Dean snorts. “So, you do know her.”
I don’t answer. I shouldn’t have said anything at all.
“I work with her,” I say finally. It’s the safest truth I can offer.
That earns me a look.
“And?” Dean presses.
“And nothing,” I reply. “Drop it.”
They exchange another glance, but thankfully, they do.
I turn back to my drink, forcing my attention downward, counting the seconds until this feels like less of a mistake. The bar is loud, bodies packed too close together, conversations overlapping making it hard to think. I should’ve gone home. I knew that before I walked in.
Across the room, Melissa shifts on her stool, crossing one leg over the other. The movement is small, unconscious. I catch it anyway. It exposes her leg. Toned. Long.
I don’t remember the last time I watched someone like this—without purpose, without intent. It feels invasive, even though I haven’t moved an inch.
She reaches for her glass, murmurs a comment that makes her friend laugh hard enough to cover her mouth. There’s an ease between them that makes my chest tighten unexpectedly.
I don’t know why.
That’s the problem.
She glances around the room then, eyes scanning briefly, like she senses my attention.
I freeze, instinct screaming at me to look away.
I don’t.
Our gazes meet for half a second.
Not long enough to be anything. Not long enough to mean something.
But long enough that my pulse kicks hard against my ribs.
Her brows draw together slightly as recognition strikes. She holds my eyes for a beat before moving her attention back to her friend, the moment gone.
I exhale slowly.
Good.
That’s how this should stay.
“You good?” Sawyer asks, nudging my shoulder.
“Yeah,” I lie. “Just tired.”
I drain the rest of my drink and set the glass down harder than necessary. “I’m heading out.”
Dean groans. “Already?”
“Early morning,” I say, even though it’s not true. Not exactly.
I don’t give them time to argue. I grab my jacket and weave my way toward the exit, careful not to look back again. I don’t trust myself to keep it neutral if I do.
Outside, the cool night air hits me like a reset button. I inhale deeply, letting it clear the noise from my head. The city hums around me, distant and steady—a reminder that life exists beyond hospital walls and barrooms and whatever that was inside.