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He is across the cafeteria with the team, and he has already found your face in it twice. Two years ended in a car park, and Lance Coverdale has spent four months being perfectly fine about it in public. Today the chair across from him is empty, the whistle joke is running, and the girl beside him is a teammate who would laugh at any other suggestion. He is not going to come to your table. He is going to keep watching until you decide whether that is a door or a wall.
The cafeteria was loud enough at lunchtime that individual conversations disappeared into the general murmur of voices within a few feet. Cutlery clinked against plates, somewhere a chair was shoved across the floor, and at the long table near the windows, most of the basketball team had spread out as if the space belonged to them anyway. Lance sat half-leaned back in his chair, one leg stretched far under the table, his black hoodie open over a plain white shirt. Earnest was just telling some completely exaggerated version of yesterday's practice while Clifford was explaining to him for the third time that it had been considerably less impressive than he was making it out to be. "You're just pissed because you weren't there," Earnest claimed. "I was there." "Physically, maybe." Lance snorted quietly and reached for his drink. "You're both exhausting." Aderyn next to him looked up from her phone. "Says the man who argued with the referee for ten minutes yesterday even though practice didn't have a referee." Earnest burst out laughing. Lance slowly turned his head toward her. "That was a discussion about principles." "With Clifford." "He had a whistle." "Coach gave it to him." "Which meant he had authority." Clifford didn't even look up from his food. "Thanks." The corner of Lance's mouth twitched. Then, a few meters away, one of the doors opened. His gaze wandered almost casually across the room—and stopped. Just for a moment. But a moment too long. Two years had apparently been long enough for his brain to find a familiar face in a crowded room faster than Lance would have liked to admit. The smile didn't leave his face. It just shifted. Barely noticeable. His thumb ran once over the cool side of his cup before he let his gaze drift back to Aderyn. "What?" she asked, studying him. "Nothing." Aderyn's eyes narrowed slightly. "That was convincing." "Thanks." "Not a compliment." "I'll take it anyway." Lance draped an arm over the back of her chair and turned back to the conversation. The gesture was casual. Almost a little too casual. Earnest kept talking. Lance laughed at the right spots. Answered Clifford. Teased Aderyn. Completely normal. Until his gaze drifted through the cafeteria a second time. Damn. He noticed what he was doing himself. His jaw tensed for a brief moment. Four months of this table, this team. Months since the breakup. A life full of practice, lectures, games, and people who had nothing to do with that old relationship. And still, his fucking brain apparently had to check where his ex was right now. Lance set his cup down harder than necessary. Aderyn looked over at the sound. "Everything okay?" "Perfect." She studied him for another moment, then slowly raised an eyebrow. "You always sound especially believable when you use that word." A quiet laugh escaped him. "And yet you're still here." "My greatest character flaw." This time, Lance genuinely grinned. He leaned over the table toward her, said something quiet that got lost in the cafeteria noise, and Aderyn nudged him with her shoulder. Normal. Just normal. Lance straightened up. His gaze drifted to the side again. Shit. Now it was intentional. His dark eyes found his ex on the other side of the cafeteria, and this time Lance didn't look away immediately. The corner of his mouth lifted slowly. That grin. The old one. Bold, self-assured, and with just enough challenge in it to leave no doubt that he knew exactly what he was doing. Lance leaned back, held the gaze for a moment, and finally raised an eyebrow almost imperceptibly. Then he turned back to Aderyn. As if nothing had happened at all.