Page 64 of Gatsby's Starlet
He held my gaze one last second before stepping out, the door closing behind him with a solid click that echoed louder than it should have, leaving the house quiet again. I stayed where I was for a moment, staring at the door.
“I love you,” I whispered to the empty room.
***
I SHOULDN’T HAVEbeen meeting him again, and I knew it, because the logical part of me kept insisting I needed to back away, to put space between us before things went too far, but the part of me that mattered more, the part that had been chasing that feeling since last night, didn’t care about logic at all, only wanted him, wanted whatever this was to keep going, even after I’d admitted to myself that morning that I loved him, a truth thatonly made what I was doing feel worse, more dishonest, like I was digging myself into something I wouldn’t be able to climb out of.
And still… here I was.
Gatsby stood behind the bar when I walked in, moving the way he always did, easy, controlled, like nothing ever really got under his skin, and the second he saw me, something shifted in his expression, softening into something deeper, something that hit too close to the kind of look you only ever saw in those old movies we both clung to.
“Told you you’d make it,” he said as I slid onto the stool, his hand coming up to brush along my cheek as he leaned in.
“I missed you,” I breathed against his lips before I could stop myself, the words slipping out too honest, too real to take back.
Ruby was already moving behind the bar, tray balanced in her hand, but instead of the quick smile or easy comment she always threw my way, her attention stayed locked on the window, her focus too cutting, too fixed, like she was holding herself in place by force alone, and that alone was enough to set something off in my chest, because Ruby always made time for me, unless something else had her attention.
“Ruby,” I said low when she passed close enough.
She didn’t look at me right away, her grip tightening almost imperceptibly around the edge of the tray before she said, “I just can’t believe it.”
There was something wrong in her voice, something tight and fraying at the edges, and I felt it immediately.
I leaned in, lowering my voice. “What’s wrong?”
Her jaw flexed, the movement small but controlled, like she was forcing herself not to say more than she should. “I won’t lose him.”
“Ruby,” I murmured, a quiet warning threading through my tone now. “What are you talking about?”
Her eyes snapped to mine then, too fast, too sharp, something raw flashing there before she tried to bury it, but it didn’t go away completely, it lingered underneath, dark and ugly and too close to the surface.
“I won’t,” she repeated, quieter this time, but somehow worse.
I should’ve pushed, should’ve made her explain, but something in the way she said it stopped me, my attention dragging instead toward the door, and the second I saw them, everything else fell into place.
Mystic.And Zeynep.
Gatsby let out a low breath beside me. “Well, that’s new.”
From the other end of the bar, Chain looked up, surprise cutting across his face. “Well, hell, it’s been a fuckin’ year since he showed up here.”
That hit just as fast, my stomach tightening, because something told me Mystic didn’t do anything without a reason.
“What do we owe the pleasure?” Gatsby called, his hand settling more firmly at my back as he stepped away from the bar.
I moved with Gatsby automatically, my gaze flicking back toward Ruby without thinking, and this time I didn’t just see it, I felt it.
The hatred on her face hadn’t gone away.
If anything, it had sharpened.
Her grip tightened around the tray again, harder this time, her fingers pressing in like she needed the pressure just to hold herself together, and even when she forced her gaze away, forced herself to keep moving, she couldn’t stop looking back, her attention snapping toward Zeynep in quick, almost compulsive glances that came faster the longer she tried to fight them.
It wasn’t just anger anymore, it had twisted into something tighter, more dangerous, something that looked a lot like fixation, and it was slipping through the cracks no matter howhard she tried to hold it in, and someone noticed, because the second we got close enough, I saw it in Mystic, the way his attention didn’t drift but locked in, deliberate and exact, like he was stripping the room down to what mattered, his gaze landing on Ruby for just a second before it disappeared again, smooth and seamless, like it had never been there at all.
Maybe I was overthinking it. Maybe I was reading too much into something that wasn’t there.
“Didn’t expect to see you here,” Gatsby said.
