Page 77 of A Solid Guide to Surviving a Situationship

At the far edge of the restaurant, seated near the open view, like he owned the dimming skyline.

Kyle.

One arm resting lazily on the table, body angled toward the city like he wasn’t waiting, but he was.

He always had this way of looking like he wasn’t trying, when in reality, everything about him was calculated.

Wait. I paused, realizing that that was what I was trying to do now.

I sighed.

And as if he felt it, he turned.

Our eyes met.

And then he smiled.

Slow. Familiar. Dangerous.

And just like that, my chest—and somewhere down below—tightened in the most inconvenient way.

Annoyance.

Butterflies.

Erection.

The worst combination known to man.

And the moment I reached the table, Kyle didn’t hesitate and pulled me into a hug like it was the most natural thing in the world—like we hadn’t spent years pretending the other didn’t exist.

But it actually caught me off guard.

It was solid and warm. Familiar in a way my body remembered before my mind could protest.

And then, his scent hit me.

Not the one I used to know. Not the one he always wore before.

This was different. Darker. Warmer. Something deeper that settled low in my chest instead of just passing through. It lingered when he pulled away.

I hated that I noticed.

I hated that I liked it.

“Hi,” he said.

I just forced a small smile.

I sat across from him, smoothing my shirt like I needed something to do with my hands.

And for a second…

Nothing.

Just the quiet clink of cutlery around us, the low hum of people talking that had nothing to do with us, and the weight of everything we weren’t saying.

“Thanks for coming,” Kyle said finally.