10 Things Before I Do

Chapter 2 — She Knows Us

We never made plans. Not real ones, anyway. And this particular night was the same.

"Wanna go drinking?"

My phone lit up with Jasper’s text. He dropped it out of nowhere, like it wasn’t already 9:00 PM on a Saturday.

"Heck yeah," I replied without thinking.

The truth was, I was already in my pajamas, teeth brushed, halfway through my nightly skincare routine. Tonight was supposed to be for catching up on my anime watchlist, the one that had been piling up since forever. But I couldn’t just say no to Jasper. I never could.

Before I could toss my phone aside, it rang. Jasper’s name flashed across the screen.

"Really? Right in the middle of my sacred nightly routine?" I said when I answered, half a snort, half a complaint.

He laughed, the kind of warm, amused sound that never failed to pull me in.

"Where are you?" he asked.

"Don’t you know how to wait? I’ll be with you sooner than you think."

"You’re too much of a slow-poke. I don’t trust your OTWs," he shot back. Then, without giving me room to argue, he told me he was at Agave—the Mexican bar and restaurant near my office—and that he’d wait.

Somehow, that made me… excited. Not because of the prospect of drinking, but because he was waiting for me.

I swapped my pajamas for jeans, tugged on the least-wrinkled shirt I could find, tied my shoes with the urgency of someone pretending they hadn’t just mentally committed to an early night. I grabbed my glasses and cigarettes from the nightstand, slid them on, and felt the small pinch behind my ears. Bag slung over my shoulder, I booked a cab and tried not to think too hard about why I always said yes so quickly.

*****

BGC hit me like a rush the moment I stepped out of the cab—Saturday night energy in full, unapologetic swing.

The streets pulsed with motion: college kids in coordinated fits, office workers halfway into their second rounds, couples holding hands between restaurant stops. Music leaked from open storefronts, mingling with laughter that bounced off glass and steel. The air carried a mix of grilled meat from nearby stalls and faint perfume trailing behind groups of women in heels.

My phone buzzed again.

"Where are you?"

"You’re taking forever."

"Don’t bother coming. I’ve already started."

"On my third beer."

"You’re missing history."

I smirked. Classic Jasper—dramatic, impatient, and about 40% full of it. I replied with a middle-finger emoji and asked the driver—half-joking—if we could bend traffic laws just a little.

Agave was just as Jasper described it: a low-lit Mexican resto-bar with al fresco seating and signage that looked intentionally ironic. Outside, every table seemed alive with noise—platters of sizzling fajitas, the warm glow of string bulbs, bursts of laughter that didn’t bother to stay inside. Waitstaff wove between them like dancers, balancing trays and flirting with regulars. The music thumped from overhead speakers—recognizable hits slowed down just enough to feel deliberate.

And there he was—Jasper—seated at a table outside, far enough from the crowd to feel private. No drinks in sight, his phone flipped upside down like it had personally offended him.

I grinned as I walked over. "Is this seat taken?"

He looked up, smiling lazy and wide. "You idiot."

"You said you started drinking already," I said, pulling out a chair. "Where’s your third beer?"

Jasper leaned back in his chair, smirking like he’d won something just by getting me here. "It’s boring to drink alone," he said.

I rolled my eyes and flagged down a server. "Two beers—" I glanced at him. "Or do you want something fancy?"

"Beer’s fine. And get whatever you want. My treat."

The server disappeared into the hum of the al fresco crowd.

I reached into my bag, pulled out my lighter and a cigarette, leaning sideways, so the smoke would drift away from the nearest table. Jasper gave me that look—the same one he always gave when he caught me smoking.

"Still at it, huh?"

"Still pretending you don’t do worse things?" I shot back, the filter brushing my lips as I flicked the lighter.

Before I could take the first drag, a server reappeared like they’d been summoned. "Ma’am, sorry po—no smoking within the premises. Designated area’s across the street."

I froze mid-flick, muttered, "Right, my bad," and slid the cigarette back into the pack.

Jasper’s grin widened. "Busted."

"Shut up," I said, but the laugh broke through anyway.

The drinks arrived—cold beer mugs sweating in the BGC night air. We clinked them, and for a while, we just sat there, letting the background noise fill the space: the steady thump from the speakers, laughter from the next table over, the hiss of meat hitting hot plates.

*****

"You know, I never thought you’d be back in my life again," Jasper said, leaning back like the thought had been sitting with him awhile. "When I transferred schools, I thought it’d be over for us."

"Yeah, you had your own friends there and got busy with table tennis," I said, quieter than I meant to.

"And with my introvert ass, I just couldn’t keep up with you."

He laughed suddenly, shaking his head. "Introvert, my ass. You were always at parties."

I smirked, running my thumb along the rim of my bottle. "And you weren’t? Mr. Student Athlete, Mr. Perfect Grades? Don’t act like you didn’t get invited."

"Invited, sure. But I sometimes refused."

"Show-off," I muttered, tugging absently at my earlobe—a habit I hadn’t outgrown.

For a moment, we both went quiet, the music filling in the space between us. I caught myself studying him: still with that polished, put-together air, even when slouched in a chair at a noisy bar. And me—still the one sneaking smokes in the wrong places, still chasing distractions. Total opposites.

But here we were.

*****

He took another sip of his beer, savoring it like he always did, slowly and deliberately. Then his eyes flicked back at me, narrowing just slightly.

"I keep telling you to stop smoking if you want to live long enough," he said, his voice casual but edged with the kind of seriousness he tried to hide behind a grin.

I leaned back, rolling the unlit cigarette between my fingers like it was part of me. "I’m here for a good time, not for a long time," I said, blowing out a breath even without smoke.

"Yeah, you keep saying that," he muttered, shaking his head. "You’ve been smoking since high school, Charlie. Since we were idiots sneaking around with a lighter like it was contraband."

I laughed. "Remember when we used to sneak behind the school bathrooms to smoke in between classes?"

"You mean you smoked, and I coughed through half a stick?" he shot back, eyebrow raised.

"Details," I smirked.

He leaned forward, elbows on the table, the glow of the string lights catching in his eyes. "Not details. I hated it then. I hate it now. You always smell like smoke after, and I still can’t figure out why you’d want to keep doing that to yourself."

His words hung there longer than I expected. It wasn’t a lecture—Jasper wasn’t the lecturing type—but there was something in his tone that pressed heavier than the usual teasing.

I tapped the cigarette against the table, then tucked it back into the pack. "It’s a bad habit. But it’s my bad habit."

"Yeah," he said softly, almost like he wasn’t talking about the cigarette anymore. Then, just as quickly, he grinned again. "One of these days, though, I’m gonna win. You’ll quit, and I’ll rub it in your face forever."

"Keep dreaming," I muttered.

That’s when his phone lit up, the screen flashing across the table. Phoebe.

Jasper didn’t hesitate. He angled his phone toward me, snapped a picture before I could react, and sent it off. I caught a glimpse of the caption before the screen dimmed again: with Charlie.

I rolled my eyes. "Really? That’s the photo you sent her?"

He just shrugged, lifting his mug. "She’ll get it."

The reply never came. Jasper didn’t even check twice—just took another sip of beer, as calm as ever. "She’s probably asleep already," he said after a beat. "She sleeps early when she knows I’m drinking with you."

I blinked at him. "That’s… oddly specific."

He smirked, tipping his glass in my direction. "It’s trust. She knows we’re good. She knows us."