Above me, the sky glowed between the treetops, streaks of moonlight slipping through the canopy.
And just like that, the ache crept back in.
Did Lucien believe us?I couldn’t tell anymore. My performances were starting to feel like skin I couldn’t peel off. I told myself the mandate was policy, not fate. My body didn’t agree.
Lucien had been too quiet after the kiss, too still. That smile he’d given Maggie had looked sweet, but I knew he was already digging. Already suspicious.
The worst part? I couldn’t even blame him.
I’d flinched like a damn rookie at every touch. Every well-meaning glance from Maggie had been a landmine I couldn’t navigate. Until that bench. Until I actually let myself want it. The first time in front of Eric was before I’d really startedfeeling… and now every touch from her set my nervous system on fire.
And then…fuck.
Thatkiss.
I’d never felt sparks like that. Not even close.
But it hadn’t been real. It had been engineered. A performance designed to fool the most dangerous man I knew. Itsure was fooling me. Her lips had been soft, her hands had held me like I was worth holding, and my body had answered like it already knew the truth I was too stubborn to admit.
I rolled back onto all fours and padded toward the edge of the woods, where I shifted back, bones snapping and reshaping until I was just a guy again. A naked, tired guy carrying the weight of a kiss that shouldn’t have meant anything.
I dressed slowly, dragging the hoodie over my head and dusting leaves from my hair. My body felt better, lighter. But my chest was still tight, like I’d left something important back in the woods and didn’t know how to get it back.
By the time I reached the apartment building again, the sky was just starting to shift to deep blue, the earliest hint of morning pressing against the edges of night.
I stood outside the door for a minute. I wasn’t used to feeling this raw. I wasn’t used towanting.And I definitely wasn’t used to wantingher.
I stepped inside, but the apartment was too quiet.
I’d tried everything. Running. Cold water. That dumb breathing exercise. EvenThe Sound of Music, which embarrassingly usually did the trick. Something about Julie Andrews twirling on a mountain could pull me back from the brink every time. But not tonight.
I sat there, on the couch Maggie had practically turned into a second bedroom, watching the nuns sing about solving problems like Maria, and all I could think was: how the hell do I solve Maggie?
Not fix her; she didn’t need fixing. I was the mess. The run should’ve burned off every trace of tension, every thought of that kiss, every flash of her eyes. But the second my feet hit the floor again, skin stitched back into place, lungs raw from the shift…shewas still there. Under my skin. Behind my ribs.
And then I walked inside. Her scent hit me like a train.
Vanilla shampoo. Lavender detergent. That cursed lip gloss she wore that smelled like sugared citrus and tasted like poor decision-making. It was everywhere. On the throw pillows. In the carpet. Onme, probably.
I stood barefoot in the dark, chest tight, hand pressed to the center of my sternum like I could push the feeling down physically.
It didn’t work.
This wasn’t just want. It wasn’t just attraction. It was something else. Some raw, cellular need to be near her that I couldn’t out-shift or sweat away. It was unsettling. Infuriating.
Which brought me to the hallway.
I stared at her door like it might open on its own. Like she might already know I was here, cracked open and borderline feral. I almost turned back.
But then my brain served me a cruel little memory:Section 4, Paragraph 3. The Emotional Support Clause.
I’d written the roommate agreement before Maggie moved in. Back when I was half-serious and half-exhausted after my third failed attempt at cohabiting like a functioning adult after Seraphina. That section about emergency cuddling was unfortunately serious, though I thought I could pass it off as a joke. I’d added it after a particularly bad shift had left me curled on the bathroom floor for hours, unable to re-regulate. I figured if I named the need, it would feel less pathetic. Less like I was broken. I never actually thought I’d use it. Definitely not withher.
Now it felt like a lifeline.
I knocked on the doorframe.
Maggie stirred, rustling beneath her blanket. Her hair was a total disaster, a curly mess against the pillow, and her hand was tucked under her cheek.
