“Practice.” He shrugs and peers up at the tropical-punch sky.
I think about how many supermodels and actresses he’s had photo shoots with.
A lot.
Then I wonder how many he’s looked at like that or touched like he touched me.
All of them.
My eyes latch on to a couple walking by us with a baby stroller, their arms draped around each other while the woman pushes it one-handed. The man whispers something in her ear, and she giggles, ducking her head.
“Can I ask you something?” I wonder, biting my lip.
A nod.
“You don’t have to answer.”
“Probably won’t.”
Grit scrapes the back of my throat as I twirl the plastic cup between my fingers. “Have you ever been in love?”
I watch his forehead crease against the golden streams of light splashing across his face. His jaw tenses, gaze drifting across the walking path. “No,” he says. “You?” Lex looks at me, a casual flick of his veiled eyes, but his knuckles whiten around his sweating cup. “That kid from school. James or whatever.”
“Jameson,” I provide. “And no, I wasn’t in love with him. He was there for me when I needed him, but…” My eyes dip away.
I think, sometimes, love isn’t always in the ones who stick around. It’s in the missing pieces—the holes carved out, the gaps that strain and stretch. You notice when it leaves, the quiet, empty moments where absence lingers, and you feel the weight of what’s gone.
It’s in the spaces where something used to be, in the silence that follows, in the ache that reminds you it was once there.
I think about my baby brother. I didn’t recognize how much I loved him when he was here. The feeling came after he’d left—with time, with age, with missing.
“You will one day,” Lex adds, taking another sip. “Fall in love, I mean.”
My muscles lock up, face warming. He said it so loosely, with no effort. “What makes you think that?”
He stares down into the melting pink goop, his expression giving nothing away. “It’s just who you are.”
The statement thaws the igloo in my chest, but only for a moment, because it’s then I realize…he doesn’t really know who I am.
Not anymore. Not at all.
I swipe a dab of shake from the corner of my mouth. “I know you’re sort of a serial dater, but—”
“Am I,” he cuts in, more of a statement.
“Well, yeah. But have you ever had a real relationship? Something meaningful?”
One hand slips into his pocket as he strolls beside me, our shoulders brushing every now and then. “No. Too busy for that.”
“What about your costar?” My voice cracks like an eggshell, my cheeks heating. “Willa.”
“We never dated. Work is work,” he says. “I keep it separate.”
“She’s really pretty.”
Lex pauses, slowly peering over at me. “And?”
I shrug.
