Chapter 25 Now
Now
@ainsleygreenwrites: Meet-cute attempt: pickleball edition. Dove for the ball at the same time as the guy next to me. We collided. Sparks did *not* fly.
Comments:
@teamconradforever: nothing says romance like an ice pack
@taybaybay: at least you made an impact ??
I close the document, still unsure of what writing this is doing for me other than forcing me to relive the slow unraveling of us.
I’ve gone over it so many times in my head that writing it down should’ve been easy, but it wasn’t.
It felt like dragging my heart across the page, hoping that it sounded literary and made sense to anyone other than myself.
Without thinking, I tab over to my Google Drive and type sex.
It sounds completely unhinged, but I know what I’m looking for.
The document opens in one click, and suddenly I’m staring at a scene so detailed, I wonder for a second if I lived it.
I scroll down slowly, half-horrified, half-impressed.
I forgot how much I loved writing this kind of tension. And apparently how good I was at it.
It’s definitely not about Cole. But it does remind me how long it’s been since I’ve been touched like this. Since someone looked at me and made my whole body feel like a live wire.
And that’s when my brain betrays me, flicking through flashes that have nothing to do with Cole at all: Lucas’s hands on me on the bathroom counter at run club, his palm hot against my thigh as he cleaned the scrape on my knee.
The sound of his laugh when I starfished on the pavement.
The swing set at the funeral, when his hand lingered on mine for a second too long.
Thanksgiving with his family, where he pulled out a chair for me like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Small ordinary moments that shouldn’t mean anything, but for half seconds, they did. For half seconds, I felt alive again.
I close my eyes, exhaling. Maybe that’s the problem—I keep chasing those flickers on the page when what I actually need is to feel them in real life again.
I sit back in my chair.
Do I need to get laid?
No. This isn’t about me. This is about writing my next book.
But also…maybe?
I mean, people have done worse in the name of research.
Actors do it. Method writers, probably. Taylor Swift was in a situationship and got the The Tortured Poets Department out of it, and that album changed my life.
Besides, it’s not like I’m looking for a relationship.
I’m nowhere near ready to risk falling in love and getting my heart broken again.
All I’m saying is that it might be helpful if I remembered what it felt like to be wanted.
Because how am I supposed to write steamy tension when the most action I’ve had lately is Winston trying to lick my mouth when I yawn?
Closing the laptop, I stand up before I embarrass myself any further. I need to get out of the apartment and be around people—preferably ones who flirt. Or at the very least buy me a drink.
I spend a little extra time on my makeup, throw on a pair of jeans, and try to find a going-out top that says I’m down but not desperate. Because I’m not. Maddie shows up ten minutes later in a cropped sweater and glossy lips, sporting her usual hype-girl energy.
We’re halfway through our drinks when Maddie cocks her head to the side and says, “Okay. So what was the 911 let’s get drinks ASAP text really about?”
I take a slow sip of my tequila soda and pretend to consider my answer, even though I’ve been thinking about how to bring this up all afternoon.
“I think I need to have sex,” I say flatly.
Maddie nearly chokes on her straw. “Okay, wow. We’re diving in.”
“It’s been over six months,” I continue, like I’m listing symptoms to my gynecologist. “Which is fine but also maybe not totally fine, because I spent an alarming amount of time today getting flustered over a sex scene I wrote last year. A sex scene that I wrote after Cole and I had really bad sex, which also happens to be the last time I had sex by the way.”
Maddie raises her eyebrows. “And by flustered, you mean…”
“I closed my laptop like I was looking at crime scene photos,” I deadpan. “So yeah. It might be time.”
She grins. “All right. I support this mission. Anyone in particular you’ve had a crush on lately?”
I hesitate, which is how she knows.
“Oh my god. Who?”
I should lie and say it’s someone random from a dating app or even Jack from the Christmas tree farm.
Or literally anyone else. But the truth is right there, pressing at the back of my throat, daring me to say it.
It feels dangerous, like once the words are out, I can’t take them back. Admitting it makes it real.
I look at Maddie. “It’s Lucas.”
She blinks. “Wait. Lucas Lucas?”
“I know. It’s probably nothing. I’m probably just fixating because I’ve been lonely and nostalgic, but lately I keep catching these little moments with him that feel different.”
Maddie doesn’t look shocked the way I expect her to. Instead, she tilts her head and gives me a small smile. “Honestly? I’m not surprised.”
