After that awkward—yet strangely magnetic—greeting outside, we all head into the Icehouse for pizza. The smell hits me like a warm hug, and I realize how hungry I am. I always eat when I'm nervous, and right now, I could devour the entire menu.
Will grabs the door and holds it open. Shelby, practically glued to Evan's side, snuggles against his arm as they walk in ahead of us, leaving me to walk beside Will yet again. I murmur a quick "thanks" and try to scoot past him without brushing against him. After that handshake, I'm not sure I trust my reactions.
I sneak a glance at him.
He's still smirking.
That same unreadable, knowing smirk that makes my skin prickle. It's like he can hear my thoughts—or worse, feel them. I look away quickly, pretending to study the chalkboard menu above the counter.
The hostess tells us there's a ten-minute wait. Shelby immediately grabs my hand and pulls me toward the ladies' room.
"We'll be back," she calls over her shoulder. "Bathroom."
Evan stops us before we get far. "Wait—what do you want to eat and drink? I know how you two are in there. You'll take forever."
Shelby halts mid-step and slowly turns around, arms crossed. I raise an eyebrow at Evan. He's in trouble. He just doesn't know how much yet.
Shelby gives him one of her signature sinister smiles—the kind that promises chaos. "Hold on a sec, Ang."
She saunters up to him and leans in, whispering something in his ear. Whatever she says turns him beet red. His mouth drops open, and he stares at her like she just recited the Book of Revelations backwards.
Will clears his throat. "So… pizza, wings, and beer? Sound good to everyone?"
I glance up, startled to find him standing closer than I expected—close enough that I could feel the heat radiating off his skin. My bare arms tingle where the air between us thins.
Shelby had talked me into wearing one of her outfits tonight—a sleeveless, sequined top that flows past my waist and a ripped jean skirt that barely covers what it needs to. The stilettos were her idea, too. I feel like I'm walking on stilts, but she swore they made my legs look "dangerously good."
I look away, trying to focus. "Meat Lover's pizza and hot wings sound great. Thanks. And sorry about them—it's always like this. I apologize on behalf of my rude friends."
Shelby is still whispering to Evan, who now looks like he's questioning every life choice he's ever made. I grab her hand and drag her toward the bathroom.
She doesn't resist, but the moment the door closes behind us, her mood shifts. She walks over and checks each stall like she's sweeping for bugs.
"I can't believe Evan doesn't talk about me to his family," she huffs. "Like I'm not important or something. How can he be so cruel? I want to go home. Do you think we can sneak out that window above the sink?"
I blink. "You're being dramatic."
"I'm being realistic," she snaps, arms flailing. "That's his cousin, Ang. And he didn't even know I existed!"
I sigh and lean against the sink. "I think you're misinterpreting what Will said. And no, we are not sneaking out of a bar through a bathroom window."
She makes a frustrated grunt and slams a stall door shut behind her.
Shelby and Evan have been together for almost a year. She's never met his family—they live in California, and he goes back every summer and during breaks. I know she's been keeping track of how many times he's gone home without inviting her. It's eating at her.
"Shelby," I say gently, "I love you, but you're spiraling. Will said Evan mentioned you once or twice. That's guy code for 'he talks about you constantly and it's annoying.'"
Shelby peeks out from the stall, her eyes narrowed. "You think so?"
I nod. "Absolutely. Guys, don't gush. They grunt. If Evan's cousin knows your name, that means he talks about you. A lot."
She steps out, arms crossed. "Then why hasn't he invited me to meet them?"
"Because he's a guy. And guys are weird about family. Maybe he's nervous. Maybe he's waiting for the right time."
Shelby sighs and leans against the wall. "I just want to be important to him."
"You are," I say, walking over. "You're important to me, too. And if Evan doesn't see that, he's an idiot."
She smiles weakly. "You always know what to say."
"I try."
I turn back to the mirror and apply a fresh coat of lip gloss, checking my reflection. I tug at my top, adjusting it to give the illusion of cleavage. Just because I'm not interested in Will doesn't mean I can't look good for someone else. Right?
Still, there's this annoying little voice in my head whispering that I do care what Will thinks. Which is ridiculous. I just met him. I shouldn't care.
To prove a point to myself, I readjusted my shirt again—this time to make it less flattering. I don't care. I don't.
Shelby watches me with a smirk. "You're totally into him."
I freeze. "What?"
"Will. You're adjusting your shirt like you're trying not to care. Which means you do."
"I just met him."
"And?"
"And I don't do guys. Not anymore."
Shelby raises an eyebrow. "You don't do guys, but you notice them. And he's hot."
I groan. "Can we not?"
She giggles. "Fine. But I saw the way you looked at him. And the way he looked at you."
I roll my eyes. "He smirked. That's not a look. That's a warning."
Shelby shrieks suddenly, making me jump.
"Jesus, Shelby!"
She hugs me, giggling like a maniac. "You're so dramatic."
"It's called trauma," I mutter.
She pulls back and looks at me seriously. "You're allowed to like someone again, Ang. You're allowed to be happy."
I nod, but the truth is—I'm not sure I remember how.