I think a small—very small—part of me thought Truman would show some sort of jealousy towards Miles saying he's my boyfriend. To my slight disappointment, he just sat there, leaning against the booth with this stupid smirk on his face. His eyes shifted between the two of is as if this entire scenario was absolutely hilarious.

Which it was not. At all.

"You're not my boyfriend," I pointed out, trying to push Miles' arm off me. He only held me tighter while shoving another spoon of cake into his mouth. "And stop eating my cake!"

"You said you hated it," Truman piped in. I shot him a glare, which made him laugh harder, his blue eyes practically shining with glee.

Fine. I'd kill them both.

"So," Truman said, leaning forward, "how'd you two meet?"

I gritted my teeth as Miles said, "My band played at the bar she works at." He sounded completely uninterested, the same way one would read off their grocery list.

I watched Truman as the realization set in, smiling vanishing from his face. Ah, there it The narrowing of his eyes, his mouth forming into a thin line. It was actually funny, watching Truman realize that Miles was the guy I slept with that night.

I decided to play along for a second, just to see how far I could push him. We said no flirting, but he wasn't exactly playing fair either.

"We're not dating," I said again, nudging Miles in the ribs. "It's casual."

"She means we're just fucking," Miles clarified to my own delight.

Truman choked on his milkshake, eyes bulging out of his head like those toy dolls you squeeze. I clamped my hand over my mouth to stop myself from laughing.

"Oh?" Truman said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He was talking to Miles, but his eyes were locked on mine. Watching, analyzing.

I grinned, nestling my head into the crook of Miles' shoulder. When I made a show out of running my hand down his chest then placing it on his thigh beneath the table, Truman looked like he was going to flip the table over.

"Like I said, it's casual." I let the word stretch out, running my tongue against my teeth. Truman swallowed, quickly looking out of the window.

It was almost too easy.

Suddenly, Truman stood up and walked off, huffing something that sounded like "bathroom". As soon as he was out of eyesight, I pushed Miles off of me.

"Why are you here?" I asked, scooting away from him.

"You haven't texted me back," he said, licking the chocolate off my fork.

"Are you serious? Miles, I never gave you my number."

It was my first rule: no phone numbers. It made everything seem so official, and the last thing I wanted was a relationship. Instead, Miles showed up at the bar sometimes after my shift and, if I was willing, we'd end up sharing a bed. That was how most of my shifts ended lately.

"Shit," Miles breathed. "Then who have I been sending photos of my junk to?"

Drunk me really needed to raise her standards.

"Thankfully not me. It was a one time thing, Miles. I told you that."

"Three time thing," he corrected, winking.

I climbed over his lap and out of the booth, ignoring the way his hands hovered on my hips.

"I'm going to the bathroom," I declared. "When I come back, don't be here."

I was halfway through the door when a hand clasped around my wrist, tugging me backwards. My back slammed against the wall and Truman was there, staring down at me with those blazing eyes and that smile, all dimples and hidden secrets.

"Did you really think that would work?" he breathed more than asked. The words brushed against my skin, warming my neck.

Truman made it so easy to feel like the past had caught up with us. I was back in the closet, and I just wanted his hands on me, his lips on mine.

"What?" He was too close, it was making me dizzy.

"Back there." He nodded towards the table that we now couldn't see. "That shit with Miles," he chuckled as he said his name, leaning in closer.

I tried to step backwards. My feet hit the wall. "Are you implying I was trying to make you jealous?" I asked, blinking.

His fingers were on my thigh, rubbing circles into my jeans, his other on my wrist, holding me in place. My body felt like it was melting under his touch, turning into jelly.

"I am," he said.

"Why would I ever do that?" I tried to sound innocent, but I knew he could see right through me, like I could see right through him. And his eyes were enough to make my heart race. "You have a girlfriend, and I made a promise."

His face moved closer. I could see the gold flecks in his eyes, shining against the brown, the lines of his lips and the small scar on his chin.

"For someone that mentions that promise a whole lot, you don't do much to try to keep it," he said.

"For someone who has a girlfriend, you're standing pretty close to me," I shot back.

His grin grew. "We've been closer, Eden."

As if I could forget.

And now that he mentioned it, my mind was locked on that kiss. The closet. The darkness. The way the air seemed to heat up around us as his hands grazed my thighs. The earthquake that rocked through us right when his lips found mine and the aftermath neither of us saw coming.

I swallowed, focusing my eyes on his that had now drifted to my lips.

