Page 119 of A Solid Guide to Surviving a Situationship

He didn’t laugh, but didn’t look surprised either.

He just nodded, like he already knew.

“Yeah,” he said, taking his own sip. “Same.”

I let out a quiet laugh. “Really?”

“My friend is celebrating his birthday,” he said. “New Year baby. I got dragged into this party.”

“You deserve compensation,” I said.

“I could’ve been cozy at home,” he replied.

“Agreed.” I nodded.

I glanced toward the kiddie pool, where someone had just attempted to cannonball into six inches of water.

“Do you think they signed a waiver for that?” I asked.

He followed my gaze, lips pressing together like he was holding a laugh.

“No,” he said. “But I think someone already caught feelings in there.”

I snorted. “That’s worse than catching something else.”

That did it—he laughed.

And for some reason, that felt like a win.

“You know,” he said, glancing at the people around us, “half of them are about to kiss someone they won’t remember.”

“I will be part of that half,” I said, teasingly.

He looked at me then.

No—he really looked at me.

“No, you don’t,” he said.

I held his gaze. “And you know that because…?”

He shrugged, casual.

“You look like someone who remembers too much.”

Something in me stilled.

Then I let out a small laugh, shaking it off. “Wow. You got all that from just one drink?”

“From you,” he said simply.

I didn’t know what to do with that, actually. So I did what I always did: I smiled, deflected, and moved forward.

Was it because I was never good with flirting? Or was it because the trauma had quietly surfaced?

“Okay,” I said, lifting my glass again. “Your turn. Be honest.”

He looked at his drink for a second, like he was deciding how far to go.