A milk steamer screeches and pulls my eyes toward the front, just as Lauren takes her coffee, then turns. Our eyes meet.

I give her a polite nod and, without waiting for her to acknowledge me, refocus on Bea. A moment later, the door swings shut, and Bea steals a quick glance over her shoulder at Lauren’s retreating form. “Who was that?”

I sip my tea. “My ex.”

She lets out a long whistle. “I only saw the back of her, but wow. You downgraded.”

“Stop it. You’re beautiful.”

A blush warms her cheeks. “I wasn’t fishing for a compliment.”

“I know that. And I wasn’t being disingenuous. You are.”

Craning her head to the side, Bea groans. “Shit. I messed something up when I rubbernecked. Can you just press right there—” She points to the offending spot.

I slide my thumb carefully along the knotted muscles at the base of her skull, then down to her shoulder. Too quickly, my mind travels a dangerous road. How little it would take to cup her neck, angle her mouth, and meet it with mine for no reason other than the sheer pleasure of it.

Bea sighs as I rub the taught muscles of her neck. I remind myself of their anatomical names, desperate to check my body’s longings, my thoughts’ hopeless direction.

Splenius capitis. Semispinalis capitis. Longissimus capitis.

“Jamie,” she says quietly. “That feels so good.”

Her eyes fall shut, allowing me to look at her without giving everything away. “I’m glad.”

She smiles dreamily. “Be careful. Keep it up and your fake girlfriend is going to demand real neck massages every time we hang out. You might get more than you bargained for in this fauxmance.”

I watch Bea as she melts under my touch. As her head grows heavy. As I push aside the disconcerting thought that “more than I bargained for” might be exactly what I want.

“Did you and the ex end on good terms?” she asks.

“Not really. She connected with my father and his practice through me, and when he offered her a place on his team, he told her he didn’t work with family. She chose the practice over me.”

“Jesus,” Bea says. “That’s shit.”

“It is and it isn’t. I felt used, but honestly she’s incredibly capable, and she would have gotten that spot with my father whether or not she’d met him through me. It’s just regrettable that it had to happen like that.”

I don’t tell her that when Lauren did that, it reinforced the feeling I’d spent my whole childhood battling, that once again, no matter how hard I tried and excelled, I wasn’t enough. It’s too raw, too exposing. Even though some part of me aches to entrust it to her.