Chapter 2: The Third Wheel Dilemma

Fourteen days of quarantine. If I weren’t here, the two of them might have already gotten together.

The realization hit me like a blast of cold air straight from Lake Erie. I tried to keep my expression neutral, but inside, I felt like I’d just been benched at my own game. Maybe I was the third wheel, the extra in a rom-com I never signed up for.

I was embarrassed and ashamed. It was kind enough of them to let me stay—I didn’t dare ask for more.

I tucked my hands into my sleeves, shrinking into myself. The last thing I wanted was to make things harder for them.

"I’ll just sleep in the living room. I’m used to couches, grew up on them! Hahaha..." I forced a laugh, the sound bouncing awkwardly around the room. I could practically hear my mom’s voice: “Ava, don’t impose, honey.”

Ethan came over and handed me a bottle of water. I couldn’t help but notice his hands—fair, slender, long-fingered. Seriously, he could be a hand model in a Starbucks ad.

His fingertips brushed mine, and a shiver zipped up my arm. He always had those stupidly nice hands. The kind you’d see holding a pumpkin spice latte in a Target commercial.

He leaned down, breath warm on my cheek, and my skin tingled.

I tried not to flinch, but my heart hammered in my chest. Was it always this hot in here, or was it just my nerves?

"I’ll sleep on the couch these days. Mariah can have the guest room."

His tone was gentle, but had that no-nonsense edge he used when convincing me to try his latest cupcake flavor.

Mariah Lane was the other girl—gorgeous, honestly. If I were a guy, I’d probably chase her too.

She had that effortless Instagram beauty—clear skin, perfect hair, even her pajamas looked like they belonged in a Calvin Klein ad.

I was shocked. "You two don’t need to sleep separately just because of me. It’s fine, I really don’t mind."

I waved my hands, trying to look chill, but really hoping I wasn’t screwing up whatever they had going.

Mariah blushed, glanced at Ethan, then gave me a sly, teasing smile. She tilted her head, voice playful: "She’s not my girlfriend. You are..."

Her words hung in the air like confetti after a parade. I blinked, trying to figure out if she was joking, flirting, or just messing with me.