THE ONE WHO NOTICED

EIGHT

Two months.

It's been two months since that first date, and I still can't believe this is real.

I'm sitting on my front step with Magz at my feet, scrolling through my messages with Jayden. There are hundreds of them now. Late-night conversations, random check-ins during the day, stupid memes he sends me that actually make me laugh.

Things have been good. But I'm always unsettled. Most of the time, I feel like it's too good for me. Like the shoe's about to drop. I tell myself to quit thinking like that, but that little voice just loves to attack.

He's been over to my place a handful of times. Met Magz, who of course loved him immediately—traitor. We've gone out to eat more times than I can count. Watched movies here on my couch. Spent hours just talking in his Jeep parked outside my apartment because neither of us wanted the night to end.

But I've never been to his place. Every time I hint at it, he changes the subject or says his place is a mess. And work—he still barely talks about it. Just "busy" or "had something come up."

And there have been times where he's gone quiet for a day or two. Times he's had to reschedule last minute. No real explanation, just a "sorry, something came up" text. And each time, that familiar panic creeps back in, that voice telling me he's losing interest, that I'm not enough.

But then he always comes back. Shows up at my door. Texts me like nothing happened. And I let it go because I don't want to be that girl. The one who's too needy, too clingy, too much.

So I push it down with everything else.

My phone buzzes.

Hey gorgeous. You free tonight?

I smile before I can stop myself.

Yeah. Why?

Wanna take you somewhere fancy. Wear something real nice. I'll pick you up at 7.

My heart does that thing again. Somewhere fancy? He's never taken me somewhere that required me to dress up before.

Somewhere fancy? What's the occasion?

Do I need an occasion to take my girl out?

My girl.

He's never called me that before.

I stare at the words, reading them over and over.

Okay. I'll be ready.

Good. Can't wait to see you.

I look down at Magz. "I need to find something to wear."

She just stares at me, completely unhelpful.

---

It's 8 pm.

I'm sitting on my couch, dressed in the nicest thing I own—a simple black dress I haven't worn in years—and he's not here.

I check my phone again. No messages. No missed calls.

I texted him at 7:15. You on your way?

Nothing.

That familiar panic starts creeping in. Maybe something came up. Maybe he forgot. Maybe he changed his mind. Maybe—

My phone buzzes, and I grab it so fast I almost drop it.

Sorry, had something I had to handle. I'm here.

That's it. No real explanation. Just "something."

I stare at the message, that uneasy feeling settling in my stomach. But I push it down. He's here. That's what matters.

I grab my bag and head downstairs.

When I get outside, he's leaning against his Jeep, and damn, he looks good. Black dress shirt, sleeves rolled up, dark jeans, those biker boots. His hair perfectly messy like always.

When he sees me, his whole face changes. "Damn, Kasin. You look..."

"Late?" I can't help the edge in my voice.

He winces. "I know. I'm sorry. Something came up, and I couldn't get away."

"What came up?"

"Just... work stuff. But I'm here now." He walks over and takes my hand. "And you look absolutely beautiful."

I want to stay mad, but the way he's looking at me makes it hard. "Fine. But next time, at least text me earlier."

"Deal." He opens the door for me.

As I climb in, I notice tattoos creeping down his upper arms where his sleeves are rolled up. Dark ink that I've never noticed before. I've seen him in short sleeves, but I guess I never really looked close enough.

"You have tattoos?"

He glances down at his arms as he gets in the driver's seat. "Yeah. You never noticed?"

"I guess not."

"You wanna know what they are?"

I nod, and he holds out his arm. The ink is intricate—some kind of design that wraps around his bicep and continues up under his sleeve.

"I got some more." That smirk. "Maybe I'll show you the rest sometime."

My face heats up at the implication of what "the rest" means.

He laughs and starts driving. "There's that blush I love."

We drive for about twenty minutes before pulling up to this restaurant I've never been to. It's nicer than anywhere we've gone before—dim lighting, candles on the tables, the kind of place that makes me feel out of place.

As we walk in, I notice something strange. People look at him. Not just casual glances, but recognition. Like they know him.

The hostess smiles a little too warmly. "Right this way."

We're seated in a corner booth, and as we settle in, I catch two of the waitresses watching us. Watching me, specifically. One whispers something to the other, and they both look over.

I shift uncomfortably in my seat.

"You okay?" Jayden asks, reaching across the table for my hand.

"Yeah, I just... do you come here a lot?"

"I've been here a few times. Why?"

"People seem to know you."

He shrugs. "Small town. People know people."

But it doesn't feel like that. It feels like something else. The way those girls are looking at me—it's not curiosity. It's something closer to judgment. Or maybe... jealousy?

I'm being paranoid. I have to be.

"Hey." He squeezes my hand, pulling my attention back to him. "You're overthinking again. Just be here with me, alright?"

I meet his eyes, and that genuine look is there again. The one that always makes me feel like I'm the only person in the room.

"Okay," I say quietly.

"Good." He smiles. "Now let's eat. I'm starving."

Dinner is actually really good. The food, the conversation, the way he keeps finding excuses to touch my hand across the table. And the wine helps. I'm not much of a drinker, so by the second glass, I'm feeling warm and relaxed in a way I haven't in a long time.

The uncomfortable feeling from earlier fades. Those girls don't matter. The weird vibe doesn't matter. He's here with me. He called me his girl.

"You're smiling," he says, watching me.

"I'm having a good time."

"Good. That's all I want." He leans back, that smirk playing on his lips. "You're a little tipsy, aren't you?"

"Maybe a little."

"It's cute. You're more relaxed."

"I'm always relaxed."

"You're always in your head. There's a difference."

He's not wrong.

"Well, don't get too wine heavy," he says, his voice lower. "I wanna kiss you later, and I don't want your mind to be numb. I want you to wanna kiss me back. I want you to know I'm all in with you. You're my girlfriend, and I'm going nuts at this point thinking about your lips."

I freeze, my glass halfway to my mouth. My heart is pounding so hard I can hear it.

"What?" It comes out barely a whisper.

"You heard me." He leans forward, his eyes locked on mine. "I'm all in, Kasin. I thought that was obvious by now, but maybe I need to say it out loud. You're my girlfriend. This is real. And I've been wanting to kiss you for weeks now."

I can't breathe. Can't think. All I can do is stare at him.

"Say something," he says, and for the first time, he looks almost nervous.

"I—I want that too."

That smirk returns, but there's something softer in it this time. "Good. Then finish your dinner so I can take you somewhere and finally do something about it."

I can barely taste the rest of my food, but I manage to finish. My whole body feels like it's buzzing, and I'm not sure if it's the wine or him or both.

When we're done, he stands and takes my hand. I notice he doesn't stop to pay—doesn't pull out his wallet or signal for the check. It registers somewhere in the back of my mind, but then his other hand is on my back, warm and steady, guiding me out of the restaurant, and the thought slips away.

The night air hits me as we step outside, and I take a breath, trying to calm my racing heart.

But before I can even process what's happening, he's turned me around, my back against the Jeep, and his hands are on either side of my face.

"I've been waiting too long for this," he says, his voice low.

And then he kisses me.

It's not soft or tentative. It's passionate and deep and everything I didn't know I needed. His lips are warm, and he tastes faintly of wine. One hand moves to the back of my neck, pulling me closer, and I melt into him completely.

When he finally pulls back, I'm breathless.

"Damn," he says, his forehead resting against mine. "I should've done that weeks ago."

I can't form words. I just nod.

He grins. "Come on. Let's get you home before I can't stop myself.