Chapter 3

Present Day

Maya's POV

They were kissing in public.

It wouldn't be an issue if they were just kissing. People kissed in public all the time. I had seen worse at parties, on campus, even in the middle of the street.

But this wasn't just kissing.

He was all over her.

His fingers were tangled in her hair, pulling her closer whenever she tried to move away, while his other hand was firmly on her ass. She had her arms around his neck, and at one point, he nearly lifted her completely off the ground, her legs coming up as she clung to him.

I stared for a second longer than I should have.

Then I looked away.

There was something almost embarrassing about watching them. Not because of what they were doing, but because I knew exactly who he was.

Dean.

Ethan's older brother.

The same person who had spent years being an irritating presence in the background of my life. The boy I had been inexplicably drawn to when I was younger. The guy I had spent years trying not to look at for too long because there was always something about him that made me nervous.

And now he was making out with a woman in broad daylight as though the rest of the world didn't exist.

I forced my eyes back to my plate.

Except I could still feel him looking at me.

I glanced up.

Dean was still staring.

Directly into my eyes.

My fork stopped halfway to my mouth.

For a moment, neither of us looked away.

There was no confusion in his expression. He knew I was watching. He knew I had caught him looking at me.

And somehow, that made everything worse.

I shook my head and quietly turned back to my food.

Whatever.

I wasn't going to play whatever strange game he thought we were playing.

I stabbed my fork into a piece of food and concentrated on chewing. I could feel heat creeping up my neck, and I silently prayed Ethan wouldn't notice.

He didn't.

Of course he didn't.

Ethan had scarfed his food down with a feral look in his eyes. His plate was already nearly empty while mine still had most of its food sitting untouched.

I had always been a slow eater. Ethan used to joke that I could turn a ten-minute meal into an hour if nobody stopped me.

I took another bite, deliberately slowly.

Maybe if I acted normal, I'd eventually feel normal.

I glanced toward the window again.

Dean was no longer looking at me.

Good.

I immediately looked away before he could catch me checking.

I hated that I had done that.

I hated even more that my heart had skipped when I thought he might still be watching.

Ethan picked up his cup of water and took a long drink. He set it back down with a satisfied sigh.

“How's the leak?” he asked. “Did they fix it?”

I blinked.

For a second, I had completely forgotten about the leaking pipe in our apartment.

“Yeah,” I said, swallowing my food. “Maintenance came immediately I called. They said there was a problem with the pipes.”

“There's always a problem with the pipes,” he sighed.

I smiled faintly.

He wasn't wrong.

Since we'd moved into the apartment, something had always seemed to be going wrong. A light would stop working, the kitchen sink would clog, the heater would suddenly decide it had had enough of life.

Ethan leaned back in the booth and shook his head.

“Remember when we first moved in and the shower literally burst? That was hell.”

I remember.

Very clearly.

Ethan had been in the bathroom when it happened. One minute, everything had been perfectly fine.

Then there had been a loud bang.

I had heard him scream from the other side of the apartment.

Not yell.

Not call for help.

Scream.

I had practically thrown myself out of my chair and rushed toward the bathroom, convinced something terrible had happened.

Instead, I found Ethan standing underneath a shower that had apparently decided to declare war on him.

He had been doused in hot and cold water simultaneously, his hair plastered to his forehead and his clothes completely soaked.

It was not his best moment.

I had tried to help.

I really had.

But the second I saw his expression, I burst out laughing.

He hadn't found it funny.

At all.

“You laughed at me,” Ethan said, as though he could read my mind.

“I did not.”

“You absolutely did.”

“I was concerned.”

“You were laughing.”

“I was concerned while laughing.”

“That doesn't count.”

I bit back another smile.

“Maybe you shouldn't have screamed like someone was murdering you.”

His eyes narrowed.

“I was being attacked.”

“By a shower?”

“It was aggressive.”

That finally made me laugh.

Ethan shook his head and reached for his water again.

“You're a terrible friend.”

“You've known that for years.”

“Unfortunately.”

He took another drink, and for a few seconds, everything felt normal again.

This was the kind of conversation we'd had hundreds of times.

Nothing complicated.

Nothing that required me to think too much.

Just Ethan being Ethan.

I looked down at my plate and pushed a piece of food around with my fork.

Then, despite myself, my eyes drifted toward the window again.

Dean was still there.

And this time, he was looking straight at me.

My stomach tightened.

I immediately looked away.

Maybe I was imagining things.

Maybe I was making something out of nothing.

After all, Dean had a girlfriend.

Or whatever she was.

And I had no reason to care.

None.

So why did it feel like he was doing this deliberately?

Why had he looked at me while kissing her?

And why, after all these years, did one look from him still have the ability to make me forget what I was doing?

I was about to take another bite when someone stopped beside our table.

I looked up.

Dean.

He gave Ethan a quick nod before holding out his fist.

Ethan grinned and bumped it with his own.

“What's up?”

Dean glanced between us, then shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans.

“Can I crash at your place for a while?”