“Nothing exciting in regard to work,” he grumbles, taking a swig of his beer. “The club is doing a huge potluck next weekend. You should come.” He is a member of a motorcycle club, The Dirty Henchmen, and has been for as long as I’ve known him. Despite the stereotypes that go along with bikers, they’re a bunch of really fucking nice, cool guys. I’ve been to several of their events and have gone on dozens of rides with them since I’ve moved to Texas.

“Yeah, I can probably do that. Thanks for the invite, man.”

We finish dinner and hang out for a bit, before I eventually head out. My house is about a twenty-minute drive from Molly’s and when I get home, I shower quickly before climbing into bed. I open Instagram, scrolling through my feed, trying to avoid doing what I really want to do. The urge is too loud, though, and before I know it, I’m typing Cash DeMarco into the search bar, like I’ve done many times before.

It’s not healthy, and I’ve tried like hell to avoid it for the last few months, which is how I must’ve missed him moving here, but I can’t help it. The pull to him is too strong, even after all these years. I easily find his profile, scrolling through the pictures I’ve missed since last stalking his profile. There are a few pictures from his graduation, packing up his house, his road trip here, and even a picture from this morning of him at the University pool.

It still blows my mind that he’s here.

I know he had a boyfriend for a long time. His fucking roommate, Xander. I wonder if he came with him or what happened there. Looking at the pictures of them together stung every time. But like the masochist I am, I looked at each and every one. I have no right being hurt or angry by his dating choices. I left.

Locking my phone and setting it on the nightstand, plugged into the charger, I stare up at the ceiling, replaying today in my mind. He looks ridiculously good. You can tell he’s older, his baby face not as prominent. His dark hair is thick and perfectly styled, and he has more facial hair than he ever did back then. It dusts over his sharp jaw, around his full lips, and covers his protruding Adam’s apple.

He dresses differently now too; although, I’m sure that’s simply because he was at work. He was wearing tight black slacks that still won’t leave my mind. They hugged his thick thighs and round ass perfectly, along with a white button-down shirt, no tie. I also noticed he still dons that gold ring on his finger.

He’s the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen.

And he used to be mine. Well, sort of.