Chapter 8 #4
She doesn’t look at me. She watches the ice instead.
“You guys all work together. You’ve known each other forever. Inside jokes, stories, history.” She shrugs lightly. “I’m kind of the outsider.”
Something in her voice softens.
Real soft.
“I’d really like us to be friends, Beth,” she says.
My chest tightens.
“Especially since Ethan obviously adores you. You’re like… his favorite protégé.”
She smiles at me. Sweet. Open.
And for some reason it makes my stomach drop.
“It’s okay,” she adds gently. “I’ve caught you looking at him. I get it, right? That’s why I’m with him.”
My heart stops.
“I— what? No,” I rush out. Too fast. Too loud. “No. I’m with Sean. Ethan’s like— he’s like a big brother. He trained me. He hired me. He’s basically my boss. I would never. That’s… you don’t do that. You just don’t.”
The words tumble over each other, desperate and messy.
Please believe me. Please believe me.
She studies my face for a long second.
Then nods slowly.
“Okay,” she says.
Relief washes through me so hard my knees feel weak.
She bought it.
Thank God.
“I’m switching to Grey Goose and tonic,” she says, bright again. “We’re classy now. Can you grab limes?”
“Yes. Absolutely. Limes. I can do limes.”
Escape mission.
I slip into the kitchen, grateful for something normal and stupid to focus on. I rummage through the fridge, find a little mesh bag, grab a knife.
The house is quiet compared to outside. Just the fridge humming. My pulse loud in my ears.
I turn—
—and nearly collide with someone.
I gasp. “Oh my God—you scared me—”
Ethan.
Close.
Too close.
Close enough that I smell his cologne. Clean. Warm. Something woodsy.
He looks unfair tonight.
Tan from the sun. Sleeves pushed up. Those stupid glasses that somehow make him hotter instead of nerdier. His hair down for once, brushing his shoulders, curling at the ends.
When did he get this hot?
How did I not notice?
Or did I notice and just… refuse to look?
Now it’s like standing too close to a bonfire. Heat everywhere.
My brain short-circuits.
He leans one arm past me, reaching into the cabinet above my head. His chest almost brushes my shoulder.
“Easy,” he says softly. “Didn’t mean to ambush you.”
My heart is pounding so loud I’m sure he can hear it.
“You know,” he adds, voice low and almost amused, “Sage thinks you have a crush on me.”
My stomach drops straight through the floor.
“She thinks you’re into me.”
He reaches past me for a glass.
“For her,” he adds, nodding toward the counter. “Vodka tonic.”
Right.
Of course.
My cheeks burn anyway.
I focus very hard on the cutting board. On the lime. On literally anything else.
I’m losing it. I’m actually losing it.
This is just because Sean and I haven’t seen each other much. That’s all. Hormones. Loneliness. Stupidity. That’s it.
“I told her you’re like a big brother,” I blurt. “That I look up to you. That I’d never— I mean— obviously—”
I sound insane.
He watches me for a second.
Then he smiles. Soft. Familiar.
“I know, Beth,” he says quietly. “That’s what I told her.”
Before I can react, he leans in and presses the lightest kiss to my cheek. Nothing. Friendly. Innocent.
His fingers brush a strand of hair behind my ear.
That’s it.
That’s all.
And my entire body lights up like someone flipped a switch.
Goosebumps ripple down my arms.
I freeze.
Completely.
Like prey.
He pulls back, totally normal, already turning toward the door with the glass in his hand.
And I’m left standing there gripping a knife and a lime like my life depends on it, heart racing, skin burning, brain screaming.
Oh God.
I am in so much trouble.
Because that wasn’t nothing.
And the worst part?
I wanted it to be more.
By nine-thirty, the house feels too small for all of us.
Music is blasting from the kitchen speaker. Someone’s laughing too loud on the porch. The grill’s still smoking even though no one’s cooking anymore. Empty bottles line the counter like little glass soldiers.
Everyone’s buzzed.
Loose.
Glowy.
Even me.
Which is dangerous, because I’m not much of a drinker and everything already feels too sharp tonight.
“Okay,” Tony announces, clapping his hands like we’re a field trip. “Band’s starting. Harbor bar. Let’s roll.”
A cheer goes up like we’re in college again.
We spill out into the street in a messy pack—arms linked, jackets half-on, someone already singing off-key. The air smells like salt and fried food and summer. The sun’s gone but the sky’s still deep purple-blue, that last light clinging to the edges of the buildings.
Halfway down the street, I feel it.
The bass.
Low and heavy.
Thump—thump—thump.
Like a second heartbeat under the pavement.
The drums carry down the harbor, bouncing between brick storefronts. The closer we get, the louder it gets, until it’s vibrating in my ribs.
This is going to be fun.
I can feel it.
For the first time all day, I actually feel… light.
We move like a little posse.
