The days after the office incident were a slow burn. We moved around each other like magnets fighting polarity—close enough to feel the pull, far enough to keep from snapping together. He buried himself in work. I buried myself in pretending I wasn’t soaked every time he walked into a room.
But the house was too quiet, the air too thick. Something had to give.
It gave on a Thursday night.
I’d been out with friends—drinks, dancing, too many shots of tequila that left me loose and buzzing. I came home just after midnight, heels in hand, dress clinging to my skin from the summer heat. The house was dark except for the low light in the kitchen. Alex was there, leaning against the island in gray sweatpants and a black T-shirt, drinking water from a bottle. His hair was messed up like he’d be
