Clarke
“Hey.”
I turned, finding Avalon at my side. That stupid flurry of butterflies in my stomach took flight again, and I forced them back down. I couldn’t go there—not here, not now, not ever.
If we went there again, everything I’d done to get over her would unravel. Once things became physical, they became complicated. Soul-binding. Chaotic. Gruesome. Painful.
“Hi,” I squeaked. Avalon smiled and slid onto the empty barstool beside me. “Are you having fun?”
She nodded eagerly, taking in the room. Rorie’s wasn’t much compared to Brie’s Pit 5° or the sleek bars in the city, but it had its charm.
“I am. Thank you again for inviting me.”
Her smile was warm—genuine—like she was smiling at an old friend. Her storm-colored eyes swept the room before landing on me again, stealing whatever breath I had left.
Whenever she was near, it felt like she vacuumed all the air from the space. But now… now it felt different.
I waited for my lungs to start working again before forcing a smile. “I’m glad. I think this was what we needed.” I glanced toward my brother, Ethan, and Delia. “All of us.”
Avalon leaned forward, elbows on the bar. “What’s the deal with those two anyway? Are they dating or something?”
I followed her gaze. Colton held Delia’s drink just out of reach, grinning as she stretched on her toes.
Even in heeled boots, she was several inches shorter.
She scowled, then climbed onto her barstool.
The stool wobbled—my heart lurched—but before she could fall, Colton grabbed her thigh, steadying her.
There was an exchange between them—silent, wordless, but clear.
Delia’s eyes said, don’t let me fall.
Colton’s said, I won’t. Not unless we fall together.
And then the moment vanished. Delia swung her legs over his shoulders and triumphantly snatched her drink. Colton’s smile was blinding—no annoyance, no tension. He wanted her up there.
He wanted her.
“Yeah… something like that,” I whispered.
Seeing them like this—easy, playful, natural—made me rethink everything. Maybe I’d been wrong. Maybe they were meant for each other. Maybe she was exactly what he needed to finally grow up.
Somewhere beside me, Avalon asked another question—only a few words cut through the noise.
“What did you say?” I turned back to her, focusing on her gray eyes. In the dim orange lighting, they almost matched the haze around us. Her eyes were chameleons—shifting, blending, impossible to pin down.
“I asked what the queer dating scene is like out here,” she repeated. “I know this is the South, but there has to be at least a few girls here who wouldn’t mind making out a little.”
There was a strange desperation in her voice—like she needed the answer.
I knew the answer. I knew every queer girl in town.
Hannah Stetson—older, sweet, had tried to take me out a few times.
Honey Atkins—pretty, shy, trapped under her mother’s thumb.
A handful of others who stayed hidden until they could escape this place.
I shrugged, coughing to hide my annoyance. Why was she asking this? Here? Now?
“I didn’t know you were interested in country girls,” I said lightly. “I assumed we could never live up to the promiscuity and sensuality of California girls.”
Avalon shrugged, scanning the crowd. She was looking for someone. “Someone told me I need to find an alternative way to let out some pent-up frustration. And why not do that by doing something I enjoy?”
I snorted, lifting my sparkling water. “A therapist told you that? I didn’t know you were in therapy.”
Avalon laughed, nose scrunching adorably. “Jonas is not my therapist. He’s probably the furthest thing from that. He’s my manager who turned into someone I couldn’t live without, I guess.”
I blinked. “So he’s not your therapist, but you took his advice anyway? Do you think that’s what you really need?”
“I know what I need,” she said softly, “and I’m ready to admit that when you are, Clarke.”
Her voice held no sarcasm. No teasing. Just truth.
The firmness in her tone sent shivers crawling down my spine.
The butterflies in my stomach rioted.
No. No. No. Don’t go there, Clarke. She doesn’t mean it.
But what if she did?
What then?
You had me at hi.
My mind flashed back to our texts. Was I foolish to think there was something deeper beneath her sarcasm?
“I think… there are several here, if you look hard enough.”
I chose my words carefully, trying not to sound like I was throwing myself at her. Because I wasn’t.
But what if…
If I threw myself at Avalon, would she catch me?
Or would I wake up alone again?
Something flickered in her eyes—disappointment? Or was I imagining it?
“Okay,” she said quietly. “I think I’ll do just that.”
She looked like she wanted to say more. Like she wanted me to say more. But neither of us did.
After a moment, she finished her drink, leaving a perfect red stain on the rim.
“Wait—” I turned, but she was already walking away.
Even gone, she lingered—her perfume, her lipstick, her unspoken words.
I stared at her empty glass, my stomach twisting.
What if she followed through with Jonas’ advice?
What if she found someone?
Why did I care so much?
I told myself—and her—that we would never go there. So why did the thought of her kissing someone else make me feel sick?
My fingers hovered over the glass. Slowly, hesitantly, I traced the outline of her lipstick.
Would she still taste the same?
Would her hands touch someone else the way they’d touched me?
Stop it. Stop it. Stop it.
You had me at hi.
I know what I want and I’m ready to admit it when you are.
Before I could stop myself, I poured some of my water into her glass. With shaky hands, I lifted it, turning it until the red stain faced me.
I closed my eyes and pressed my lips to the glass—right where hers had been.
The water tasted the same. Cold. Clean.
But the act…
God, the act was something else.
Strangely satisfying.
Arousing.
I set the glass down, heart pounding.
What the hell had I just done?
“Clarke?”
Delia’s voice jolted me. I blinked, finding her and Colton staring at me—Delia with concern, Colton with barely contained amusement.
Please, God, don’t let them have seen that.
“Yeah? What’s up?” I forced a smile.
Delia exhaled in relief, then pointed behind me.