♫ I get so lost inside your eyes
Would you believe it? ♪
(Harry Styles—Adore You)

Thirsty Thursdays usually drew the life out of Coralie. The collegiates and half-naked girls and old perverts sipping from fish bowls in dark corners usually exasperated her beyond belief and drained all her energy.

But that night, she adopted an attitude the likes of which no one had seen in a long time. She was bubbly, borderline happy; patrons noticed and left her considerable tips. Roger pointed out that she was almost too chipper considering it was her least favorite evening of the week.

She ignored his jabs, ignored the fist-pumping morons who danced up on chicks screaming "this is my favorite song!", ignored the boys requesting melodies she couldn't stand.

Tomorrow, she had a date.

The next morning, though her scalp seared in pain, the night's tunes still thump-thumping inside, she rose with a grin. She showered with a grin. She chugged three cups of coffee and scarfed down a quick breakfast and wrote a handful of songs—with a grin.

At noon, her stomach started churning. She changed her top once, twice, three times, before Delilah marched out of her room like a hot zombie in a satin negligee and forced her to put the first one on. "That's what we chose, shut up and stick to it!" She then crawled to her bed and slammed the door with her foot, muttering something in Filipino.

At one, Coralie eyeballed the wine bottles she'd bought a few days prior, and groaned at the realization that it wouldn't be appropriate to day-drink. Especially when she had to work that night, and had already made the mistake of breaking her rules the day before.

By one-thirty, she'd paced so much her footprints indented into the carpet, her mouth was dry, and she was certain her subtle make-up to enhance her eyes had melted. She glared at her phone, waiting, waiting, waiting—

At last, it rang. "Okay, okay," she said, swiping her hair to one side, puckering her lips, and accepting the call. Once her face popped up on the screen, she hurried to flip her hair the other way, unhappy with how it had parted. She noticed a tiny speck of mascara above her sheen eye-shadow and dabbed at it—

His face appeared. His lips were in a straight line, at first. But the instant he saw her, the instant their gazes connected, those lips tugged apart into a huge, boyish smile.

"Cora." He'd been slouching, she could tell; but he perked up and puffed out his chest as he fiddled with the hem of his white t-shirt. "Wow."

Wow? Wow, what?

She'd viewed countless pictures of him over the years, all over social media. His vacations with his family, his work outings, his gatherings with old friends. She'd seen him in casual wear, walking around London, or wearing his fancy suits while posing in front of luxury cars, or exposing his topless, tantalizing torso while lying on the beach or working out in his home gym.

But this was different—this was him, live, in person, for her viewing pleasure only.

She fidgeted in her spot on the couch, toying with her black button-down shirt as she sensed heat rising to her cheeks. "Hi, Ryan. RyRy. So good to see you."

His smile widened further and he leaned in closer to the screen. "It's good to see you! And you're just... a wonder to behold, aren't you?"

She clenched every muscle in her body to hold in a squeal of delight, of excitement, of happiness. Those eyes—light like the waters crashing over a beach in the Florida Keys, exotic like an aquamarine gemstone, impossible to look away from. She was drowning, and they'd only been talking for two seconds.

"What about you?" She giggled, but covered her mouth, fearing he'd catch her drooling at his perfect physique. "All grown up, all adult-like! You're handsome, and you know it!" She sucked in her lips, worried she'd been too forward too fast; it was a flaw of hers, being unable to avoid blunt words from spiraling out.

Don't fuck it up already!

His light brown skin flushed as he rubbed the back of his neck, the slightest of shy smirks slithering across his mouth. "Stop. You're the pretty one. I mean," he looked down for a second, biting his lip, then yanked his chin up again, "those eyes, Cora. That mix of blue and gray and green... still as hypnotizing as before. They were my favorite feature of yours, actually. Wondrous, expressive, showing all your emotions."

"Okay, you stop it," she said, lifting one shoulder to her chin and batting her lashes. "I always loved your eyes too, RyRy."

Maybe she did know how to flirt; but only with him. Because with him, she was comfortable, unhinged, able to show her true self—after all, he'd known her for over twelve years.

He hadn't changed a bit. The same low-key awkwardness to how he held himself, but now accompanied by broad shoulders, bigger arms, a certain confidence in how he cocked his head and peered at her with more sincerity than anyone ever had. Not like he was undressing her, but like he yearned to see her, her soul, her thoughts. Back in the day, he did the same thing—when other guys objectified her, he asked her about her feelings, and took them into account. When she complained about Benjamin not listening to her, he listened, and never bickered, never mocked her dramatic sixteen or seventeen-year-old self.

One glance at him now showed her that boy was still there.

"I have to say, I love your hair," he added, again angling closer to the camera, as if about to reach through and slide his long fingers through her curls. "When you cut it a few months back, I almost commented on it. And that platinum shade is so you."

She had no doubt her cheeks would explode if he continued basking her in compliments. "Okay, enough. How are you? Where are you?"

"In Madrid," he picked the phone up and rose from his chair, "I'll be here for a few days. The brand is launching a new store in a densely populated area." He flipped the camera to display his hotel room—sleek, modern, but understated, mostly in shades of royal blue and white. "This is how bosses are put up, you see."

He gave her a tour of the suite, from the black metallic door to the fluffy pillows he couldn't wait to sleep on, to the complicated shower he'd was afraid to test out.

Every word out of his mouth relaxed her, yet aroused her. Every sentence, every mention of a childhood memory, every inside joke brought a warmth to her heart that she hadn't experienced in months, if not years.

He woke tiny butterflies in her gut when he returned the camera to himself and lounged on the bed, propping his elbow against the headboard to hold his head up.

