Blake let out a breath that was almost a laugh. “Yeah,” he said. “I was with him. Since when does he talk to Tiffany?”

I side-eyed him. “What?”

“He told me they’ve been talking.”

“That doesn’t make sense. Wait, do you think… Do you think they like each other?”

Blake choked on a laugh. “Jamal and Tiffany? No.”

I crossed my arms. “Why not? Jamal’s… He’s nice enough, right? I mean, he’s… I don’t know. Funny. Not bad looking.”

“Tiffany would eat him alive.”

“Blake?”

“Yeah?”

“You smell like sweat.”

Blake snorted, finally shooting me a glance. “Thanks, B.”

I bit the inside of my cheek as I watched him.

There were so many things I wanted to ask, things I’ve been dying to understand.

Why did you ask me to dance for you?

Why did you let me dance on you?

Why do you pull me in, only to keep me at arm’s length?

Why do you always look at me like I’m something you can’t have, yet something you desperately want anyway?

What are you waiting for? A signal, a sign?

What do you want from me? Something real or just the idea of me?

Do you ever wonder if I’m waiting for the same thing?

If I would’ve been a braver girl, I would’ve asked these questions. But I wasn’t brave. I was terrified—terrified that if I asked, if I pressed too hard, I’d push him away for good. That whatever fragile balance we had would shatter, and he’d leave me with nothing but memories and regrets.

So instead, I did the only thing I knew how to do.

I got under his skin.

I turned my head toward the window, feigning indifference, keeping my voice light—just a casual afterthought.

“Some guy flirted with me today.”

I didn’t look at him, but I could feel his entire body go still, the air in the car shifting, thickening.

“Yeah?” His voice was flat.

I nodded, tracing my finger along the hem of my hoodie. “Mm-hmm,” I lied. “Outside the studio. Some guy walked up and asked if I needed a ride home.”

“Well, you didn’t take it.”

It wasn’t a question. It was a statement. A fact.

“No. I told him my ride was already coming.”

Silence stretched between us, heavy, unspoken things lingering in the space where words should have been. I just wanted to see if I could pull something out of him—some crack in the armor, some flash of emotion that he couldn’t suppress.

Blake exhaled slowly, his knuckles white against the wheel. “Who was he?”

I shrugged. “Some guy. Older. Maybe nineteen? He had nice eyes, though.”

Blake’s jaw clenched, and his shoulders stiffened as he changed lanes a little too sharply.