“Don’t worry, bro,” Oliver says, punching Cyrus’s other arm. “There are other girls here. We’ll have you forgetting about—Leah, right?” He looks to me for confirmation. I beam. “Yeah.” “We’ll have you moving on from her in no time,” he says with a wink. “Who said I wanted to?” Cyrus says flatly. “Oh.” Oliver blinks. “Uh, I mean, feel free to mope around to your heart’s content if that’s what you prefer …” “I will, thanks,” Cyrus says in the same flat, hostile tone designed to end any conversation. And it works.
