I push out of my seat and touch Francisco’s shoulder.
He pockets his phone and straightens out of his seat.
“If you all insist,” he says, his smile barely touching his eyes.
We dance in the middle of the room, getting swept away by the rhythmic music before a slow tune comes on, and his arms drape around me.
He pulls me into his chest, yet despite the closeness, he is distant and detached more than anything else.
So much different than how he was last night.
Things were different when it was only us. Him, me, and his friend.
Alejandro has never been his competition. Despite his feelings for me, he’s never tried to make an issue out of it.
That’s why it’s worked so well between the three of us.
That’s why they’ve shared me so easily, and I’ve experienced so much pleasure with them.
But Francisco is not the same man right now. And it’s noticeable in how he stays away from us, and me, in particular.
It reminds me of that first night when I spend some time with him in the car before going to the party. The night I went clubbing by myself. And I met Isla and Em, and the rest of the group.
The only difference is that he no longer seems to play a game and truly distances himself from me.
“You’re not mad at me, are you?” I ask.
He clicks his tongue, his fingers fanning over my lower back, his breath tickling my temple.
“I have no reason to be,” he says.
His voice is stripped of emotion. Even.
I guess you can’t have your cake and eat it too. I can’t have all of them and also their emotions.
“I’m sorry.”
He squeezes my back softly.
“Don’t be. It has nothing to do with you. And it doesn’t change anything between us.”
I wonder what exactly doesn’t change.
How we've always connected––as if a hot, humid summer has rammed through our senses––or this polite, reserved connection and me adjusting to his ever-changing moods.
“Listen…” I murmur. “Maybe there isn’t much time left,” I continue, and he slightly tilts his head back so he can lock my eyes. “It may be a few more weeks, and it may be less. I don’t want to waste the little time we still have left. I want to live it fully, without regrets.”
A soft smile curls his lips.
“You think it’s easy?” he asks.
“No. I don’t think so. And I know what I’m asking of you. But it’s too early to let go of me.”
“I’m not letting go of you,” he says, smiling, evidently lying.
“Don’t try to fool me. I know you.”
He studies my face before pulling me into his chest again.