Chapter 3 #2
“Exactly. And honestly? I don’t care if he likes me or not. I’m not interested in winning over every emotionally stunted man who can’t separate someone else’s choices from their own baggage. And besides, I’m only there for six months.”
She nods in agreement, then leans back against the arm of the couch, tucking one leg under her. “Okay, so, you’re gonna hate this, but based on his reaction, he might be fixated on you. Lord only knows what he’ll do with that.”
Yes, because that’s exactly what I need.
I cut her a sharp look. “Doubt it. You should have seen the look he gave me. I got the full body scan, and homeboy was NOT impressed.”
“First, it’s literally impossible for a man to not be physically attracted to you.
Like, HAVE YOU SEEN YOUR BOOBS? And second, I’m not saying he’s for sure going to do anything,” she says, hands up.
“I’m just saying—when it comes to women, Leo’s whole brand is indifference.
If he didn’t care at all, he would’ve barely looked at you.
The fact that he stopped, glared, and offered a full body scan just from your mere presence?
Top it off with shitty remarks and an intentional name fuck-up? That says you hit a nerve.”
I narrow my eyes. “So, not a romantic fixation. Just judgmental fixation.”
“Exactly,” Skye nods.
“Congratulations, you’re the human embodiment of his unresolved divorce trauma.”
I laugh despite myself and shake my head, setting my plate down and curling my legs beneath me. “Wow. Goals.”
She shifts her container of noodles to the side and softens. “Look, I should’ve warned you. He’s not normally that much of a dick. I mean, he can be. But this thing with you? That’s his shit, not yours.”
I glance at her. “What thing?”
She sighs. “Leo’s ex-wife left him a couple years ago. For her high school boyfriend, of all people. They’d been married since their early twenties, and then—bam—she reconnects with this dude online, bails on Leo, and is remarried within six months. Totally blindsided him.”
“Oof,” I mutter, instinctively reaching for my drink.
“Yeah. It wrecked him. So now, anytime he meets a woman who’s left her husband—even if the situations are not remotely the same—he goes straight into fight-or-flinch mode.
This one night, we went out clubbing together as each other’s wingmen—you know, like ‘Have you met Ted?’ vibes—and I introduced him to this woman.
I had no idea she’d just left her husband.
She was gorgeous, smart, funny. Total catch.
But the second the words ‘I left his boring ass’ left her lips, Leo tore into her so ruthlessly she started crying. ”
My eyes widen. “Seriously?”
“We were asked to leave,” Skye says flatly, then shrugs. “Doesn’t excuse the way he acted toward you. But it does explain why he saw your face and immediately decided you were the villain in his little trauma screenplay.”
I blink. “So... I’m a trigger,” I say, not quite a question.
“Um, not quite a trigger. More like a mirror. That’s not the same thing.”
I let that sit. Let it settle in my chest like something warm and a little sharp.
She leans forward again, pointing a chopstick at me. “But seriously—don’t worry about what Leo thinks. The man is a literal Tinder whore. Like, swipes left on people who say ‘dog mom’ and right on anything with cleavage. He has the emotional maturity of a pubescent horn-dog.”
“Charming.”
“Oh, yeah. I may love him like a brother, but I’ve seen the receipts. He’s a walking cautionary tale with a six-pack.”
“And here I was worried he might try to be nice to me.”
“Please. Let him hate you. That’s way safer. Better he glares at you from a distance than tries to fuck you and ruin your life from the inside out.”
I snort and toss a napkin at her.
“You always know how to make a girl feel special.”
She catches it midair with a wink.
“It’s a gift.”
I pause, setting my drink down and tilting my head at her. “Okay, but, how did you end up in the friend zone with him? I mean, if he’s constantly swiping and emotionally stunted and allergic to commitment, how did you bypass all that and end up as someone he actually trusts?”
Skye grins, then shrugs like it’s the simplest thing in the world. “I told him I’d rather pull out my own IUD with salad tongs than sleep with him.”
My eyes widen. “What?”
“Direct communication, babe. I’m telling you, it works wonders.” She bites into a crab rangoon like she didn’t just drop a conversational bomb.
“No, seriously,” I press. “That was it?”
“That and the fact that I never once gave him the impression he was God’s gift to women. Leo is used to being charming. He knows how to flirt. I shut that shit down on day one and made it crystal clear I wasn’t flattered.”
I lean back, half-impressed.
“And he just... accepted it?”
“Eventually. Pretty sure I threatened to stab him in the balls a few times as well. Probably helps that I always keep that switch blade in my overalls. It made me more interesting to him, I think. Like, once he realized I wasn’t an ego boost or a potential conquest, he let his guard down.
He’s better one-on-one than in a crowd. Still a disaster, but, like, a manageable disaster. ”
I nod slowly, absorbing that. “So the trick is emotional detachment and thinly veiled threats of bodily harm.”
“Thinly veiled? Try direct.”
She lifts her glass toward me. “To healthy boundaries.”
We clink our glasses together with a soft laugh, and for the first time in weeks, I feel just a little more grounded.