I examine the smudge of charcoal on my index finger and absent-mindedly rub it with my thumb. “For real?”

“Yes." Excitement drips from Mom's voice. “I don't remember sending a resume to the Hill Cottage group home, but who cares, right? What matters is that I'll be working again.”

“When do you start?”

“Tomorrow.”

“That’s fast.”

“I know, but the woman whose place I'll take has retired already, and they need me to start as soon as possible."

“Cool. I'm happy for you.”

“Me too, Basti. Well, I've got to run. Too much to do. I'll tell you how it goes tomorrow."

"Please do."

Mom cuts the call. I put my phone on the desk, slam the sketchbook shut, and lean back in the chair, staring at the ceiling instead of getting ready for Brian's birthday party. I wouldn't mind going there with Tara, but she said she'd go to Pasta Maniac after work. Too bad I can read between the lines. What she meant was that she'd rather not go with me.

It's been weeks of awkward, tense silence and dinners on my own. For someone who has a roommate, I sure as hell seem to be living alone. Not that I can blame Tara after I stood her up and apologized in a note. Or sketch. Whatever.

I rise to my feet with a frustrated groan and pad to the closet. Another evening, another party, another failed attempt at convincing myself listening to my father was the right choice.

Regret. Rinse. Repeat.

***

The air in Pasta Maniac is rich with scents of herbs and roast garlic. My stomach reacts with a growl but shrinks instantly, and it's not from hunger— Tara's whispering something in Evans's ear. Her skin glistens in the warm amber light trickling from the lamps that hang above our table. She toys with the thin golden chain she's wearing around her neck and flips her hair over her shoulder, pink lips stretching in a smile.

A smile meant for Drew, who's been acting weird since he took me home when I got drunk. Evans is no saint, and being the star of the Bartley University football team doesn't mean he's never got smashed. I don't think he's ever missed a party,  so what's his fucking deal? Unless it's not what but who. Tara. I crumple a linen napkin in my fist and avert my eyes.

By the time two servers bring our order, my stomach has turned into a giant knot. I grab a fork to try my pasta carbonara but push the dish aside. 

"What's wrong?" Brian asks. "If it's not okay, we can ask them to bring something else."

"Fuck, no. I'm sure it's great. I just got distracted," I say. 

Whatever this is, I need to rein it in. Being the center of everyone's attention is the last thing I want.

My eyes rove over our group. Mac and Annie, Brian's friends, are busy cutting their pizza. Connor is on his phone, surely texting his new girlfriend Sadie, who couldn't come. Brian keeps his arm around Leah's shoulders as they dig into their pasta.

And then there's Evans and Tara by his side. He's telling her something while she's focused on winding strands of noodles around her fork, but then she looks up from her dish.

Her gaze collides with mine, and my heart freezes mid-thump, only to produce a series of spluttering heartbeats.

One side of her lips pulls into a grin. It lasts barely an instant, but after weeks of getting clipped responses or no words at all, I'll take it.

***

Brian chose The Vibe for the second part of his birthday celebration. Inside the club, strobe lights pulse in unison with the music. We perch on stools at the bar, and while Brian orders the first round of shots for everyone, my eyes travel over the display of bottles lining the mirrored wall.

I catch Tara's reflection in the glass.  Evans has finally unglued himself from her side and migrated to the other extreme of the bar to chat with Connor and Mac, leaving her with Leah and Annie. Brian interrupts my ogling by sliding off his stool, a shot of whiskey in hand.

I grab mine from the tray and raise it. "To your twenty-first."

Glasses clink, and laughter rises over the music. The alcohol glides down my parched throat, and I welcome the burn, momentarily closing my eyes. 

The R&B track the DJ plays merges with a much slower song. 

I'm still sober. But Tara downs her drink and licks her lips, demolishing the last traces of my determination to do what my father wants. 

I slam the glass on the bar and jump to my feet. It takes a few instants and a series of irregular heartbeats to approach her. Standing behind her, I gently place my palms on her bare shoulders. 

She has nowhere to hide. No way to fool me into thinking she's indifferent. The mirror in front of us betrays her, showcasing the quickened rise and fall of her chest and her slightly parted lips.

I lean in until my mouth is inches away from Tara's ear. "Dance with me."

She stiffens under my touch. I don't think I've ever feared rejection, but hers would sting. 

Each second of her silence drags, but the song won't last forever. My brain races against the clock, trying to come up with something I could say to make her let me take her to the dance floor.

"Tara."

My fingertips dig into Tara's soft skin. She pulls the hem of her short black dress down and stands.

When she ushers a few steps toward the clusters of sweaty bodies gathered in front of the DJ booth, I release a drawn-out exhale.

Moved by the urge to touch her, I knot my fingers through Tara's as we seek a free spot among the throngs of dancers. 

