Arrick Carrero is standing straight as a rod a few feet away, obviously just arriving with two men behind him, all casually dressed, and I recognize one of them as someone he regularly hangs out with. The familiar face casts a friendly smile, a nod of recognition that I return with a half-smile before bringing my focus back to Arry. I don’t know how to react, so I grip Christian’s fingers harder, begging him to help me. He squeezes them back silently. His little show of support.

“Hi.” I breathe weakly, unable to hold the gaze of those perfect hazel eyes in that flawless, clean-shaven face. Not a thing about his appearance has changed, and he’s still as devastating to my soul. He looks like the guy I miss in every little tiny way, and it only hurts me irreversibly that he seems so normal and unaffected by finally seeing me again. There is definite weirdness and uncertainty in how I should act, and I feel like I don’t know him anymore. My heart is playing the rhumba, and my legs go weak as blood courses to my heart in a stupendous fashion. Physically I’m dying. Outwardly I am still and cool like he always was.

Christian lets go of my arm, unhooks his fingers, and slings a supportive arm around my shoulders. He knows who Arrick Carrero is; any hot-blooded admirer of gorgeous men in New York knows who he is, and he knows the backstory between Arrick and me only too well. A night of wine and movies ended up with my sobbing my heart out and confessing the whole sorry story to the two of them at stupid o’clock one Saturday night. They know every detail and decided he should earn the crown of “idiot of the century” for letting me go.

Arrick narrows his eyes a fraction, a slight tension to his jaw as he tries not to run his eyes over the way Christian is draped around me. I see the subtle tells. Not sure how to take it at all. Not sure I should even care if he doesn’t like it. I owe him nothing anymore.

He hurt you, remember. Discarded you like you meant nothing.

“How have you been?” He clears his throat as his two companions wander off further in the direction of their table, leaving him alone with us. It’s wholly awkward, and I resist the urge to fidget, aware of how my heart and soul quiver at his mere presence and alert me to the fact that three months have not changed a lot between us. I still fall to pieces at the sight of him, my heart aching, and the sudden sadness of realizing I still love him hits me in the gut. No matter how often I’ve told myself I’d never need him again, never want to… Here we are.

He looks like him. Flawlessly pulled together, emotionally cool, and stunning as he always was. Hair spiked on top, lighter in color, freshly cut, clean-shaven, while those brown eyes are a lot greener today. Then I guess seeing me would stress him out, especially if he swore to Natasha that he would never have anything to do with me again. He doesn’t go back on his word, ever.

Well, unless it comes to me. I guess promises made to me don’t mean anything when it comes to her.

“I’m good, just getting on, and you know?… I have school.” I answer unsurely, lost for words, my voice noticeably young. Christian seems to sense my unease and leans past, extending a hand. I almost forgot he was draped around me, only seeing Arrick in this place, as though everyone and everything else faded into non-existence.

“Hi, I’m Christian, Sophie’s told me about you being childhood besties, and I have to say I’m an admirer of your fighting skills, Arrick. I see you had another knockout victory two weeks back against Tiger Marse.” Christian lays on the straight guy act super thickly, and I cringe inwardly. I hate when he plays the macho guy, it doesn’t suit him.

Arrick regards his outstretched hand a moment, and I think he might ignore it. He seems strangely torn before shaking it firmly, and a little too firmly, judging by Christian’s tensing body. I note that both have gone into guy mode, voices a tad huskier and mannerisms a little more rugged, like an alpha male tug of war or some nonsense. I don’t get it, but Christian seems to be in the zone with his pretend play and pulls his hand back to his side.

“Thanks. Nice to meet you, Christian.” Arrick goes to say more, but one of his friends calls on him, making him look back with a frown. He turns around with an unreadable expression, and there’s another awkward pause between us as his eyes take me in quickly. His gaze travels over me as though his hands skimmed me instead, and every part of me warms crazily. Standing in my floral dress and dainty flats, completely vulnerable to him. I know I must look different from the last time he saw me. I’ve found a new girly style again, with floaty short dresses and sweet shrugs that are not so severe as the glamour chic that Camilla inspired. My hair is longer and softer in its grown out, stripped back to blonde, light bob style, and my makeup is natural.

“You look good, Sophs. You always were more beautiful as a blonde. I like this on you, the sweet girl look… It’s more you.” His eyes come to rest on my hair, a steady look that translates so much, yet so little, and it only deepens the heavy feeling in my heart to an almost unbearable level.

“Thanks. You too. I mean… you look good.” I blush shyly, looking down at my hands as the emotion in my throat builds up to choke me. The man nearby, the unfamiliar one, calls on Arrick again, and this time Arry signals at him to wait another two minutes with a hand gesture. He turns back to me, all but ignoring Christian’s presence. Christian is being strangely silent for a guy who normally never shuts up.

“I need to go, Sophs; are you going to Leila’s party?” Arrick seems rooted to the spot as if he has no intention of moving, but Christian is quick off the mark, sensing my growing inability to function the longer we stand here. I’m getting quieter and more nervous, unsure how to talk to him as my throat closes on me. My body is starting to tremble subtly, and I’m pretty sure I’m losing the use of my legs. This extreme physical reaction only happens with him, and I hate that he still has this effect on me.

“We sure will be, won’t we, sweetheart? Can’t wait to meet Daniel and, of course, Leila. Her parents have told me she’s the family fireball.” Christian squeezes my shoulders, and I throw him a mild frown. I know what he’s doing, and I’m not sure I like it. Arrick looks away, again his cool unreadable facade back in place, that tiny muscle in his jaw making the slightest of movements. A little Arrick tell that he’s not as unaffected as he likes to pretend. The master of indifference is back and even feeling this estranged from him. I can still sense some of his moods.

“Guess I’ll see you both there then.” Arrick smiles my way tightly, eyes locking briefly, and it’s like a thunderbolt to my heart. That devastating half-smile that can crush souls with a tiny flash, dimples hinting, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. He looks somehow deflated. I wonder if life with Natasha is back to what it once was, seeing as this is how he always used to seem with her. I guess the lack of my problematic self means he has everything back under control and boringly normal.

Just how he wanted it, right?

“Guess you will.” I smile quickly. My face tenses because it’s completely unnatural, and I look down, away from that gaze with a heavy sigh. It’s beyond me how one person can affect every tiny part of you with the smallest of efforts.

“I better go before they kick off and eat the tablecloths.” He motions casually toward his two friends at a nearby table, and I nod, my stomach twisting in two. Hating that he still makes me feel this way and wishing I hadn’t seen him again, but at the same time, wishing I was alone, wishing he hadn’t thought Christian was my boyfriend and he would have given me an old Arrick hug, like the old days to wipe the slate clean. I can’t deny that seeing him has only emphasized how much I miss him and how much I would have him back, even as friends, because this distance is worse than hell. Seeing him only reminds me of how much I still need him, and it hurts more than any pain I ever knew I could feel. I’m torn, knowing we should leave, but my feet don’t want to move. It’s like my brain desperately wants to cling to him in any way it can, even if he did rip my heart out.

God, I am so pathetic.

“I suppose, bye, then,” I answer softly, close to tears.