Page 10 of Everything But Mine

“Eat a little first.” I take the lead, stuffing food into my mouth while throwing glances her way. She’s moving food around her plating, not eating. “Not hungry?”

“Not really.” She bites her lips, and her forearms prickle with goose bumps. She’s lying.

Amanda leans in and stretches her arm to cup my cheek. I tilt my head to face her without resistance. As she reaches for me with her other hand, there’s a slight tremble to it. She swipes her thumb against the corner of my mouth, gathering the sauce. She sucks her thumb before cradling my face again with both hands. These forbidden touches. In the back of my mind, memories buzz with logical reminders of why we never allow them. But tonight… Maybe, tonight, she’s allowed to have something.

“Amanda, will you tell me?”

Her eyes narrow at the corners, and their naturally vibrant green is dimmed in the low lighting. I never push her like this. Ever. But tonight, I won’t sleep until I know what has put tears in her eyes.

“You can’t lose your shit.”

“That bad, huh?”

She doesn’t nod, just holding my gaze, waiting for something I’m failing to give her. “I mean it,” she adds.

“We can wait if you’re tired.”

“You want to hear. Don’t backtrack,” she says, her tone tight.

“Alright.” I go back to eating, forcing down a bite. She’s still pushing food around, and her chin wrinkles. Finally, she drops her utensils and exhales.

I shift sideways on the stool, angling toward her. I let my eyes linger on Amanda, the profile of the curve of her nose, proud and elegant, the auburn sweep of her hair, and the glint of burgundy woven through it. How bad is it if she’s in my apartment?

“It’s going to be okay,” I say, watching her carefully. “You have a plan. You made it this afternoon. I’m sure it was a shock, but he’ll turn around. He’s just an idiot.”

He’s more than an idiot. He’s an ass. All wrong for her. He kisses her when I look, but doesn’t otherwise. I don’t look away, but I’ve never challenged him on it. Come morning, if her phone isn’t buzzing with nonstop apologies, I fucking will.

Her laugh startles me—sharp, bitter, wounded. Not hers.

She turns to me, resignation swirling in her eyes. Our knees touch, her warmth pressing against these sharper angles of mine, soft, where I’m all edges.

“Yeah… That plan’s no good now,” she murmurs.

I stay silent, waiting.

She runs her fingers through her hair, pushing strands back, streaks of purple, even in the low light, catching and glimmering. My fingers twitch, itching with the need to thread through them, to feel the texture between my fingers, against my palm, under my lips. I bite my tongue instead.

Her hands keep moving, sliding up to cover her face until she’s leaning forward, pressing her forehead against her knees. With the movements, her hair billows around her head, cascading until it brushes against my toes. A slow wave of heat burns low in my spine, thickly crawling upward.

I draw a tight breath when I lean in, my face burying in the scent of her hibiscus shampoo. I inhale deeply. I can’t stop myself. She’s used it for so long that I remember breathing it in without all these cautionary signs between us.

She lifts her head, pulling away so no skin touches. Amanda’s words leave her mouth, making the same sound a landmine does as it explodes.

“He’s been cheating.”

It takes a second for the words to really sink in. When they do, their weight causes ripples in my blood, making me nauseous. I sit back, and just this inch of distance makes the space colder.

“I’m sorry—” I force saliva past my throat. “Did you say he’s been cheating?”

She nods, then repeats, “He’s been cheating.”

Disbelief. Anger. Guilt. Joy. She’s going to dump his ass so fucking hard. Guilt. I should’ve known. I should’ve seen it.

Her face is right there, close enough that I smell the salt in the tears clumping her damp lashes. This is my failure. Even more so because I can’t stand the way my heartbeat spikes up with delight. She’s waiting for me to say something. I shift, and our knees touch. She looks tired, defeated. I fist the cotton of my sweats to keep my hands away from her.

“For how long?” I ask, before I tell her she’s better off without him.

She scoffs, the sound a challenge. “What difference does it fucking make, Eric?”