Tony with Kate and Kristen, already laughing at something. Mark and Chris ahead with some Boston friends. Strangers weaving in and out of the sidewalks. Everyone glowing under streetlamps and neon bar signs.
I’m walking between Sage and Ethan.
Which is its own kind of torture.
Ethan smells like soap and cedar and whatever that cologne is that’s ruining my life. Sage’s arm keeps brushing mine, warm and confident and electric.
Then suddenly—
She grabs my wrist.
“Come on,” she says.
“Where—?”
“I’m your wingwoman tonight.”
“What? No—”
“Yes.” She grins, wicked and gorgeous. “We’re dancing.”
Before I can protest, she drags me inside.
The place is chaos.
Colored lights. Sticky floors. A live band set up by the open harbor doors. The air thick with sweat and beer and salt breeze.
The music hits like a wave.
People are already packed on the dance floor.
“I don’t want shots,” I say, already knowing it doesn’t matter.
Sage is at the bar ordering.
Two tiny glasses appear.
“I really don’t—”
She hands one to me with that smile.
That smile.
The one where you just… don’t say no.
When Sage is in a mood like this, she’s gravity. The hottest, brightest thing in the room. You don’t resist. You orbit.
“To bad decisions,” she says.
We clink.
Burn.
I cough. She laughs.
And then we’re on the dance floor.
God help me.
I know I look good.
I hate that I know it—but I do.
The dress. The hair. The gloss. Sage 2.0.
We’re moving, laughing, bodies loose, the bass crawling up through my legs. The lights flash purple, blue, gold. Sweat sticks to my collarbone.
Guys start circling almost immediately.
Like sharks.
Mostly for Sage.
Always for Sage.
She’s magnetic. Effortless. Tossing her hair, laughing, leaning in close like she’s sharing secrets.
But then she grabs my hand and yanks me forward.
“This is Beth!” she shouts over the music. “Beth is single, right?”
I choke.
Single.
The word hits weird.
Sean.
Firehouse.
Voicemail.
My chest tightens.
“Uh—”
Too late.
We’re swallowed into a foursome dance circle. Bodies everywhere. Hands in the air. Heat and noise and someone’s cologne way too strong.
Sage is grinding on some guy like she’s been single her whole life.
I feel eyes on us.
I glance across the bar.
Ethan.
Watching.
Not smiling.
Not moving.
Just staring.
Locked in.
I lift my drink and shrug like, I don’t know what’s happening either.
He doesn’t smile back.
His jaw tightens.
Something in my stomach twists.
This is bad.
This is very bad.
Sage throws her head back laughing as the guy behind her slides closer, his hands drifting lower.
My chest tightens.
Not jealousy.
Fear.
Because Ethan’s face—
Oh God.
He looks like a storm.
Like a fuse burning down.
Tony grabs his arm.
Too late.
The guy’s hands slide down Sage’s back—
And Ethan snaps.
One second he’s across the room.
The next he’s there.
In the guy’s face.
Hands shoved into his chest.
“Hands off my girl.”
The music doesn’t even stop. It just keeps pounding while everything slows down around them.
“Whoa, whoa,” the guy says, palms up. “She was coming onto me, man. That’s not my problem.”
“This has nothing to do with me,” he adds. “That’s between you two.”
Ethan looks furious.
Not loud furious.
Worse.
Quiet furious.
The kind that makes everyone take a step back.
Tony’s holding his shoulder now. “Easy. Easy, man.”
But Ethan’s been drinking all day.
I’ve never seen him like this.
Not sharp.
Not controlled.
Raw.
Embarrassed.
Territorial.
Dangerous.
The whole dance floor is watching.
My skin crawls.
I suddenly feel like I’m standing in the middle of something I should not be part of.
Like collateral damage.
Like this whole night just tipped sideways.
So I do the only smart thing I’ve done all evening.
I slip out of the crowd.
Quiet.
Unnoticed.
And walk away.
I don’t even remember deciding to leave.
One second it’s bass and shouting and Ethan looking like he’s about to commit a felony.
The next I’m pushing through the side door with my drink still in my hand.
Cold air hits me like a slap.
The back patio is quieter, but not quiet-quiet.
Smokers clustered near the railing. A couple making out against the brick wall. Someone laughing too loud. The harbor just beyond, black water glinting under dock lights.
Music still thumps through the walls, muted now. Like a second heartbeat.
I slip farther back.
There’s a pergola half-covered in vines and a couple big potted plants. I duck behind one and sit on the bench tucked in the corner, mostly hidden unless someone’s looking for me.
I breathe.
Deep.
In.
Out.
My hands are shaking.
I take a sip of my drink. It tastes like lime and nerves.
Above me, the sky is clear. Stars scattered like salt.
For a second, it’s peaceful.
And my brain does the worst possible thing.
It replays Ethan.
The look on his face.
That raw, territorial snap when that guy touched Sage.
Hands off my girl.
The way his whole body went tight and dangerous and protective.
My pulse kicks up again.