Once we've located it, I press her to me, splaying my palm between her shoulder blades and keeping the other hand on the small of her back.

Her fingers run along my forearms, and my skin pebbles under her touch. Chin leaning against the top of her head, I feel the tension leave me as we sway to the ballad.

Tara winds her arms around my neck eventually, either to be more comfortable or because she wants to be closer. My heart races despite the slow tempo, and I wish we weren't here but at home or in the lighthouse. Alone.

The DJ rotates his shoulders and pumps his fist in the air. Multi-colored lights blink in quick succession, and smoke envelops us in sync with the fast beat of the next track.

Tara's hands drop to her sides. Mine cup her face as I inch closer. 

"Let's get out of here," I say.

She nods and pivots, pushing through the dense crowd to get to the bar where our friends are.

Brian ordered a second round of shots. He's busy talking to the guys, and I use his distraction to grab my jacket and slip out of the club unnoticed.

I expect to see people smoking outside, but Tara is the only person on the sidewalk, hugging herself as she paces the length of it. 

Her thin black jacket turns my idea of the night stroll somewhere to dust. Going back to The Vibe is a no — Brian said he and Leah were leaving. Mac and Annie wouldn't stay for much longer, and if I wanted to hang out with Connor and Drew, I'd do it elsewhere.

The few tentative steps I take in Tara's direction echo in the quiet of the night, and Tara's eyes cut to mine. 

"I called a cab," she says. "They promised rain, and neither of us is dressed for this cold."

"So, you don't mind leaving?"

"I don't think anyone would care. To be honest, I was about to tell Brian I was leaving a few times."

"So, home?"

A shrug rolls over Tara's shoulders. I search for words and come up empty.

A cab drives onto the street and slows, approaching us. When it comes to a stop, I open the door for Tara and wait until she's inside to slide into the backseat.

Tense, purposeful silence fills the ride home. Tara's the first to jump out of the vehicle and head to our building. She fishes out her keys to let us in but doesn't swivel her head to check if I follow. 

By the time we enter our dark apartment, the last of my patience has vanished. I kick off my shoes and hang my leather jacket in the foyer closet, trying and failing not to track each movement of Tara’s with my eyes.

She sits on the couch in the living room and smoothes the nonexistent wrinkles on her dress. I might not know her too well, but I know she won't speak first.

"I wanted to talk to you, "I say, leaning on the doorframe. 

With a slow turn of Tara's head, her eyes land on my face.

"I accepted your apology, Sebastian. I'm not mad."

Sebastian.

I love how she says my name. Would rather she said it when she's under me or on top, but I guess a guy can't always get what he wants.

"Doesn't avoiding me count as mad?"

"I wasn't avoiding you. I was just busy."

My muscles tense, and I clench my fists. Lies. 

I stalk toward Tara. She recoils and squeezes her eyes shut.

I hate that I scare her. Lowering myself onto the couch by her side, I take her hands in mine. They're cold like icicles, and I rub them, moving my thumbs over her skin in small circles.

"I was upset. The conversation with my father didn't go well, so I got drunk. I apologized for all of it, except for kissing you. That kiss wasn't something I'd ever regret. And I missed you."

Tara glances up from her lap. "I don't want this for me."

"What is this?" I ask. 

"Waiting for someone, wondering if or when they'll come home. The push and pull. I deserve better."

Tara frees her hands from my hold and stands. The surprise her words caused chains me to the spot. I snap out of it when her back disappears through the doorway and scramble to my feet. 

My heart picks up speed as I chase after Tara. Her hand is already gripping the door handle of her bedroom when I curl my fingers around her wrist and jostle her into me. 

Her back smashes against my front. I turn her around and press her up against the wall, caging her between my arms.

"I'm sorry." I place a kiss on her jaw, close to her ear. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry." 

My lips commit every inch of her face to memory among whispered words.

Tara grips the front of my shirt and yanks me toward her. My mouth covers hers, and her lips open on a sharp inhale, encouraging me to kiss her like I've wanted to for weeks.

Our tongues meet, pressing and stroking together. When a moan leaks through her wet lips, I grind my hips against hers and drag my mouth to her neck.

The tip of my tongue draws patterns on her flesh. Tara's head lolls to the side, granting me better access. I worship every inch of the creamy skin with my lips and teeth and fuse my mouth with hers, fisting her hair as I suck on her tongue.

Tara unlatches her mouth from mine. Foreheads pressed together, we breathe almost in unison.

I release Tara's hair and run my fingers through the soft strands before bracing my forearm on the wall behind her and inching away to study her expression.

She puts both palms on my chest and tips her chin up to bridge the distance between our faces.

Her minty breath fans over my mouth. Tara places a lingering kiss on the corner of it and drills her gaze into mine.

"Good night, Sebastian."

She's a tough one. But...

Tell me your thoughts