I looked at Blake again. He wasn’t even watching the movie. His head was tilted slightly, his gaze unfocused, fingers twitching against his biceps like he was lost in thought.

I shouldn’t care. I shouldn’t be sitting here, distracted by the sight of him, by the way he looked under the shifting glow of the film, by the way his stupid hoodie fit, by the way his stupid face looked, by⁠—

I shook my head, forcing my gaze back to the screen.

Thirty seconds passed.

Then some more.

I lasted maybe a minute before I glanced back.

Blake had moved.

He was sitting now, his arms resting on his knees, his gaze flickering to the screen and then away again. Something about his posture made my chest tighten.

He looked…distant, as if he wasn’t really here at all.

I swallowed.

Jamal suddenly turned his head, and I knew the exact moment he caught me staring because his lips curved into an annoyingly smug smirk.

I jerked my eyes away, but it was too late.

My phone buzzed.

My face burned.

Before I could respond, he made a beeline toward Tiffany’s car, his hoodie pulled up against the cold.

“What in the name of—?” Tiffany glared as he knocked against her window. She rolled it down, and Jamal leaned in with a lazy grin. “No,” she snapped.

“Tiff. My dearest. My favorite.”

I choked on my soda.

Tiffany narrowed her eyes. “What do you want?”

“Your company.”

She scoffed. “Oh, please.”

Jamal pressed a hand to his chest. “That hurt. But no, really, I need you to settle something for me.”

“What.”

“Come with me to concessions. I need a tiebreaker.”

Tiffany squinted at him, clearly skeptical, but Jamal was persistent. Eventually, she rolled her eyes, unbuckled, and shoved open the door. “This better not be some dumb argument about which Sour Patch flavor is superior.”

“It is.”

“I swear to⁠—”

Their voices trailed off as they wandered toward the concessions stand, leaving me alone in the car, my pulse hammering at the realization of what just happened.

Jamal had orchestrated that for me.

I wasn’t sure whether I wanted to kill him or hug him.

I took a slow breath, glancing back toward the truck.

Blake was still sitting there, alone now, his fingers drumming lightly against his knee.

Grabbing my soda, I climbed out of the car.

The cold air hit me instantly, slipping under my hoodie, biting at my skin. I ignored it, taking careful steps across the pavement, my heart a mess in my chest, every nerve in my body hyper-aware of what I was doing.

I stopped beside the truck. “Mind if I sit with you?”

“Hey, B.” Blake shifted slightly to make room beside him.

I smiled, then climbed up and slid onto the hood next to him, close enough that our knees touched.

For a second, neither of us said anything.