Chapter three

 Chapter Three : Jay pov

 I told myself it didn't mean anything.

 The staring. The way my chest went tight when Cole Ashford looked at me. The fact that I replayed every word of that gym conversation while lying in bed at 2am, staring at my ceiling, my heart beating too fast.

 It didn't mean anything.

 I had a girlfriend. A good one. Maya was kind, beautiful, and somehow not turned off by my secondhand sweaters and calloused hands. She laughed at my stupid jokes. She remembered my coffee order. She deserved better than me obsessing over her older brother.

 So I buried it. Pushed it down so deep I almost believed it wasn't there. Smiled through my shifts at the coffee shop and pretended everything was fine.

 It wasn't fine.

 "You're zoning out again." Sarah nudged my shoulder. We were behind the counter, wiping down machines. The morning rush was over. The café was quiet except for one old man reading a newspaper in the corner.

 "I'm fine," I said.

 "You're lying." Sarah crossed her arms and leaned against the espresso machine. She'd been my coworker for two years and my friend for longer. She knew every bad decision I'd ever made. "Is it Maya?"

 "No."

 "The marathon training?"

 "No."

 Sarah leaned closer, lowering her voice. "The rich brother?"

 I froze. My hand stopped mid-wipe.

 "Knew it." She smirked, but her eyes were soft. "You've been weird ever since you came back from his gym. What happened? Did he say something?"

 "No." I grabbed a rag and started scrubbing the counter so hard my knuckles hurt. "He just... looked at me. The whole time. Like he was trying to figure me out."

 "Maybe he was."

 "Maybe he should stop."

 Sarah laughed. "You're impossible. You spend weeks complaining about how cold he is, and now you're complaining that he paid attention? Make it make sense, Jay."

 I didn't answer.

 Because she was right. Cole Ashford had been in my head since the first dinner. The way his gray eyes tracked me across the restaurant. The way his jaw tightened every time I spoke. The way he sat on that bench and watched me run like I was something worth watching.

 I hated him for it.

 I hated myself for liking it.

 "You know what I think?" Sarah said, pulling me out of my head.

 "I don't want to know."

 "I think you're scared."

 "I'm not scared."

 "You are." She pointed a finger at my chest. "You've been alone for a long time. You work two jobs. You don't let anyone help you. And now there's this rich, angry, gorgeous guy who looks at you like you're a puzzle he can't solve, and it's freaking you out because you actually feel something."

 I put the rag down. "I feel things for Maya."

 "Do you?" Sarah's voice was gentle. Not mean. Just honest. "Do you really?"

 I didn't answer.

 Because I didn't know anymore.

 Later that night, Maya came over to my apartment.

 It was small. One bedroom, thin walls, a kitchenette that barely fit two people. The paint was chipping near the window. The floor creaked when you walked too heavy. But it was mine. I paid for it with my own two jobs, my own hands, my own sweat.

 Maya never complained. She curled up on my secondhand couch like it was a throne. She kicked off her shoes and tucked her feet under her and smiled at me like I was something special.

 "Jay?" she said.

 "Yeah."

 "You've been quiet all night."

 I was sitting on the floor, my back against the couch, my knee pulled up to my chest. I'd been staring at the same crack in the wall for ten minutes.

 "Just tired," I said.

 Maya ran her fingers through my hair. It felt good. Soft. Safe. It should have been enough. Any normal guy would have turned around, kissed her, and forgotten everything else.

 But I wasn't normal. And I couldn't forget.

 "You can tell me," she said softly. "Whatever it is. You know that, right?"

 I closed my eyes.

 I think I'm attracted to your brother.

 I think I'm attracted to a man for the first time in two years and it's your brother.

 I think I'm falling for someone who isn't you, and I hate myself for it every single second.

 "I'm fine," I said.

 Maya kissed the top of my head. "Okay. But when you're ready, I'm here."

 She didn't push. That was the worst part. If she yelled, if she got angry, if she threw something — I could fight back. I could be defensive. But she was soft and trusting and she believed me, and it made me feel like garbage.

 I walked her to her car at midnight. The parking lot was cold. My breath fogged in the air.

 She kissed me goodbye. Her lips were warm. I kissed her back and felt nothing.

 Well. Not nothing.

 I felt guilt. Heavy and thick in my chest.

 "See you tomorrow?" she asked.

 "Yeah," I said. "Tomorrow."

 She drove away. I stood there until her taillights disappeared.

 Then I went inside, sat on my couch, and stared at the wall again.

 The next morning, I showed up at the Ashford gym.

 I told myself it was for the marathon. For the kid who needed a wheelchair. For Maya, because she asked me to.

 I told myself a lot of things.

 Cole was already there.

 He stood by the weight rack in black sweatpants and a gray shirt that clung to his shoulders. No jacket. His arms were crossed. His hair was still damp from a shower. He looked like he'd been waiting for me.

 "You came," he said.

 "You sound surprised."

 "I am." He tilted his head. "After yesterday, I figured you'd find somewhere else."

 "There isn't somewhere else."

 "Right." He didn't believe me. I could see it in his face.

 I walked to the treadmill. Didn't look at him. "Maya asked me to. I'm doing it for her."

 "Sure you are."

 I stopped. Turned around. "What's that supposed to mean?"

 Cole shrugged. His biceps flexed. "Nothing. Just saying."

 "Say it."

 He walked toward me. Slow. Deliberate. Each step felt like a countdown.

 "I think you're here for more than a treadmill," he said. His voice was low.

 My heart slammed against my ribs. "You're wrong."

 "Am I?" He stopped a foot away. Close enough that I could smell his cologne. Something woody and expensive. "Then why are your hands shaking?"

 I looked down.

 He was right.

 My fingers were trembling.

 I looked back up. "What do you want from me, Ashford?"

 Cole's jaw worked. A muscle jumped in his cheek. Something flickered in his eyes fear, want, confusion, all tangled together.

 "I don't know," he said quietly.

 Neither of us moved.

 The air between us was thick enough to choke on. I could see the vein in his neck pulsing. I could see the way his chest rose and fell faster than it should.

 "You should go," he said.

 "You should stop looking at me like that."

 "Like what?"

 "Like you want to —" I stopped myself. Bit my tongue. "Forget it."

 I turned back to the treadmill. Started running. Fast. Hard. Pounding my feet like I could outrun my own brain.

 Cole didn't leave. He sat on the bench again.

 We stayed like that for an hour. Him watching. Me running. Neither speaking.

 When I finally stopped, my legs were burning. My lungs ached. I grabbed my water bottle and drank half of it in one go. Wiped my face with my sleeve.

 "Why do you do that?" I asked, not looking at him.

 "Do what?"

 "Watch me."

 Silence.

 I turned around.

 Cole was standing by the door. His hand was on the frame. His back was to me.

 "Because I can't look away," he said.

 Then he walked out.

 I stood in the empty gym. The only sound was my breathing and the soft hum of the treadmill cooling down.

 My heart was pounding.

 My hands were still shaking.

 I told myself it didn't mean anything.

 But I was lying.

 And I was terrified of what happened next.