Ethan
I don't sleep after he leaves. I lie in bed replaying my own reaction, hating how transparent it must have looked, hating that I let something as small as a coffee date c***k the careful composure I've been trying to maintain since the kiss. I told myself I wanted distance too. I told myself I meant it when I agreed it can't happen again. I clearly didn't mean any of it, not really, and now he knows that, and I don't know how to walk that back.
We don't talk about it the next morning. We don't talk about much of anything, actually, both of us moving around the suite with the same careful, silent choreography from before, except now there's an edge to it that wasn't there a week ago, something sharper underneath the politeness.
It doesn't take long to snap.
Three days later, I get
