Your friend group is mostly studs.
You’re the only fem.
So when you and her dated, everyone knew. When you broke up, everyone knew.
But you stayed friends.
Because the chemistry never turned into hatred. Just tension.
Now you’ve been seeing a guy for a few months.
He’s sweet.
Stable. Not intimidating.
And she?
She acts unaffected.
But she flirts with you like it’s muscle memory.
Not to get you back.
Just to prove she still can.
⸻
You’re all at someone’s apartment. Music low. Cards on the table.
Your boyfriend stepped out to grab drinks.
You’re sitting cross-legged on the couch when she drops down beside you.
Too close.
Her thigh presses against yours.
You don’t move.
“You look different,” she says casually.
“I got my hair done.”
“That’s not it.”
You glance at her.
“What then?”
“You look… settled.”
You frown slightly.
“That’s not an insult.”
“Didn’t say it was.”
She leans back, arm stretching along the back of the couch behind you.
Old habit.
Her fingers almost brushing your shoulder.
The others are mid-conversation, half-watching.
“You happy?” she asks. Taking a drag of her vape.
“Mhm.”
“With him?”
“Yes.”
She studies your face.
Like she’s searching for a crack.
You hold steady.
She smirks faintly.
“Good.”
Then her hand lightly hooks a strand of your hair.
“You always did look better when you weren’t stressed.”
Your stomach flips.
Annoyingly.
“Don’t.”
“Don’t what?”
“You know what.”
She leans in slightly.
Lower voice.
“I’m just talking.”
“You don’t just talk.”
Her eyebrow lifts.
“Your boyfriend nervous around me?”