cast dancing shadows, mesmerizing in their warmth and unpredictability. I poke at the fire absentmindedly with a stick, stealing glances at Vince.
He leans forward, elbows on his knees, his face illuminated by the flickering light.
The firelight catches his profile in a way that feels too intimate, like a private screening of something I wasn't meant to see.
His jawline cuts sharp against the orange glow, his dark hair catching flecks of gold from the flames.
He's not just good-looking in that Hollywood way you see on billboards. There’s something more there, something that makes my chest tighten until I can barely breathe.
My fingers itch to trace the line of his collarbone where it disappears beneath his jacket, to smooth away the frown that sometimes crosses his brow when he's lost in thought.
I force my gaze back to the fire, but my eyes keep betraying me, stealing glances at the way his Adam's apple bobs when he swallows, at the slight curl of his lips.
He's sitting too close, the warmth from his body seeping through the denim between us, and I'm suddenly hyperaware of every point of contact—our knees brushing, the sleeve of his jacket occasionally grazing my arm.
This is dangerous territory. I know it. Vince has that effect on people—charisma that wraps around you like a warm blanket, making you feel like you're the only person in the room.
I've seen him work a crowd, seen how people gravitate toward him like moths to a flame.
But here, now, it's different. He's not performing.
He's just... Vince. And somehow, that's infinitely more terrifying.
The fire pops, sending a shower of sparks into the night sky, and Vince flinches slightly, turning toward me.
Our eyes meet, and for a moment, the world narrows to just the space between us.
The laughter from the picnic table fades to a distant hum, the crackle of the fire muted.
He looks at me and I feel seen in a way that makes my heart hammer against my ribs.
Too perfect. That's the thought that flashes through my mind, unbidden.
Not just his face, not just his body, but the whole package.
The way he listens, the way he teases, the way he makes me feel like I matter.
It's too much. It's everything I've been searching for without even knowing what I was looking for.
I tear my eyes away, focusing instead on the flames dancing in front of us. My throat feels tight, my palms sweating inside my pockets. I need to say something, anything, to break this spell before I do something stupid like reach for his hand or lean in closer than is strictly necessary.
"It's getting late," I manage, the words coming out rougher than intended.
Vince nods slowly, his gaze still fixed on me. "Yeah," he agrees, his voice low. "It is."
But neither of us moves. We sit there, caught in the firelight, in the space between what is and what could never be.
"So, humor me. What’s your type then?" Vince asks suddenly, pulling me out of my thoughts.
“Honestly?” I mull it over, then smirk. "Wayne." I glare at him teasingly, knowing exactly how that will land.
His face twists in mock outrage, and I burst into laughter before he can respond.
"Yeah, yeah," he says, rolling his eyes and elbowing me in the side. I push him back.
"Everyone wants to fuck Wayne. Get in line, because he doesn't seem to want anyone."
I raise an eyebrow, skeptical. "I think you're just jealous."
"I'm serious."
"Well, fine then," I say with a grin, playing along. Vince still looks at me like I've disappointed him.
The thought makes my stomach twist.
Vince isn't my type, because guys like him aren't even an option.
He exists in a realm so far removed from my own reality that even considering him as a possibility feels like setting myself up for heartbreak.
He's in a league of his own, the kind of guy I admire from afar—like those glossy magazine covers you flip through, knowing they're beautiful but unattainable.
The fact that we're friends at all still baffles me.
He isn't just out of my league, he isn't even playing the same sport.
While I'm stumbling through amateur games of pickup basketball on cracked neighborhood courts, he's competing in professional championships under stadium lights.
He moves through life with an effortless grace that I can only dream of, attracting attention without even trying, while I spend my days trying not to trip over my own feet.
"By the way," I add, running a nervous hand through my hair, "just to remind you, I am taken."
He gives me a pointed look, still smiling. "Right, Ted."
"Yeah."
"So, Ted's your type, then," he says dryly, his smile fading slightly. “The guy who didn’t want to camp with you.”
I laugh, but it doesn't quite reach my eyes. "I guess so."
The fire crackles between us as I stare into the flames. Ted not wanting to come camping stings more than I want to admit, but I push the thought aside. I can tell Vince isn't done with the topic. He still has that look in his eye, like he wants to press further. He doesn't.
Instead, he shifts gears. "'Simulatio amoris pejor odio est.' Do you know what that means?"
I blink, caught off guard.
Vince has a habit of dropping random Latin phrases on me for laughs. But this time, I actually recognize it.
"Actually, yeah," I say, a little smug. "I do."
He raises an eyebrow, skeptical. "No, you don't..."
"I'm not saying I'm fluent, but I remember that one. Pliny the Younger. 'Pretending to love someone is worse than hating them.' Or something like that."
His grin widens, and for a moment, I think I've impressed him. My chest swells a little.
"Can I ask you a non-private question next?" he says.
I nod, bracing myself.
"Sam and I are officially celebrating our six months next week."
The words land like a stone in my gut. Something sour coils there, hot and sharp—jealousy, bitter as bile, rising up my throat. "Well, that's exciting," I manage, the taste of ash coating my tongue as I force the words past the lump in my throat.
"I want to do something special for her," he continues, oblivious to my internal meltdown. "I'm thinking about surprising her with a trip to Hawaii. Sightseeing, snorkeling, hiking, dinners on the beach... but is that too much?"
