The bass thumped through the house, rattling the floor beneath his feet, but all he could hear was the sound of his own thoughts. His eyes trailed to her—like they always did.

She didn’t even see him.

He watched as her gaze flickered across the room, scanning faces, searching for someone—anyone—but never landing on him. And why would it? He wasn’t some outsider lurking in the shadows; he wasn’t some loser pining over a girl he could never have. He had a life, a name people knew. He wasn’t invisible. But to her, he might as well have been.

She had kissed his friends. Let them pull her into dimly lit corners, their hands gripping her waist, their lips tracing over the skin he had memorized from a distance. And yet, somehow, he wasn’t even worth a glance.

He tipped his beer back, letting the bitterness coat his tongue as he exhaled sharply. Maybe it was funny. Maybe it was pathetic. Maybe it was both.

She was standing closer to him now, not even realizing it. The scent of whatever perfume she wore tangled with the thick air of sweat and liquor. It was intoxicating. Infuriating.

He clenched his jaw.

What was so wrong with him?

It wasn’t like he ever needed anyone before. He wasn’t the type to chase after something he couldn’t have. But with her, it was different. It was unbearable.

Then, as if fate had a cruel sense of humor, she turned. Not toward him, not for him, but enough for their bodies to collide. Her shoulder bumped into his chest, and for a split second, her eyes flickered up to meet his. A polite, distracted apology left her lips—so casual, so dismissive—before she kept walking, as if the moment meant nothing at all.

He wanted to despise her for it. For making him feel like this. For making him crave something he never thought he would.

Maybe if she really looked at him—just once—he could stop thinking about her. Maybe if he had her, he could finally stop wanting her.

But she never did.

And that was the problem.