I’ve been choking on jealousy for the past twenty minutes.

She laughs at something Lucas says, her whole face transforming into warmth I’ve never been allowed to see. Her hand rests on his arm like it belongs there, like touching him is the most natural thing in the world.

Look at me like that. Just once.

But she never will. I’ve spent six years making absolutely sure of that.

Lucas leans in closer, whispering something that makes her cheeks go pink, and I’m gripping my pen so hard my knuckles turn white.

She doesn’t pull away. Doesn’t stiffen. Just tilts her head and listens like he’s reciting fucking Shakespeare instead of probably making some basic observation about her Constitutional Law reading.

I want to be at his place.

I want to sit where he sits, say whatever stupid thing makes her light up like that. I want her hand on my arm, her attention fixed on my face, her laugh filling the space between us.

Instead, I get hatred. I get flinching. I get that look of disgust that crosses her features every time I enter a room.

“No one will ever love someone like you.”

Her voice echoes from a year ago, sharp and certain. The bathroom. The steam. Her face twisted with fury as she hurled the one truth I couldn’t dodge.

She’d compared me to my father.

Said I corner women, use my size to intimidate. The words had landed like fists, and I’d done what I always do when something hurts too much to bear.

I hit back harder.

I brought up her mother and regretted it that same instant.

I told her to move on like everyone else. Like grief has an expiration date. Like I don’t still flinch at the sound of heavy footsteps or check the driveway for a car that’s never coming back.

Hypocrite. You haven’t moved on from anything.

My father’s shadow still follows me everywhere. His voice lives in my head, telling me I’m worthless, telling me I’ll never amount to anything. And now his debts chain me to a racing circuit that might get me killed.

But sure. Move on. It’s that easy.

Across the library, Lucas tucks a strand of her hair behind her ear, and she doesn’t stop him.

CRACK.

The pen in my hand snaps. Ink bleeds across the page, and I don’t care. I shove back from the table and walk out before I do something I can’t take back.

I try the gym first.

Forty-five minutes of punishing my muscles until they scream, but every time I close my eyes between sets, I see her hand on his arm. Her smile. The way she leaned toward him like he was magnetic north.

I shower. The hot water does nothing. My mind keeps drifting to the library. To Lucas whispering in her ear. To the pink that spread across her cheeks.

She never blushes for you. She only goes pale.

I last three hours. Three hours of telling myself I don’t care who she talks to.

Leave her alone.

But my feet carry me down the hallway. Her bedroom door is unlocked. The shower runs in the bathroom, steam curling beneath the crack, and I should leave. I know I should leave.

I step inside and close the door behind me anyway.

Pink cotton catches my eye immediately. She left her underwear on the bed—tiny strawberries printed across the fabric like some kind of joke.

A laugh builded in my chest, but it dies before it reaches my throat. I picked them up because apparently I’ve decided to speedrun becoming a complete creep. The fabric is soft and I try not to think about how it’s touched her skin more than I ever will.

You’re sick. You know that, right?

I sit on her bed, stretching out against her pillows, and wait for the water to shut off.

The water shuts off. Footsteps on tile. The door opens, and… Jesus. Fucking. Christ.

She was wearing nothing but a towel that’s trying its best but failing spectacularly. Water drops race down her collarbone like they’re competing for who gets to disappear between her breasts first.

Her hair is plastered to her shoulders, darker with moisture, and the way that terry cloth clings to every curve she usually hides under hoodies makes my brain short-circuit.

This is what she’s been keeping from me.

“Get out.” Her voice doesn’t shake, and I hate that I’m impressed.

Now you have to watch her at that party.

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