"Are you kidding?" I say, pushing the bitterness down as far as it will go. "That's so romantic, Vince. I've never had anyone surprise me with a trip like that. Who wouldn't want that?"
"You think so? It's not too much for six months?"
"Not at all."
“I can be a lot sometimes.” Vince laughs nervously, rubbing the back of his neck. "I'm scared I'll overwhelm her. I just wanted an outside opinion, you know? Thanks."
I stare into the fire, wishing I could step into it and let the flames consume me. The thought is dark, but it creeps in before I can stop it.
"Andy? You okay?"
"Yeah, I'm fine," I blurt out automatically.
We both laugh at the absurdity of my response, but I can feel Vince's eyes on me, searching. "Fine, huh?" he teases. "Shit, it's too much, isn't it? Maybe I should save it for our one-year anniversary. Or if we decide to, you know, take things to the next level."
The words hit me harder than they should have.
Marry her. He's talking about marrying her.
I shoot to my feet, unable to keep the emotions at bay any longer. "Sorry, I have to go."
"What?" Vince laughs, clearly thrown off. "Andy, where do you have to go? We're camping."
"I'm gonna go take a piss. Stop being so needy," I tease, the words coming out harsher than I intend.
The self-deprecating laugh that escapes him is low. His grin widens, a flash of white in the firelight, and he swats at my thigh, a playful tap.
"Get out of here, Andy," he says, his voice warm.
I manage a smile that feels stretched thin across my face, a mask to hide the storm brewing inside me. "Don't miss me too much," I toss over my shoulder.
As I walk away, each step crunching on the dry leaves and pine needles, I can feel his eyes on my back.
The warmth of the fire fades behind me, replaced by the cool night air.
At least one of us is having fun. Casual Vince, with his easy laughter and casual touches, gets to play without consequence.
I wander toward the beach, a good ten-minute walk past the campsites. After taking care of business in a bush, I collapse onto my back in the sand near the shore.
The beach always feels different at night.
My hair is going to be full of sand lying here like this, but I don't care.
The icy breeze brushes against my face, refreshing and grounding all at once.
Despite the darkness and barely being able to see the water, the sound of the waves hitting the shore is a soothing constant, a rhythm that steadies me.
I have feelings for Vince.
Not just attraction. Not just sparks and teasing games. Real feelings... deeper, messier ones that creep in without warning.
It hits me like a freight train as I stare up at the endless expanse of stars above me.
The moment Vince starts talking about Samantha, about his elaborate plans to surprise her with a trip to Hawaii, I realize just how far gone I am.
This isn't some harmless crush or a fleeting infatuation. I care about him, deeply. Too deeply.
I want Vince to be happy. Not in some abstract, surface-level way, but truly, completely happy.
He deserves it. He deserves to know he's enough, to stop worrying about whether he's meeting everyone else's expectations.
I see it in his jokes, in his hesitations.
.. the little cracks in his confidence that make me want to pull him into a hug and never let go.
And that's when I know I'm in trouble.
My fantasies shift from lustful daydreams to something far more dangerous.
I'm not just imagining his hands on my body anymore; I'm picturing lazy mornings tangled together under warm blankets, his hair tousled and his laugh soft.
I'm wondering what his favorite breakfast is, or whether he likes to cook.
I find myself replaying the way he smells in the early mornings when he picks me up for our runs, fresh and clean, with just a hint of something comforting.
I think about how he looks utterly lost when he asks me for advice on texting his teenage daughters, and I wonder what it would be like to meet them someday.
We're both tethered to other people, yet here I am, lost in feelings that are wrong. Something inside me is broken, a compass spinning without north.
At the fire, I want to tell him he doesn't need to give Sam anything at all, that he is the gift. It's cheesy and ridiculous, but the words bubble up anyway. In my mind, he'd laugh and call me a nerd, and then he'd kiss me. And somehow, we'd figure it all out and live happily ever after.
I groan, covering my face with my hands. How have I let this happen? This was supposed to be harmless fun, lighthearted teasing. Instead, I've walked straight into emotional quicksand, and now there's no way out without getting hurt.
The waves keep rolling in, steady and unchanging, as I lie here trying to sort through the mess in my chest. Vince's earlier words in Latin drift back to me. Simulatio amoris pejor odio est. Pretending to love someone is worse than hating them. He knows. Somehow, he knows how I feel about Ted.
How does he see through me like that?
And he's right. I don't love Ted. I never have, and I don't think I could.
The connection I feel with Vince is something entirely different.
It's electric, rare, and real. A current runs between us whenever we're near each other, invisible but undeniable.
Being around him feels safe. It feels like coming home to a place I've never been but have always longed for.
I never second-guess myself with him anymore, never worry that my words will land wrong or that my thoughts are too strange.
He sees me, all of me—the awkward pauses and the stubborn pride, the quiet moments and the loud laughter—and likes me anyway.
That's something I didn't even know I could have with someone.
I close my eyes and let the sound of the waves drown out my thoughts for a while, but one truth is crystal clear. There's no future with Ted. Not now. Not ever.
The right thing to do is to end it with him.
Lying here in the sand, the breeze tugging gently at my jacket, I let that decision settle into place. It's the only way forward.
When I finally find the will to sit up and brush the sand from my hair, the waves are still there, constant and calming. Maybe they've been trying to tell me something all along: keep moving. Let go. Find your way.
I'm going to break up with Ted.