"I have to tell you... I've thought a bit of you throughout the years."

Cora, who mimicked him and settled onto her own mattress, blushed. "Really? Well... if we're being honest, I have thought about you, too."

"Yeah?" His chestnut-colored brows brushed upwards. "I regret not better maintaining our friendship. I regret not continuing our conversations, our laughter. So many things I wish I could re-do."

She nodded. "Same here. We were so close, you and me. The best possible friends."

His expression darkened for a moment, his gaze almost sorrowful as he turned away and sighed. "I... okay, I lied. I didn't think about you a bit, I... thought about you a lot. Often. Too often. It bothered me how we left things, how I left things."

Coralie held her breath, stopping herself from belching out how he'd never departed from her mind, either. How she'd had to stuff down all her feelings for him because she worried he wouldn't feel the same and that her confession would ruin their friendship.

Maybe my silence was what ruined us?

"I..." She laughed and tipped sideways, hiding her face from the camera, afraid her cheeks had turned purple. "I did too. More often than often. I..." she laughed louder and returned in front of the lens, "I made up all these scenarios where I found you in London, and we had drinks with all our friends, but you and I, we... we clicked. Connected instantly, like before, as if no time had passed. And you told me... well, what you told me yesterday. This... thing between us. And now... now it's real. It's real? What the heck?"

His saddened expression faded as he smirked again, his eyes crinkling while he admired her. "That's incredible, because I did, too. And right now, it is as if no time has passed. Like we're still the two teens unaware we were in love, the two idiots goofing off in the bus or wreaking havoc in the school hallways."

She scoffed. "You wreaked havoc, not me!"

He was a class clown in those days. Smart, but never willing to be overly serious. He played pranks, he wrote comedy sketches, and he loved to jump-scare everyone, including teachers. She would always watch him and laugh her ass off, and Benjamin would laugh too, but never as openly as her.

Benjamin must have come to resent Ryan throughout the years. They'd stopped hanging out as much, they didn't play sports together anymore, and whenever Coralie brought RyRy up, Benjamin cringed—though he tried his hardest to be discreet about it. Coralie never understood why, never sensed his jealousy.

If I had, that would have been a sign, right?

So lost in her visions of the past, she hadn't realized she'd zoned out until Ryan cleared his throat. He was squinting at the camera, pensive, playing with the scruff on his jawline.

"Cora?"

"Huh?" She shook out of her stupor. "Sorry, I was... transported to our school years for a second. What's up?"

"When are you coming to London?" He switched positions to lie on his back, and held the phone up with both hands. "You were here a few years ago, and I... I wanted to reach out, but didn't dare. Surely you're due for another visit soon, right?"

The winged creatures stopped flapping about in her tummy. "Uh, funny you would ask—I'm coming next month with my roommate." She wanted to glare at him, wanted to remind him how he'd never come through, never met up with her, never even apologized for not showing up. But how could she be mad at him? How would she dare envision slapping that beautiful, blemish-free skin, when all she wanted to do was kiss it?

Oh shit. No, no, no, feelings, go away!

"I have to see you." He jerked up to a sitting position, bringing the phone close to his face. She could have sworn she felt his breath through the screen, and she imagined it was minty, refreshing, delicious.

She struggled not to roll her eyes. "Right, of course. You'll bail—"

"—No, I won't." He pulled away to show himself wagging his finger. "Not this time. Promise me, Cora. Promise me we'll make plans to meet up."

Coralie also heaved up, dangling her feet from the mattress. "Are you sure? What about, uh... your wife?" She flinched and frowned and fought the urge to apologize. "I mean—"

"—Don't you worry about those details," he said with a shrug, unfazed by the question. "This... you and me... it's too big to ignore. It's like a second chance, you know? To catch up, make up for lost time. I was in love with you, Cora. And everything is... coming back to me."

She stilled, her eyes about to soar out of their sockets. "You... I mean... really?"

He flashed her the sweetest smile, reanimating all the butterflies at once. "How do you Americans say it? Oh right. 'Duh'. Twelve years of emotions don't die easily. I can't pass up this opportunity to meet up with you. I can't, and I won't. There's no way I'll flake this time."

She narrowed her gaze. "Yeah?"

"Yes." He immobilized, and for a moment she thought their connection had fizzled and interrupted. "I promise. Let's get drinks or something, okay?"

Tingling tremors traipsed up and down her arms at the image of them coming together for drinks. Her belly bubbled with anticipation, her fingers trembled, her extremities numbed.

This was her fantasy—the dream she'd had over and over for years, with locations and clothing and circumstances that always changed, but he was always there. Walking up to her, picking her up, spinning her around, kissing her cheek, her forehead, her lips—

"Cora? Did you bug out?"

She fanned herself, praying for the heat on her face to subside. "No, sorry. I'm here." Chewing on her lower lip, she inclined her head once. "Yes, drinks. That would be phenomenal. I look forward to it."

Drinks—no harm in that, right?

They chatted for a little while longer, tossing memories back and forth, constantly complimenting one another, until their skin had turned a deep violet and they'd run out of vocabulary to use.

Once they hung up—with difficulty—she had trouble returning to reality, immersing herself into her daily life. She'd been so focused on their call that she hadn't heard Delilah leave, and it was three-thirty in the afternoon.

As she prepared herself aquick late lunch, she couldn't stop the usual negativity from seeping into hershort-lived elation. She wasn't stupid; Ryan wouldn't keep his promise. He'ddisappoint her, yet again. This tremendously hot and exquisitely intelligentman she'd missed so much wouldn't contact her when she was in London. He neverdid. She trusted him with her life, but not with this; not with theresponsibility of making her fantasies become reality.

♥♥♥