11. AVA #2
"Most humans haven't earned what Biscuit has earned."
"What has she earned?"
"Unconditional trust." I throw the ball again. "She's never ghosted me or forgotten my name."
The words come out sharp. Kai goes still beside me.
I didn't mean it. Or I did, but not like that.
Not when Kai's sitting in the grass with his knee warm against mine pretending to be something I want him to be while I pretend I don't want it back.
"Ava."
"Forget it. I was talking about the dog."
He's quiet for a long moment. When he speaks, his voice is low enough that only I can hear.
"I didn't forget you. My brain was damaged. Those aren't the same thing."
"I know that."
"Do you?"
I throw the ball harder than necessary. Biscuit sprints after it, delighted. The children cheer.
I don't answer because the honest answer is complicated and the dishonest answer isn't worth saying.
The afternoon spools out slow and golden. I eat the steak Charles hands me from the grill, well-seasoned and perfectly brown, served with a grunt and a nod.
I sit on the porch with my bare feet on the warm wood, Biscuit's head in my lap.
Kai stays close. His hand finds my waist when we're standing, my shoulder when we're sitting. He whispers dry, flat commentary in my ear about his relatives, perfectly timed observations that make me bite my lip to keep from laughing.
"Uncle Gerald tells that fishing story every year. There was no fish." His mouth brushes my ear when he says it and a shiver rolls down my spine.
"Stop. I'm trying to look interested."
But I’m leaning into him. My hand begins to reach for his.
I catch myself smiling at the way he tilts his head when he's listening. The way his thumb traces circles on my hip when he's not thinking about it. The way he stands slightly in front of me in crowded spaces like his body has decided to protect mine without consulting his brain.
This is what it would feel like if it were real.
This is what it would feel like to be his.
The thought spreads through me like the heat of hot tea swallowed too fast. It fills my chest, my throat, the backs of my eyes.
I blink hard and focus on Biscuit, who is letting a toddler use her as a pillow.
I’m like that for several hours, soaking in the warmth of Kai’s family. Enjoying every bit of this weekend getaway.
I'm sitting on the porch steps scratching Biscuit's ears when I notice the woman.
Tall. Dark hair slicing sharp at her shoulders. A sundress that exists for the sole purpose of making every other woman nearby feel like she got dressed in the dark.
She's leaning against the porch railing talking to Kai.
No. Not talking. Talking is what adults do about weather and parking.
What this woman is doing involves touching her collarbone while she laughs, angling her body toward Kai. One hand rests on his forearm while she laughs at something he's said.
My whole body goes hot.
You don't get to feel this. You are fake dating this man. You designed the rules to prevent exactly this. You are watching your not-boyfriend talk to a beautiful woman and you want to walk over there and peel her fingers off his arm one by one.
That is unhinged.
You are unhinged.
Kai's posture is neutral, the stance he uses when he's being sociable without being engaged.
I know the difference because I've spent weeks cataloguing every version of this man's body language like a researcher compiling a dissertation on my own destruction.
He's not interested in her. I can see that.
It doesn't matter.
Because the feeling tearing through me isn't rational. It's hot and raw and possessive, a fist closing around my chest. My stomach burns with it. My fingernails dig into my palms.
She laughs again, tips her head back, throat long and exposed. Her hand slides from his forearm to his bicep.
I stand up so fast, Biscuit startles.
Mira drops into the chair beside me, holding a glass of something cold. She follows my gaze across the porch and takes a sip.
"That's Lena, the friend of a cousin. She does this at every gathering.”
She finds Kai at every family gathering and flirts with him?
Heat travels up my neck. My face scrunches with fury.
“She looks for the nearest man she thinks is eligible and makes hereself welcoming,” Mira says.
"I don't care."
"Your face says differently."
"My face is lying."
"Your face is doing the exact opposite of lying." She takes another sip. "For what it's worth, Kai hasn't looked at her once the way he looks at you."
"How does he look at me?"
She smiles then tilts her glass in my direction. "You’ll find out."
I look away from Kai and the woman and focus on Biscuit, who has recovered from my sudden movement and is now licking her own foot. Zero emotional complexity.
I want to be Biscuit. Biscuit doesn't have feelings about men's forearms being touched by women in sundresses.
The rest of the afternoon drags after that. I smile. I chat. I throw the ball for Biscuit.
I do not look at Kai.
I look at Kai constantly.
He catches me twice. The first time he holds my gaze across the yard and his mouth curves in a way that makes my ribs ache. The second time he's walking toward me and I turn away so fast I nearly trip over Biscuit.
By evening, as people drift inside and the sky bleeds amber over the lake, I'm wound so tight.
Kai finds me in the upstairs hallway carrying my overnight bag, looking for whatever room I've been assigned. He's leaning in a doorway, arms crossed, wearing a faint smirk.
"Last door on the left," he says.
I push past him and open it.
One room. One queen bed with a white duvet and too many pillows. Kai’s bag is already on the chair by the window.
“No, I’m not sleeping here.”
"Mom assigned the rooms."
"Then tell your mom we need two."
"The house is full. Some other couples are already sharing. If I ask for separate rooms, everyone downstairs will know this isn't real."
I keep staring at the bed.
"You take the bed. I'll take the floor," he says, stepping into the room.
"The floor?"
He drops onto the edge of the mattress and unlaces his shoes, completely at ease.
"I've slept on worse. Hospital beds, team buses. I can name more if you want."
The door clicks shut.
The room shrinks.
He's too close. The only sizable thing in this room is the bed. With Kai here, it feels enormous.
And I can't sort through a single thought because they're all tangled up in the image of that woman's hand on his arm. The sound of her laugh and the burning knot in my stomach that won't loosen.
"Who is she?" I blurt out.
Kai looks at me. The ease drains out of his expression, replaced by something alert.
"Who?"
"The woman on the porch who you spent all afternoon talking to. The one whose hand was on your arm the whole time."
An infuriating wide smirk stretches across his face.