Page 23 of Your Rule to Break
Zack and I reach for the same one—what is this phenomenon of us doing this with fries?—and laugh. This time, he puts the fry in his mouth and leaves most of it out, leaning toward me. I don’t know if it’s the drinks, or Willow laughing hysterically, but I bite—literally. I bite down, our noses close, our lips almost touching, for my portion of the french fry.
“I can’t believe he shares food with you,” Tripp says, loud enough to be heard over the packed bar. Even the VIP area has people spilling out from their booths and tables.
I shoot Zack a look that says, “Huh?”
“Just because I don’t likeyourgrimy hands touchingmyfood doesn’t mean that goes for everyone.”
“You’ve never letmehave any of your food,” Willow chimes in.
Interesting. The flush pinches my cheeks, part cocktail and part Zack looking from me to Willow and Tripp.
Zack leans into the whole thing, wrapping an arm around my shoulder as he pulls me in. When he kisses me on my forehead, Willow and Tripp start cheering, and I can feel my face getting as red as my hair.
“Alright, I’m going to get another drink. Anyone need one?” I ask and am almost walking toward the bar before I get all the words out. I know the server will bring us more drinks, but I think I need a break.
It was all getting too easy. The leaning into the touch. Our legs bumping into one another. The quick glance but catching one another. Over and over. The way I kept stealing looks at his mouth.
I fill my lungs with air, holding the breath as I lean on the counter.
“She’ll take an Aperol Spritz,” a voice from behind me says. But it isn’t Zack.
Colton.
Goosebumps cover my arms as he lightly presses a hand on my low back. “It’s been a minute, Emmy,” he says, too close to my face, before putting a piece of my hair in between his fingers and lightly tugging.
I hate that nickname. Emmy. I only let him call me that because the sex was good enough to make the exception.
“My situation has changed,” I reply, giving him a small smile before intently watching the bartender make my drink. Colton isn’t the guy you date, but he is the guy you have casual sex with when you cross paths. He’s respectful, safe, and a good time. He’s also who I would call when I got frustrated enough with dating disasters.
My belly used to flip when I’d see him out—his look telling me everything I needed to know about where we’d end up. But now? There’s absolutely nothing besides the itch to get back to Zack.
“How so?”
I look over to our spot just as Zack glances over to me, hands running through his hair, almost like he knew I was thinking about him.
Colton clicks tongue and laughs. “I saw that. Didn’t quite buy it,” he jokes.
Alarm bells go off in my head, and I do my best to keep my face level.
“Nothing for you to buy,” I shrug, not angry or annoyed, just telling the truth. Out of everything at stake, my casual hookup isn’t high on the list.
“Whatever you say.” He leans his forearms on the bar and looks at me. “My number’s the same,” Colton murmurs while the bartender puts my drink on the bar.
Walking back to my friends, I can feel Colton’s eyes on me—the same way I always could. This time it makes me want to walk faster, get out of his line of sight.
“Who was that?” Zack asks as soon as I sit next to him. Willow and Tripp are having their own conversation. I take a drink and the bubbles dance on my tongue, balanced by the comfortable bitterness of the Aperol. “An old friend.”
“One you don’t play with anymore?” Zack asks, leaning in closer. His eyes are intense, the warm light of the bar showing off their depth—like the bluest of waters you picture in your mind.
“I’ve got someone else to play with.” I put my fingers on the front of his shirt and gently tug him toward me until his nose is right in front of mine.
It might be the drinks, the run-in with Colton, or the smirk that won’t leave Zack’s face whenever I look at him, but there’s no air to breathe. My lungs are tight. I need a break.
“I’m going to the restroom,” I say, on my way before the words are out of my mouth.
On my way to the hallway, I try to catch my breath and am thankful we’re in the VIP area. Since I’m not with any of my counterparts, no one stops me—they don’t know who I am. Thank god.
The hallway is long and dimly lit, except for lights that line the floor and the tops of the ceilings on each side of where the wall meets. Luckily, there’s no one down here standing around—in the VIP area there is never a line for the restroom, which is a definite perk.