Elyse stood, fast hug, air kiss on my cheek, which was how she always greeted us when we met up outside of work, like we hadn’t seen each other hours earlier. Hands on my arms, a whiff of her coconut hair product. I caught Bennett smirking. The first time he’d swung by for a quick drink, we’d been standing at the bar, and this was how she’d greeted him. After, he’d given me that same look, the same half-smile, as he leaned in, repeating the gesture on me—his laughter in my ear: Is this what we do now? A joke we were both in on.

But sometimes, when I looked at Elyse, I saw another version of me: of what might’ve been possible, the person I might’ve grown into. Maybe it was just the hair—I imagined that would be what mine would look like now if I left it natural, grew it out. Or maybe it was just how she moved through her world—like everyone was an ally, a friend—how casually and easily she could make a connection. Sometimes, watching her, I got a flash of nostalgia for something that didn’t even exist.

“I had an appointment,” I said to Bennett as Elyse slid back onto her seat. “There was direct eye contact. I forgot myself.”

He laughed over a sip of his drink, then coughed, smiling. “I did warn you.” Then, turning serious: “How’d it go?”

I sat down on the empty stool beside him. It was more crowded than I was used to, probably because of the band setting up in the corner. “Underwhelming,” I said. But I knew I’d earned his forgiveness. Going through the proper channels.

Elyse looked between the two of us, as if trying to keep up. I hated that feeling myself, of knowing you were on the outside of a joke, peering in.

I waved my hand dismissively. “Had to see a doctor to get a new prescription,” I said.

“Ah,” she said, still not getting it but losing interest.

“Thank you,” I said, picking up the third beer on the bar top, practically brimming over. Friendship was having someone who ordered your drink the second they saw you walk in.

“Oh, someone was looking for you earlier,” Elyse said. Bennett gave her a quizzical look, but she shook her head. “Before you got here. Hey, Trevor,” she called, gesturing the bartender closer once more. “Who was looking for Liv?”

Trevor held up one finger to the customer he was currently serving, backing toward us. He had hooded eyes, olive skin, dark hair, a falcon tattooed on his forearm—the cultivated look of bartenders everywhere. But he was smitten with Elyse. And he didn’t do brooding very well, under her attention. He came whenever she beckoned, smiled easily, laughed easily. “Older guy. Salt-andpepper hair,” he said.

“Cute?” she asked, gently teasing.

He smirked. “I guess, if that’s your thing.”

“Oh, it sure is Olivia’s thing,” Bennett mumbled.

Elyse widened her eyes, and even Trevor looked down, busying himself with a water ring on the counter.

“Sorry but,” Bennett said, hands out, not sorry at all. My relationship with Jonah had been a terribly kept secret when we’d started at the hospital together, but it was still supposed to be off the radar. Bennett was the only one I’d confided in when I’d broken it off. We’d been in line for breakfast, sliding our trays across the metal, and he’d briefly paused, briefly looked up. Finally, she’s come to her senses, he’d said, grabbing a banana. Which was a shitty way to find out the person you considered your closest friend had thought you were a fool the entire time you’d known each other.

I closed my eyes now, ignoring him. “What did he want?” I asked Trevor.

Trevor leaned over the bar, lowered his voice so it didn’t carry. Like a promise that he was on my side and not Bennett’s. “Didn’t say. Just asked if Olivia Meyer was here.”

I blinked. Until that moment, it hadn’t occurred to me that Trevor knew my last name. Then again, he’d asked for my ID the first time I came in. And I left my credit card for him every Friday night.

“I said I hadn’t seen you,” he continued. “The guy said he had plans to meet up with you.” He shrugged, looking around the crowd. “Haven’t seen him since, though.”

I shook my head. Goddamn Jonah. I checked my phone, but he hadn’t texted again. Of course, the reason he was thinking about me was because he was coming to town. I was a convenience, nothing more. He probably had a follow-up study planned at the hospital. Or worse, a new contract to pitch. And he knew where I’d be after work on a Friday.

“Did you know he was coming?” Bennett asked.

“No,” I said through gritted teeth.

“Who?” Elyse asked, leaning closer.

“Liv’s last boyfriend. The professor,” Bennett said in this pretentious tone. So that I could imagine him saying it before, saying it all the time to others, whenever I left the room.

“I should go,” I said.

Bennett grabbed my wrist as I reached for my purse. “Liv, come on. You just got here,” he said, letting go. Sorry, he mouthed, so only I could see.

“I’m just really tired,” I said. Another truth.

“I didn’t know,” Elyse said, fumbling with her hair, tying it into a high ponytail as she spoke. “I didn’t realize it was an old boyfriend.” She hadn’t been working with us back then. She’d never met him, and I sure hadn’t brought him up.

“He’s not even an old boyfriend,” I said. Which was sort of the problem. Jonah wouldn’t commit until I found my backbone and called it off. It wasn’t an ultimatum. I’d just grown sick of it.

There was always some excuse:

I shouldn’t—

If people knew—

What would the school say—

My reputation—

Except he did. And people already knew. As far as I knew, the school said nothing. And his reputation seemed to be getting on just fine, which now included slept with former grad student.

Mine, on the other hand . . .

Bennett was right, though, whether he knew it or not. Generally speaking, my type was older. I found myself drawn to men more when they were no longer covering up their insecurities with bravado. The ones who told me: This is what I like. This is what I want of you. This is what I will give you in return. With a confidence that meant they’d already come to terms with who they were.

Jonah was probably drawn to me for the inverse.

My glass was still mostly full, and it tasted bland, watered down somehow. “One drink,” I said. “And then I’m going to bed.”

Bennett relaxed in his seat again, eyes scanning the room. “Speaking of exes,” he said, gesturing toward the entrance. His apologies always came like this, in tiny appeasements. In pieces of himself that he gave away, knowing full well he’d held on to them for far too long.

I followed his gaze. A woman in a casual black dress, long legs and long blond hair that fell in waves over her shoulders. She was stunning. I was stunned.

“Damn, Bennett,” Elyse said. She nudged his shoulder, but he remained stoic. Sometimes, like now, Elyse got it wrong, aiming for levity.

“Why don’t I know her?” I asked.

“Because,” he said slowly, “you never asked.” I must’ve physically jolted, because he put his hand up, shifting direction. “It was before your time, Liv. She worked in the ER for less than a year, left a month or two before you started. We were together for maybe six months.”