This was so stupid… But I wasn’t just drunk—I was desperate. And full of something sharp and aching, something that had been festering since the moment he showed up at that party.

Blake’s door was cracked open. The light was on.

He sat on the edge of his bed, one leg bent, the other stretched out, fingers absently playing with something on his wrist.

A pink scrunchie. My scrunchie.

Had that been there earlier?

Had he been wearing it all night?

His shirt was slightly wrinkled, his flannel tossed onto the chair in the corner. His buzzed hair still looked wrong, and it made me angry all over again.

Blake looked up.

And now here I was.

Standing in his bedroom doorway at one in the morning, still in my stupid pink halter top, my silver hoops dangling against my neck, my mascara slightly smudged from sweat and alcohol and the weight of everything I didn’t want to name.

I stepped inside without an invitation, shutting the door behind me. Blake let out a slow, controlled sigh, watching me like I was a grenade someone had just tossed at his feet.

“Let me ask you something,” I managed, swallowing down the nerves clawing up my throat.

He ran a hand over his jaw, as if he already knew this wasn’t going to end well. “You’re drunk, B. And it’s late. Go to bed, yeah? You need to sleep it off.”

“I don’t want to sleep,” I said, stepping further inside. “I want you to answer me.”

Blake gave me a look that screamed he’d rather be doing anything else. “Is this about the party? Because if you’re about to yell at me for pulling that guy off you, save it. You didn’t want him touching you either.”

Before I could think about how ridiculous I sounded—I blurted out, “Why don’t you ever look at girls?”

Blake tensed, his fingers still wrapped around the scrunchie. His head tilted slightly, like he wasn’t sure he’d heard me right.

“You never look at girls.” I crossed my arms, swaying slightly on my feet. “You never talk about them. Ever.”

He ran a hand through his freshly buzzed hair, his eyes unreadable. “So?” he asked, his voice flat.

“The girls at school talk about it, you know,” I continued. “How you’ve never had a girlfriend. How you never show interest in anyone.” Lies. They’ve never talked about it.

I just wanted him to say something. Anything.

I wanted him to snap.

Blake exhaled, slow and measured, as if he was already deciding how much patience he was willing to spare me. “And?”

I swallowed, trying to organize my thoughts, but everything felt a little blurry, a little too loose in my brain. “It’s just…odd. It’s odd that you don’t look at girls the way other guys do, and⁠—”