7. Maren

I spent the entire dinner—and car ride here—ruminating on what it would feel like to be liked by Locke.

He keeps such a small circle that I assume it would be extremely hard to become a part of it, to be allowed in. But if you were, just how special that would make you feel. How much it would mean that he trusted you, that he wanted you. If he gave you his attention and you became his focus, just how intentional he would be. It's hard to even picture the intensity of his eyes falling on you with a look of love, like you're his . Because he chose you.

I imagine just the pure weight of him would steady you in the strongest earthquake.

Or someone similar to Locke because, of course, actual Locke hates when I touch him.

Our fingers brushed once when I reached for my glass and he reached for his fork at the same time. Another time my foot accidentally grazed his leg when I crossed mine. He jolted each time like I'd shocked him and then proceeded to make a conscious and obvious effort to avoid all my rogue body parts.

After the third time he leans away from me when I go to pick up my wine, I excuse myself to go to the restroom .

What am I even doing? Why am I wishing Locke would touch me in the most innocuous ways when he clearly can't stand me?

His relief when I steered the conversation away from him was palpable.

I talk too much, I smile too much—way, way too much for him. This is why I'm here. I am definitely not emotionless enough for him to even just sleep with for fun. Not that that's what I want. But also, not that I haven't thought about it.

And I'm here to be more like Locke. So, I need to pull myself together.

Of course, that plan goes to shit when I step back into the restaurant and weave my way through the bar only to have Russ swivel on his barstool from out of nowhere and trap me with his arm.

"Maren," he greets me, placing a kiss on my cheek so quickly that it shocks me into a coma. Technically, not a hello. "You're the last person I thought I'd see here tonight."

He smells like whiskey, and I instinctively look around—either for Craig or Lydia, I'm not really sure.

The bar area is small, with the typical liquor bottles lining the back wall on glass shelves and a sleek wooden counter. The murmur is dull around us, but enough to make me feel unseen.

"Craig will be here in a minute," he says.

"Oh, okay," I finally say. "I should get back then. It was good seeing you."

His grip tightens on my waist. "So, you're… with him now?"

I don't miss the inflection in his voice. He was about to accuse me of sleeping with him before he attempted to reel back his jealous tone. I made Russell work for it, so I think he knows I wouldn't be having sex with Locke already. Unless maybe it makes him madder that maybe this is something I'm doing just for fun.

My eyes spring to our table, which is in perfect view from here, where I find Locke already staring at us with no emotion. He looks away to say something to Graham like he couldn't care less .

No one cares, and I hate myself that I just want Russ to care about me. It can't be that much to ask someone who you spent years of your life with, even if you're no longer together, to care about your feelings. That's not a wild request.

"It's not like that," I say in a lame attempt to defend myself. "It's not what it looks like."

"Not like what?" he laughs. "Like you're sleeping with him to get back at me?"

Everything I could say sits on the tip of my tongue.

We're not even friends.

We're fake friends.

I'm entertaining his obligations, which are coincidentally people, because he doesn't want to be here, let alone be here with me.

He's only trying to help me not feel like this .

It would all be the truth, but I get it now—what Locke is trying to say. It doesn't matter what I tell Russ, he's not going to believe me. He'll believe what he wants to believe, which is that I'm on some petty road of revenge-fucking his rival.

And I'm quite certain there's more to that story that Russell never even confided in me about.

My phone chimes.

Hottie Icicle

Do you need help?

Russ scoffs and briefly turns to Locke. "Checking up on you?"

Locke's eyes don't leave mine, and I shake my head a millimeter.

Big girl pants, Maren.

"Russ, you're allowed to believe whatever you want because I don't think I can change your mind," I say, channeling my inner Locke. I think he'd probably sound harsher but it's all I have in me .

Russ cocks an eyebrow, anger flushing through his cheeks. "You know he doesn't do relationships or girlfriends, right? He'll get tired of you even faster than usual."

I blink back the tears that are trying to squeeze through. Okay, I lied. I need help. Russ knows how to strike where it hurts the most. When I frantically search for Locke, he's no longer at the table. Probably tired of sitting at the table by himself for too long and mad at me for leaving him. Maybe he escaped to the comfort of the bathroom to be alone in peace.

Russ' hand, which is still on my waist, pulls me into him slightly. I angle my head away and use his shoulder to try to push myself off him to no avail.

"I'll still be here though," he says quietly. "Lydia and I aren't serious. I made a mistake, and I'm sorry. You know we'll always love each other."

He's never going to let me go. He'll hover, bait me, lure me, chase me, only to discard me again and again—and I'll let him. Because being wanted and liked by someone wins out over everything else, even when it's fucked up.

Right as I'm about to let a tear break through, contemplating my fate or maybe accepting it, because I feel myself soften into him, another arm wraps around my waist so quickly, I'm two feet away from Russ before my brain can process the motion of events. Now, I'm wedged against a plane of warm muscle with no understanding of how I got here.

Russell's winning smirk falls, while my heart pounds against my sternum because I almost fell for the smoke and mirrors momentarily.

"I don't appreciate you touching her," Locke says as harshly as I imagined.

"What the fuck do you know?" Russ says like we're all just joking around. "She's my girlfriend."

With my body now against Locke's instead, I siphon every bit of energy I can from him. " Ex -girlfriend," I say, stronger than I feel .

Russ tips his drink toward me as if there's no difference in the two words and corrects his slip of the tongue. "Ex-girlfriend," he repeats and looks up to Locke. "And we aren't finished talking."

"You are," Locke says sternly. His lips brush my hair, and his voice is so soft I think for a minute he's communicating to me through my mind. "Just turn around. Do you need another drink?"

I can't see Locke's face but by the way Russ is staring above my head with hatred spearing from his pupils, I don't think either one has broken eye contact.

"Yes, please," I reply, letting out a breath.

My body has a mind of its own and sinks further into Locke as I turn away from Russ like I don't care that he's sitting there.

And I may not.

Because Locke's hand stays on my waist as I spin and settles on my hip.

I raise my eyes to his and imagine this is what all-consumed looks like. Dark, brooding irises never straying from mine longer than necessary. A body part always connected in some way when possible.

Locke would make me feel like everything .

"Another red wine would be great," I say breathlessly. I'm too close to his face, and he smells like leather and amber and fresh air. It must be something that costs a thousand dollars a bottle and laced with the magic of hypnotism.

Locke smiles, not fully, but just enough that his right dimple makes an appearance.

"Good girl," he says, his voice low and just for me, his fingers pressing into my hip bone before his thumb swipes over a row of the tiny holes in my dress.

My breath just audibly catches in my throat. The spark ignites below my belly button, and I have to shift even closer to Locke to dull the ache that now settles between my legs .

My body blooms with heat I didn't know it was capable of, a myriad of emotions running from head to toe like they're traveling along a lightning rod.

I'm almost ashamed that he's turned me into putty from two little words that I never knew could hold such weight against me. Besides, I absolutely should not lust after this man who is so hot and cold that he can't make up his damn mind about whether or not he wants to touch me.

But he looks so pleased with me, and he is still touching me, not to mention he's sexy as hell. I think I'd do anything he asked me to in this moment.

Also, I think I know now what I would want him to call me.