"There's something I need to tell you," he said.

"Stop," I managed to choke out. "Bad things happen when we kiss, Tru."

"Bad things happen all the time," he commented. "In fact, I think us not kissing is a bad thing."

I planted my palms on his chest and pushed as hard as I could.

"You have a girlfriend! This isn't fair to her—to any of us."

A woman in a blue flowery dress walked by, eyeing us before heading into the bathroom. Truman took a step back, and the entire moment crumbled again, a second earthquake. This time, the only people hurt were the two of us.

"I should go," he said. His eyes were somewhere above my head, anywhere but on mine. I only nodded, too scared of what my voice would sound like if I tried to speak.

As quickly as he arrived, he left, turning out of the hallway and walking out the door to the diner.

"Truman, wait!" I ran, following him outside as he was stepping into his car. "Where are you going? You're my ride!"

He rolled down the window, then shrugged. "Ask Miles for a ride. Clearly that's what you two do."

"Asshole!" I yelled, ignoring the innuendo.

The one day I actually want there to be traffic in the city so I can chase his car down the fucking road, it's as if everyone had disappeared.

"Ugh!" I stomped my foot on the ground, mumbling an apology when an older couple looked my way. To make the moment worse, Miles was standing in the doorway to the diner, laughing as he watched my meltdown.

"Need a ride?" he called.

I glared at him. "I'll walk, thanks."

I started down the road to my apartment, leaving Miles—and the bill—behind.

___

Ramona was standing in front of the stove when I walked into the kitchen the next morning, cooking something that made me scrunch up my nose in disgust.

"That's burnt," I pointed out, staring at the black piece of food in the pan.

"It's crispy, Eden. There's a difference."

I rolled my eyes and grabbed a granola bar, chewing on it as I walked around the apartment, looking for my backpack.

"Did you touch my bag?" Class started in thirty minutes and it was nowhere to be found.

I was kneeling on the ground, peering under the couch, as if it would even fit there, when Mona answered, "What would I want to do with a bag full of textbooks? Read them? For fun?"

She had a point.

Huffing, I stood up and brushed off my jeans. "Where the hell did I last put it? It was with me yesterday when Truman picked me up and—"

Truman.

Oh no.

"Okay. What just happened?" Mona stepped closer, waving her hand in front of me. "Your face looks like mine does when I check my bank account."

"I remembered where my bag is," I mumbled.

She sat on the couch, biting into the burnt monstrosity she called food. I winced at the crunch.

"Where?" she asked.

"It's in Truman's car."

Mona barked out a laugh. I heard the television turn on as I ran to my bedroom and grabbed my phone. I expected to see a message from him, telling me that he found my bag, but there was nothing.

Typical. He's probably still sleeping and hasn't even realized it's in his damn car.

In an ideal world, Truman would drop it off on my doorstep and I'd make it to class on time. In this shit world, I was actually standing outside his apartment door, knocking four fucking times and waiting for his lazy ass to open it.

"Truman!" I called again, about to knock when the door opened. "Oh, I'm sorry. Did I wake you?"

His head peeked out, a mess of black hair sticking up in every direction, eyebrows raising when he saw me. I crossed my arms, holding his gaze and waiting for him to open the door fully. He only leaned against it, grin stretching across his face.

"Good morning, devil," he said.

I ignored how his voice sounded, deep and weighed down by sleep. I also ignored how he was wearing nothing aside from a towel that hung low around his waist.

Look at his eyes, Eden, I scolded myself. His fucking eyes.

"Looking for this?" He held out my bag, chuckling as I grabbed it from his fingers.

"You know you had it?" I snapped. "And you didn't think to, I don't know, tell me? Or give it back?"

His grin only grew. "My girlfriend's trying to sleep, Eden. Don't yell."

I pointed at his towel. "From what you're wearing, I doubt you two were doing much sleeping."

And from the way his eyes seemed to sparkle and that stupid smirk on his face, I knew I was right.

With my bag over my shoulder, I stormed off before he could confirm or deny what I said.

"Have fun in class, Eden!" he called out, voice carrying down the hall.

"Have fun with Satan, you dick!"

I could still hear him laughing as the door to the elevator closed. I wasn't sure how I could focus in class with the image of a shirtless Truman stick in my head, but a girl could try.

_______________________

truman is so annoying lmao i think i truly hate him. hbu? follow me on insta for story updates! it's the same as my wattpad user :)

until next time, bye!