Chapter 1: I've Been Waiting For This

Mia's POV

"I just can't figure it out," I drain the third margarita in one gulp, the alcohol making my tongue a bit clumsy, "he's known me since we were kids. We grew up together. Why did he pick her?"

My best friend Sarah looks at me helplessly. She's been listening to me repeat this question for two whole years.

"Mia, maybe you should let go. Ethan and Vanessa have been together for almost three years, you—"

"I know!" I cut her off, my voice louder than I intended, "I know I should let go. But you don't understand that feeling. Since I was thirteen, no, maybe even earlier, I knew I liked him. But I was so proud, so afraid of rejection, so I never said anything. Then suddenly one day, he was just with her."

Sarah gently pats my hand. "Babe, some things aren't—"

"Wait." I freeze, staring at a figure in the corner of the bar, "Is that... Ethan?"

It is him.

Ethan's sitting in a corner booth with a glass of orange juice in front of him—not beer, not whiskey, orange juice. He's looking down at his phone, his long fingers sliding quickly across the screen, completely absorbed. Even in the dim lighting, he still looks that good, his black shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows, showing his defined forearms.

"Next to him is..." Sarah squints, "Oh my god, it's Vanessa. She doesn't look happy."

True. Vanessa's standing by the table with her hands on her hips, her face flushed red. Even through the loud music, I can tell she's yelling about something.

Then her voice suddenly rises above the music.

"Work, work, work! All you think about is work!" Vanessa's practically screaming now, "You're checking emails on our date! Not romantic at all! I've had enough!"

Ethan finally looks up, his expression eerily calm. He says something quietly. I can't hear it, but from reading his lips I can tell it's something like, "I'm driving later, can't drink."

Vanessa explodes.

"You know what? I've had enough of you!" She pulls out her phone from her purse, typing frantically, "Let me tell you, I already found someone new!"

A few minutes later, a young guy who looks like a fitness trainer walks into the bar. Vanessa charges right over and kisses him hard, right in front of everyone.

The entire bar goes quiet for a moment.

Then Vanessa walks out with her arm linked through that guy's, head held high, leaving Ethan sitting there alone.

My heart's racing.

Not because of Vanessa's dramatic exit, but because of Ethan's expression—so calm it's almost cold.

He doesn't even chase after her.

He just picks up that glass of orange juice, slowly takes a sip, then continues looking at his phone while others stare.

As if nothing happened.

"Mia, don't—" Sarah tries to grab me, but it's already late.

The alcohol gives me courage, or maybe, gives me madness.

I stand up, stumbling a bit as I walk toward Ethan's table.

"Hey." I sit down across from him.

Ethan looks up, a flash of surprise in his eyes. "Mia?"

"I saw it." I say, trying to make my voice sound steady, "That whole... performance from Vanessa."

He's silent for a moment, then shakes his head slightly. "She's always been dramatic."

"Are you okay?"

"Pretty good." His tone is so flat it's heartbreaking, "Saw it coming anyway."

I take a deep breath. The alcohol's making my brain a bit fuzzy, but at the same time making me bolder than I've ever been.

"How about we get together?"

The words are out, and I want to slap myself. But they're already said.

Ethan freezes, staring at me for several seconds. "What?"

"I said," I grit my teeth, deciding to go all in, "let's get together. Fake it. Three months. Make that bitch regret it."

I see his Adam's apple move.

"Mia, you're drunk."

"I'm not drunk!" I protest, even though I know I definitely am, "I'm serious. Think about it, Vanessa definitely thinks you'll be heartbroken, that you'll beg her to come back. If we suddenly get together, she'll go crazy!"

"So you want... revenge on her?"

"Yeah!" I say, "Don't you want to? She just humiliated you like that!"

Ethan looks at me, his eyes so complicated I can't read them.

"Three months," he repeats, "and then?"

"Then we break up peacefully." I say, "We've known each other since we were kids anyway, acting shouldn't be hard."

He's silent again.

This silence lasts a long time, long enough that I start regretting my earlier impulse.

But just as I'm about to say "forget I said anything," Ethan slowly extends his hand.

"Okay," he says, "just three months."

I stare at his outstretched hand in shock, then slowly reach out and grasp it.

His palm is warm and dry, gripping tightly.

Deal.

When we leave the bar, I can barely stand steady.

Sarah's worried, holding me up, but Ethan walks over and says, "I'll take her home."

"You sure?" Sarah asks.

"Yeah, it's on the way anyway." Ethan says, "Plus I didn't drink."

Sarah hesitates for a moment, but eventually nods. "Alright. Mia, call me tomorrow."

"Will do, will do." I mumble.

Ethan's car is a black SUV, very clean, with a faint mint smell. He helps me buckle my seatbelt, then returns to the driver's seat.

The car starts, the engine making a low rumbling sound.

"Where do you live?" he asks.

"Oak Street." I say, "The old place."

He nods.

We don't talk the whole way. I close my eyes, feeling the car moving smoothly forward, the streetlights outside flashing past.

I don't know how much time passes before the car stops.

"We're here." Ethan says softly.

I open my eyes and find we're already at my front door. I unbuckle the seatbelt, getting ready to get out, but my fingers aren't cooperating.

"Let me." Ethan comes around to the passenger side and unbuckles the seatbelt for me.

"Thanks." I murmur, "Ethan, you..."

But I can't continue. The alcohol and exhaustion are making my consciousness blur.

I hear Ethan sigh softly.

Then I hear his voice, very soft, like he's talking to himself:

"Actually... I've been waiting for this day for a long time."

I want to ask what he means, but my eyelids are so heavy.

When I open my eyes again, it's already the next morning. I'm lying in my own bed with no memory of how I got inside.

My phone is vibrating crazily on the nightstand.

The hangover headache makes me want to die.

But when I pick up my phone and see the notifications on the screen, my heart nearly stops beating.

Instagram.

99+ notifications.

Ethan posted a photo.

Of us.