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Ignore it, don’t look at the guy who’s obsessively staring. Does he not understand social cues? I mean, seriously, dude.

But after a few more seconds of pretending I’m not hyper-aware of the feeling, I give in. And sure enough, his eyes are right where I predicted—on me. And once again, he doesn’t pretend to look away; he just holds my gaze.

2

LOGAN

Ryder’s being weird. I can tell he’s distracted by this rando at the bar, even though he’s pretending not to be. He’s half listening at best, keeps saying “what” when I stop talking, and he hasn’t laughed at a single one of my jokes, which is very unlike him.

I’m not sure what’s going on or why this guy suddenly has him so captivated, but I do know I don’t like it.At all.

I nudge Ryder’s knee under the table again. It feels like the tenth time I’ve tried to pull his attention back from whatever is happening in the bar. Before the guy he’s been making eyes with walked in, he was his usual, happy self. Now, it’s like he’s completely checked out. The shift was so sudden and makes no sense. I’ve never seen him do this before.

“You sure you’re good?” I ask.

Once again, he blinks like I just pulled him out of his head. “Yeah, sorry. Just spaced out again.”

Right.

Ryder’s not one to zone out like this, especially when it involves another person. He’s never shown that much interestin dating, nor spent much time making eyes with people at the bar. He’s also straight, which is why it’s throwing me off.Why is this guy holding so much of his attention?

Friday night is usuallyournight without distractions to decompress and catch up from the week, and right now, this guy is ruining it.

I try to draw him back in, wanting his attention on me instead. I comment on the couple behind us, who’ve clearly just met on a dating app, and are doing their best to look engaged instead of pretending they aren’t both waiting for their best friend to call with a fake emergency to end their misery. That would usually get a smile, maybe even a laugh. But tonight, I get a distracted “hmm” as he taps his phone screen to check the time.

Tonight sucks.

“Think I’m gonna head out,” he says. He’s barely touched his second beer, and he’s already grabbing his jacket from the back of the chair before I even respond. “Feeling kind of off tonight. You ready?”

“Oh.” I try not to sound disappointed, even though I don’t want the night to end yet. I wish we could rewind to before that guy walked into the bar. “You okay?”

He hesitates for a moment, like he’s debating whether to say something more or pretend he’s fine. I rack my brain, trying to figure out if I did something to throw him off tonight, but I know in my gut it’s got nothing to do with me and everything to do with the stranger in the leather jacket. We’ve been friends for years, close in a way most people never get, and I’ve never seen him pull away like this. It’s making me feel uneasy because I can’t tell if I’m missing something major going on with Ryder right now.

Is he into that guy?

He reluctantly sighs, meeting my gaze. “Don’t look right now, but that guy at the bar keeps staring at me, and I don’t like it. Every time I glance over, he’s still looking. Doesn’t even try to look away, like most people would. It’s creeping me out.”

“I know who you’re talking about,” I confirm. “I saw you looking over there a few times. Weird he keeps staring at you. Wonder what it’ll take for that guy to take a hint you’re not interested.”

He’s probably trying to flirt and doesn’t know Ryder is straight. But, honestly, if this is his version of making a move, it’s seriously backfiring. The lingering, borderline obsessive eye contact is not a turn-on for anyone.

“Yeah, I’m not sure, but I’m ready to get out of here.”

I nod, draining the last of my beer. We both close out and head outside, making the walk to my apartment. When we reach my building, I slow down and he stops to look at me.

“You sure you don’t want to stay?” I ask, hoping he’ll change his mind. It doesn’t happen often, but when he heads home on a Friday, the loneliness hits harder. This night’s always been ours, and without him, it just feels empty.

“I don’t know, that guy put me in a weird mood. Think I want to go home tonight and decompress,” he says. “Next week, promise.”

I force myself to nod, but I hate that he wants to process tonight alone. I’m the one he’s supposed to turn to when something’s bothering him.

“Alright. Text me when you get home.”

“I will,” he says, giving me a small, forced smile before turning and walking the few more steps toward his car.

That guy at the bar clearly rattled him, and I can’t help but wonder if it’s because he was staring at Ryder like he waswaiting for an invite to approach him, or something else entirely. Ryder has never had an issue with queer people. If that guy was into him—and it sure seemed like he was—I know that wouldn’t be the problem. But something about tonight was different, and whatever it stirred up, I’ve never seen Ryder react like that before.

Turning and heading inside my building, I make my way to my apartment. The door swings shut behind me, and the sound echoes, reminding me that he’s not here despite how many pieces of him are scattered around my apartment.