Chapter 25 Now #2
“Prove me wrong.” His knee taps mine under the table, casual enough to play it off if I call him on it. But I don’t.
And god, he’s right. I don’t even want to think about a week without Lucas.
The truth is I barely remember what that feels like anymore.
Ever since the breakups, he’s just always there.
Showing up at my apartment with takeout, joining my walks with Winston, taking up residence on my couch to watch basketball games.
It’s like we’ve slipped into this rhythm without ever talking about it.
The thought tugs at me, equal parts comforting and unsettling. Am I leaning on him too much? Or worse, am I letting him become the stand-in for the thing I swore I wasn’t ready for?
Across the table, Maddie glances back at us over the rim of her glass. It’s quick, but her eyebrows lift like she’s already filing this away for later.
“When was the last time I saw you?” Aaron asks, turning to me. “Lucas’s college graduation party?”
I laugh. “Oh my god. Yeah! That night lives rent-free in my head.”
Lucas grins. “The tent night.”
Maddie tilts her head. “Tent night?”
“His mom was very clear that no one was allowed to drive home,” I explain. “So she set up, like, six tents in the backyard. It felt like summer camp but with booze.”
Lucas shakes his head. “The worst part is I woke up in a sleeping bag outside all the tents covered in potato chips and puke.”
“There was no way anyone was letting you in their tent, man,” Aaron says.
Maddie laughs, her eyes flicking between us. “Honestly, iconic.”
Lucas looks at me, and for a second, it’s like we’re both back there, being young and drunk and tangled up in the kind of friendship that’s always felt unshakable. The moment passes quickly, but I still feel it for the next few minutes.
“Bathroom?” Maddie asks, standing up and grabbing her purse.
I nod, sliding off my stool, pretending I don’t already know what she’s about to say.
The line snakes halfway down the hallway, past a crooked sign that says women and a flickering lightbulb. The bathroom door creaks every time it opens, letting out bursts of drunk compliments and the smell of soap mixed with perfume.
Maddie leans back against the wall and looks at me. “So.”
I narrow my eyes. “Don’t.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You were about to.”
We shuffle forward two steps.
She crosses her arms. “And I didn’t. But I’m going to say it now.”
I sigh and look at the ceiling, like maybe I’ll find an emergency exit. “Here we go.”
“I knew it! Lucas is so into you.”
“You don’t know that.”
She raises her eyebrows. “I do. He kept watching you when you weren’t looking. And not in a creepy way but in a can’t-help-himself way. You really think I wouldn’t notice that?”
I roll my eyes. “You’re reading way too much into it.”
“I’m telling you, Lucas is tuned in. He’s leaning in, remembering your drink without making it a thing, grinning like you guys have this little inside joke or secret. All of that is giving much more than just friends energy.”
The bathroom door swings open again, and we finally slip into two side-by-side stalls, the floor sticky beneath my sneakers.
From the other side of the wall, Maddie says, “And don’t even get me started on the knee thing.”
“What knee thing?” I pretend to have no clue what she’s referring to, even though I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it.
“His knee was touching yours for, like, twenty minutes, and he didn’t move it.”
I flush, both literally and metaphorically.
We meet at the sinks a minute later, shoulder to shoulder under the harsh lighting. Maddie hands me a paper towel without asking. I dab my hands dry, avoiding my reflection.
She pulls out her lip gloss and swipes it on, then passes it to me. “I’m just saying it’s there.”
I take the gloss and pause, cap halfway off. “Even if it is, what am I supposed to do with that?”
“You don’t have to do anything. But now you can stop pretending it’s all in your head,” Maddie says with a shrug, and I get the feeling she’s already thinking five steps ahead of me.
Her words linger as we head back to the boys, and now I’m watching Lucas’s actions through a different lens.
The way he holds out a chair for me, the way his entire focus seems to shift when I’m talking, the way his arm always rests on the back of my chair or over my shoulder.
Maybe Maddie’s right. Maybe it’s not all in my head. Maybe he feels something too.
The second bar is louder, darker, and somehow ten degrees warmer than the last. There’s no real menu—just liquor, mixers, and a bartender who’s clearly over it.
The bass vibrates through the walls, and the crowd is younger, sweatier, already several drinks ahead.
It’s not really my scene, but I order another tequila soda anyway and let Maddie drag me onto the dance floor.
We sing through half a song, bumping shoulders and trying to talk over the music, our words getting lost somewhere between the strobe lights and the girl in front of us attempting to do the worm in a miniskirt.