My stomach flips. “What do you mean?”
She leans in, voice low. “Well for starters, he looked ready to murder Pickleball Prince when you guys collided. And at run club, he didn’t even blink about being the only guy with us.
It’s like he’d rather spend time with you and me than with his own friends.
Guys don’t do that unless they want to be there. ”
I blink at her, heat crawling up my neck.
“So what’s stopping you from telling him?” she asks gently.
“Because it could ruin everything?” I reply, like it’s obvious.
“Because what if I’m reading into things that aren’t there?
Because what if I’m not ready and what if he’s not, and we’re both rebounding?
Because he’s been my constant through everything, and if I say something and it’s not mutual, then what? ”
“Or what if you’re actually ready and so is he? Or what if it is mutual, and you’re both too scared to say anything?”
Anxiously, I bite the inside of my lip. “That might be worse.”
She raises an eyebrow. “Worse how?”
“Because it’s new. Yes, I think something’s shifting, but we’ve always been just friends.
Now we’re both single for the first time in forever, and suddenly I’m noticing things I probably wasn’t allowed to notice before.
But if I bring it up and I’m wrong, I ruin the one friendship that’s actually felt good lately. Besides ours, of course.”
“So don’t bring it up,” she says, like it’s simple. “Just invite him out. No pressure, no expectations. Let’s see the vibe.”
I hesitate, but she’s already sliding my phone across the counter like it’s a dare.
“Come on,” Maddie says. “Worst case, it’s just drinks with your friend. Best case…”
Before I can second-guess myself, she snatches the phone back and fires off a text to Lucas.
Ainsley: Drinks tonight? Don’t say no
Seconds later, his typing bubbles appear.
Maddie slides the phone back with a smug grin. “You’re welcome.”
* * *
By the time we get to the bar, it’s already crowded—half full of people in quarter-zips and Allbirds, half full of people pretending not to know each other from Hinge. Maddie and I grab a high top near the back while Lucas and Aaron go to the bar to get drinks.
When they return, Aaron hands Maddie a gin and tonic and gives a small bow. “This one’s for your monologue on the Raleigh dating scene. I gotta hand it to you, it was moving.”
She laughs, tossing her hair over her shoulder. “All I said was that every guy in this city either works in tech, real estate, or sales, and they all have a lab named Moose.”
Lucas sets a tequila soda in front of me. His hand lingers on the rim for a second, fingers brushing against mine. “Still your drink?”
My throat goes dry, but I manage a smile. “Always.”
I take a sip before I can overthink it; the tequila stings in a way that feels grounding. His eyes soften like he’s watching for my reaction, and suddenly I notice how unfairly long his lashes are.
He settles on the stool next to mine, close enough that our knees bump. Neither of us moves away. I flip the late-night bites menu open and scan the options—mostly trying to distract myself. “I could go for some truffle fries.”
Without missing a beat, Lucas leans in. “Perfect. I’ll steal half.”
I tilt my head toward him. “Bold of you to assume I was going to share.”
His lips curve. “Bold of you to assume I was going to ask.”
I scoff. “Please. You always ask.”
“And you always give in,” he shoots back, grinning. “It’s tradition at this point.”
There it is—the ease, the shorthand, the thing that feels like coming home at three a.m. with a large box of Goldfish between us, laughing until our sides hurt.
The conversation around us carries easily.
Maddie’s asking Aaron about his job in sales, he says something about quarterly goals, and I’m nodding like I’m engaged.
But really I’m hyperaware of Lucas beside me—the brush of his arm against mine every so often, the way his knee nudges into mine like it belongs there.
It’s not flirty, not technically, but there’s something in the way he leans in when I laugh. The way he glances over like he’s checking if I’m still beside him. And every time I look his way, he’s already looking at me. I try not to read into it. Which, obviously, means I am.
When Maddie and Aaron lean into each other, comparing their Myers-Briggs types, Lucas turns toward me. “How much do you want to bet Aaron tries to sell her on cryptocurrency before the night’s over?”
I snort into my drink. “Stop. He’s sweet.”
“He’s a salesman. They’re always sweet.” He sips his tequila, eyes flicking to mine like we’re in on a private joke. “Give it twenty minutes.”
I roll my eyes, but my mouth curves anyway. “You’re impossible.”
“Yet you keep me around.”
I take another sip. “Maybe I just like a challenge.”
“You wouldn’t last a week without me,” he says with a smirk.
“Cocky much?”