He presses closer, thigh sliding between mine, his body solid and insistent, like he’s anchoring me to this moment. His hand slips beneath the hem of my lace skirt, fingers brushing bare skin, and I gasp again.
Not because I’m scared.
Because I want this. I want him.
But even as the heat coils tighter, something sharp wedges itself into my chest.
“Wait,” I breathe, pulling back just enough to meet his eyes. “We shouldn’t. Trey is out there…”
Will stills.
For a heartbeat, he doesn’t say anything. Just looks at me. His pupils are blown wide, breath shallow, lips parted like he’s still tasting me. And then I watch it. The shift. The wall slamming back into place. The shame hardening his features.
“Fuck,” he mutters, stepping back like I burned him. “Kiddo, I’m sorry. I crossed a fucking line.”
Kiddo.
It punches through me harder than I expect. Like he’s trying to shove me back into the box I never fit in—too young, too inexperienced, too off limits. He runs a hand through his hair and takes another step away, putting space between us that wasn’t there seconds ago. And all I can do is stand there, heartbeat thrashing against my ribs, trying to hold in the sob clawing up my throat.
“It’s okay,” I say quickly, voice shaky. “It’s my fault.”
It’s not. We both know it’s not. But it’s easier to take the blame than to hear him regret it out loud.
I push off the wall, straightening my skirt with trembling fingers. “Forget it even happened.”
Will’s jaw clenches. “Phern?—”
“No.” I cut him off, forcing a smile. “I should get back. Trey’s probably wondering where I went.”
And just like that, I turn and walk away, even though every step feels like it’s tearing something out of me. The burn of his touch still lingers on my skin, but it’s the echo of what he didn’t say that hurts the most.
When I make it back to the table, Trey’s halfway through his beer, looking relaxed, like nothing in the world could possibly be complicated.
I stop in front of him, my heart still pounding for all the wrong reasons.
“Will you kiss me now?” I ask, my voice lighter than I feel, teetering on the edge of reckless.
His eyes widen, caught off guard but not enough to hesitate. He stands and pulls me into his arms like it’s the easiest thing in the world. Like he’s been waiting for permission.
Our lips meet, and it’s… fine.
Soft. Polite. The kind of kiss I imagine you’d give someone on a third date when you’re still deciding if there's potential. But it’s nothing like the one I just had in the storeroom. It doesn't steal my breath or tilt the world sideways.
Still, someone whistles. A group near the jukebox lets out a rowdy cheer. Someone else hollers. I smile against Trey’s mouth, pretending it doesn’t ache. Pretending I don’t still taste Will.
When we break apart, Trey’s grinning, his hands still resting on my waist. “Wow,” he says. “Wasn’t expecting that.”
“Me neither,” I lie, settling back into my chair and taking a long sip of my beer.
Across the bar, I don’t have to look to know Will’s watching.
I can feel it like a live wire under my skin.
And maybe that’s why I did it.
Maybe I needed him to see that I don’t wait around for someone who calls me kiddo and walks away.
Or maybe I just needed to prove that I can move on. Even if every part of me is still facing the wrong direction.