Lucas and Aaron join us for a few songs, and for a while it’s fun. But by midnight, the room starts to spin in that too-much-noise, too-many-bodies kind of way. My feet ache. My buzz is fading. And the idea of getting into bed with Winston feels a lot better than it did this afternoon.
“I’m gonna call an Uber,” I say eventually.
“Booooo.” Maddie frowns.
“Sorry, guys,” I say, my fingers gliding across the screen until it says that my ride is eleven minutes away. “Dog mom duty calls.”
My favorite excuse in the book.
“I’ll wait out front with you until it gets here,” Lucas offers.
I sip down the last of my drink, which is mostly ice now, and follow Lucas through the crowd and out the front door. He walks past the bouncers, who barely glance at us, and heads toward the street.
“Won’t you have to wait in line again to get back in?” I ask him, my brow furrowing.
“Yeah, but it’s all right. Let’s sit on the curb. I need some fresh air,” Lucas says, plopping down on the edge of the sidewalk.
I sit next to him, the cold concrete seeping through my jeans.
“I had fun tonight,” he says, tipping his head back to look at the sky. “I really needed it.”
Something in his voice softens, and when he glances at me, I see it. The tired edges that jokes can’t always cover.
He shrugs. “The past couple months have been a lot. This whole meet-cute thing, going out, filming you being an absolute goofball, it helps. Keeps me from sitting still with it all.”
“You’re not half bad at this whole sidekick thing,” I tease, nudging his shoulder. Then, quieter: “Seriously though. I like having you here.”
Then he exhales. “Margo texted me today.”
I glance over, instantly alert.
“She wanted me to know she’s seeing Neil from her office,” he says, eyes fixed straight ahead. “Didn’t want me to find out through Instagram or a mutual friend.”
I nod slowly. “That was decent of her.”
“Yeah,” he says. “Still kind of knocked the wind out of me though.”
“Believe me, I know.”
He glances at me. “You ever feel like the second they move on, everything you went through with them gets erased? Like they just step into a new life, and you’re the only one stuck remembering the old one?”
I swallow. “Yes. Exactly.”
“It’s not even jealousy,” he says. “It’s just weird. We were in each other’s lives for so long, and now it’s like none of it counts.”
“It does count,” I say. “Even if they don’t look back.”
Lucas nods but doesn’t answer. We both know we’re speaking from the same place—two people who tried their hardest and still ended up here.
“Sometimes I think we just outgrow people quietly,” I add. “Like one day you look up and realize you’re both still trying but not really connecting. And no one says it out loud, so it drags on longer than it should.”
He looks over at me again, softer this time. “You just described the last two years of my relationship.”
“Same.”
A group of girls stumbles past us, laughing, their heels clattering against the sidewalk. One of them waves a half-eaten hot dog in the air like a microphone, belting the chorus of “Dancing Queen.”
“Honestly, she’s my spirit animal,” I say.
“Come on,” he says, standing up and offering his hand before snatching my phone and canceling my Uber pickup. “Let’s find that hot dog stand.”
I follow his lead as the cool March air brushes against our skin, my stomach doing this stupid little flip I pretend is about hunger.
“Okay, important question,” I say. “What’s your go-to karaoke song?”
“‘Livin’ on a Prayer,’” he says without hesitation. “Cliché, I know, but I do a mean Bon Jovi impression.”
I laugh. “I respect that.”
“Yours?”
“‘Picture’ by Kid Rock and Sheryl Crow,” I reply. “Sav and I used to crush that duet in college, like, we had the harmonies down and everything. But if I’m on my own, ‘Pink Pony Club.’”
Lucas grins. “Guess I’ll have to audition for Sav’s part.”
I roll my eyes, but my mouth curves anyway. “You’d have to prove you can hit the Sheryl notes.”
“I’m versatile,” he says with a shrug that makes it sound both ridiculous and cocky.
I shake my head, still smiling, and before I can fire back, a familiar striped umbrella comes into view a few blocks ahead.
A few minutes later, Lucas orders for both of us and hands me a hot dog with a small smile.
I take it, the foil warm and crinkling softly in my hand.
After we finish eating, we find a nearby bench and sit down.
Raleigh’s nightlife is still in full swing, but at this moment, it feels like it’s just the two of us on the street.
He leans back, close enough that his thigh presses against mine again. “Best glizzies in the city.”
I take a bite, grinning despite myself. “Okay, fine. You’re right.”
“Can you say that again?” His grin widens. “Maybe louder, so the whole street hears?”
I roll my eyes, but my stomach flips. It’s easy with him—too easy—and for half a second, it feels like we’re teetering on the edge of something neither of us has said out loud.