We step out of the bathroom and head back to the table, only to find the guys halfway through devouring the food. The wings—my one craving tonight—are nearly gone, reduced to a pile of bones and a smear of sauce. Shelby and I exchange a look.
"Wow," I mutter. "They didn't even wait."
Shelby shrugs, unfazed. "Well, we did crash their man time. You know how dramatic they get when food's involved."
I narrowed my eyes at her. "You said we were meeting up, not barging in on some sacred bro ritual."
She smirks, taking a large bite of pizza. "Tomato, to-mah-to. We're here now, and I'm starving."
I sigh, trying not to pout. I was excited for those wings. Just as I'm about to say something, the waitress appears with a fresh plate—hot, glistening, and smelling like heaven.
Will leans in, his voice low and smooth. "We ordered you both your own wings and asked them to hold them until you came back. I would never forget."
I blink, surprised. "Seriously?"
He nods, that smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "You looked like you needed them."
Okay. That's… impressive.
I try not to let it show, but the warmth in my chest betrays me. I'm almost drooling just from the smell. The sauce is rich, spicy, and exactly what I needed.
Shelby slides in next to Evan, leaving me with the only available seat—next to Will. Of course. I shoot her a glare, but she just grins and wiggles her eyebrows.
I sit down, trying to keep a safe distance, but the booth is small, and Will's presence is… overwhelming. He's too close. Too warm. Too aware. I can feel him watching me even when I'm not looking.
Why couldn't he be rude? Or boring? Or even just average?
Instead, he's gorgeous. Greek-god gorgeous. He looks like the type of person who has the ability to completely transform your life with a simple smile, leaving you feeling incredibly grateful for it. And worse—he's polite. Thoughtful. Gentle.
I sneak a glance at him from the corner of my eye. His smile is soft, almost shy, and it lights up his whole face. His eyes—icy blue, like the sea in winter—are calm but unpredictable. They flicker with something ancient, something unreadable.
His skin glows with a golden warmth, like he's spent every day of his life in the sun. My gaze drifts down his neck, over broad shoulders, and to the tight black button-down stretched across his chest. I can't see what's underneath, but I can imagine. His biceps are thick, one of them inked with a faded tattoo that disappears under his sleeve.
I shake my head, smiling to myself. Nope. Not going there.
Will catches my eye and lifts an eyebrow, smirking like he knows exactly what I'm thinking. I snap my gaze forward, pretending to be fascinated by the pizza crust on my plate.
Shelby's laughing at something Evan said, and soon we're all talking about classes, professors, and the usual college chaos. I start telling Shelby about what happened in Mr. Collin's lecture the other day, and she's practically crying from laughter.
"Wait, wait," she gasps. "Who do you think it was?"
"I have no idea," I say, laughing. "The girl who handed me the note looked just as confused as I was."
Shelby wipes her eyes and turns to Will. "Did you know Ang is an artist?"
Here we go.
Will's eyes light up. "Really?"
I nod, bracing myself.
"She's amazing," Shelby says, her voice full of pride. "Her landscapes are unreal. I've been to museums all over, and I've never seen anything like her work. It's like she's lived a hundred lives and remembers every place she's ever been."
I roll my eyes. "Shelby, I've told you—I'm not some reincarnated soul. I just have a vivid imagination."
Shelby fake-laughed. "Yeah, right."
Will leans in, his arm resting on the back of my seat, grazing my shoulder. That same electric tingle shoots through me. I try to ignore it.
"I'd love to see your work sometime," he says. "Do you have any pictures on your phone?"
I shake my head. "I deleted a bunch before coming out tonight. Sorry. No proof of talent."
He shrugs, smiling. "Guess I'll have to see it in person."
Shelby gives me a look—a cool stare with one eyebrow raised. I know that look. It says, You like him. Admit it.
I ignore her and reach for a wing, hoping the heat will distract me from the way Will's presence is messing with my head.
Shelby looked between Will and me, and then, grabbing Evan's hand, she purred, "Well, my darlings," her voice bubbling with mischief and wine, "Evan and I are itching to dance. Come on, my love." She laced her fingers through his with a flourish, her laughter trailing behind her like perfume. "We'll catch up later—unless you decide to join us at the club. It'll be divine. No pressure, of course."
With a playful wink and a sway of her hips, she and Evan slid out of the booth, their silhouettes glowing in the warm light spilling from the bar. They stopped to grab another round, laughter threading through the low thrum of music and the soft clink of glasses. The two of them moved like they were made for each other—effortless, in sync, orbiting the same sun.
Shelby's happiness was blinding, like nothing could dim it when he was near.
That kind of love... God, I want it... No—I crave it.
Once, long ago, I thought I knew a love like that—wild, consuming, eternal. But that was another life, another self. I shook the memory loose like dust from an old book. Tonight wasn't for ghosts.
Tonight was for the man beside me.
Will's presence was a quiet storm—steady, magnetic. I hadn't realized how close he'd moved until his hand brushed over mine, still tapping to the beat of the band. His touch was warm and grounding, and it startled me more than I'd admit.
"So," he said, voice low and velvet-smooth, dipping his head closer, "how long are you going to sit there without saying a word?" His fingers brush mine, then slide between them with a slow, deliberate ease.
I glanced down at our hands, then followed the line of his arm—lean, strong, and inked with symbols I didn't recognize. My gaze traveled up to his neck, where a shadow of stubble made him look even more untamed. Finally, I looked into his eyes—eyes like storm clouds over a midnight sea, holding stories I wasn't sure I wanted to hear.
I slipped my hand from beneath his, slowly.
"I'm not ignoring you," I said, my voice softer than I intended. "I'm just... not much of a talker."
A lie, of course. I talked too much. Shelby and I were infamous for it—our conversations could fill rooms, drown out silence, and chase away shadows. My dad used to joke that if I brought Shelby over one more time, he'd kick her out just to quiet the house.
Will smirked, clearly unconvinced. "Funny. I heard from a little bird that talking is your favorite sport. But right now? You're quiet. Almost boring."
I narrowed my eyes, already making a mental list of which of my friends had betrayed me. "Well, I do talk. A lot. But I also know when to shut up."
He leaned in slightly, the air between us charged. "And now's one of those times?"
I tilted my head, studying him. "I'm not looking to get involved with anyone. Not now. Not with someone who stares at me like he's trying to read my soul."
His smile didn't falter. "Maybe I am."