Chapter 16
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
jason
Bel House was loud in the way it always was, a constant hum of voices and bass and laughter that rumbled through your bones.
The air was thick with heat and sweat and way too much cologne.
I stood near the edge of the living room with a small bottle of beer warming in my hand, thumb running slowly along the ridged glass.
I hadn’t taken a sip in a while. I kept meaning to. The bottle hovered near my mouth, then drifted back down again. I didn’t want it. It tasted flat in my head already.
People thought I loved this. The parties.
The noise. The way bodies pressed together until some instinct took over.
I was good at it. I knew how to smile at the right time, how to angle my body so people felt invited without feeling promised anything.
I knew how to make someone feel interesting for five minutes at a time.
Enjoying it was another thing entirely.
A guy drifted closer, a sophomore I vaguely recognized from somewhere. Nate. That sounded right. He had a clean haircut and the earnest confidence of someone who still believed attention meant potential. His eyes flicked to my face, then down my chest, then back up again.
“Hey,” he said, nodding at my bottle. “You gonna drink that, or is it just for decoration?”
I laughed, because that was the expected response. “I’m still thinking about it.”
That got a smile. We talked. Nothing heavy.
He was a law student but didn’t really see himself in it.
I played guitar badly. He wanted to hear it.
Maybe next time. He leaned in when he laughed, close enough that I caught the faint scent of mint on his breath.
I leaned back without really deciding to.
At some point, he reached out and touched my arm. Not bold. Just checking. Fingers warm against my skin.
I didn’t flinch. I didn’t lean into it either.
Something must’ve shifted in my expression because his smile softened. He tilted his head, studying me like he was recalibrating.
“You good?” he asked.
“Yeah,” I said, and it was true. “I’m just…waiting for someone.”
“Oh.” He nodded, easy, not offended. “Well. If you change your mind.”
“I won’t,” I said gently, the honesty slipping out before I could dress it up.
He laughed, a little embarrassed but kind about it. “Fair enough. Have a good night, Jason.”
“You too.”
He moved off into the crowd, already being absorbed by it, already finding someone else to smile at. I watched him go and felt that familiar flicker of guilt that never quite stuck. I’d done everything right. I’d been kind. I’d been clear.
I rolled the bottle between my palms and glanced at the door again.
Bennet was late.
That wasn’t unusual. Parties weren’t his thing any more than they were mine, just for different reasons.
He probably stood in his room too long, staring at his clothes, second-guessing every option.
He probably told himself he didn’t care, then cared anyway.
The thought made something soft tug in my chest.
I wished he were here.
The music shifted, bass dropping lower, and I drifted through the house, nodding at people, exchanging a few words here and there. I watched them enjoy themselves with an odd sense of distance, like I was observing a version of my life I’d already outgrown.
I passed the staircase and thought, not for the first time, that I’d rather be in Bennet’s room.
Sitting on his bed with papers spread out between us, his knee brushing mine when he leaned closer to point something out.
That focused look he got when he was explaining something, brows knit, voice calm and precise.
Or having sex, frankly.
But even Stats with Bennet had been special, and that was the part that scared me.
I’d never wanted to spend time with someone like that before. Not without it leading somewhere obvious. Not without it being about distraction or heat or escape. With Bennet, I could sit in silence and feel like nothing was missing.
Had I ever felt this way?
I’d been in love in high school. Or at least I’d thought I had.
Big, impossible crushes that lived entirely in my head.
Boys who barely knew my name, who I’d turned into ideals just by wanting them hard enough.
It felt epic at the time. World-ending. I’d written whole futures around them in my mind.
None of it had been real. It had been fantasy. I might as well have wished to live in Middle-earth and marry a hobbit.
College had been different. Real dating. Real beds. Real hands on skin. I’d never had trouble picking guys up. I was pretty. People liked that. They liked the confidence, the jokes, the way I made things feel easy and effortless.
They never stayed.
I always fell too fast, too hard. I didn’t know how not to. I gave too much of myself right away, like if I was generous enough, open enough, someone might decide to stick around. I asked questions. I remembered things. I cared.
That was usually when they pulled back.
I’d see it in the way texts slowed down. The way they stopped asking to stay the night. The way they smiled like they felt guilty about something they hadn’t quite admitted yet. They liked me, sure. Just not enough to deal with all of me.
Beautiful, but intense. Fun, but a lot. Great in bed, but clingy afterward.
They walked away, and I stayed behind with all this feeling that had nowhere to go.
I learned to be good at the physical part. I learned to keep things light. I learned not to ask for more than anyone was offering. I learned that wanting too much scared people.
And Bennet had said it himself, half-joking, half-serious. We were great in the bedroom.
So that was the rule. Stay good at it. Stay easy. Don’t do something stupid like fall in love.
I leaned against the wall near the kitchen, beer forgotten entirely, and let my thoughts drift where they wanted…
…Bennet laughing under his breath at one of my dumb jokes.
…Bennet correcting me without making me feel small.
…Bennet curled against me in my bed, trusting, warm, like he hadn’t even considered that I might disappear.
…Dud charging into battle, wild and lucky, while the shiny knight held the line, steady and brilliant.
Bennet pretended it was just a game, but I’d seen the way he lit up when he talked about it.
The way he looked at me when our characters worked together, like it was obvious we belonged on the same side.
I thought about his body, lean, responsive, learning. I thought about his hands, careful at first, then sure. I thought about the way he looked at me, pleading and demanding.
My chest tightened.
I’d never felt more complete than I did around him. Never felt more myself.
The door opened.
I looked up without thinking.
Bennet stepped inside, Rowan at his side, both of them looking like they’d wandered into the wrong ecosystem. Rowan scanned the room with open suspicion. Bennet hesitated for a second, shoulders tense, then lifted his head.
His gaze swept the room.
And then it found me.
His expression changed immediately. The tension melted. His smile spread slow and real, confidence sliding into place like it had always been waiting for this exact moment.
Oh shit.
The thought landed fully formed, quiet and devastating in its certainty.
I’m in love with him, aren’t I?
Bennet started toward me, Rowan trailing behind like a disgruntled bodyguard, and I straightened without thinking. The noise fell away. The house blurred at the edges.
All I could see was him.