His name leaves my lips between broken breaths, the world spinning around us as every nerve in my body trembles beneath his touch. His hips keep moving, slower now but deeper, dragging out every wave of pleasure until my legs shake, my fingers clawing at his arms.
Heat rolls through me in heavy pulses, each one pulling me closer until all I can do is hold on.
Whatever love is, I know this has to be part of it… right? How else can someone make me feel this good? Call it what you want, but it sure as hell can’t be anything else.
Chapter Ten
New Start
T
urning eighteen gave me something I never had—an exit. A real one. I didn’t have to return the next time she kicked me out. That place never wanted me, and I’ve stopped wasting the energy to care.
After hearing her accuse me over and over, I finally realized I was done trying to convince her of anything and letting her run my life.
I grabbed my shit and moved in with Arina.
My circle dissolved until it was just her and Jacob. But honestly? They fill the space better than anyone else ever did.
Arina and I have been tight since sixth grade and she’s nothing like the temporary people I grew uparound. She’s never loved me halfway. Even when basketball swallowed her whole, we didn’t drift. She would’ve gone to play in college if her ACL didn’t betray her.
Our birthdays are two days apart, so it always feels like fate tied us together long before we even met. Only thing stopping us from being actual sisters is our skin color.
Her piercing blue eyes and porcelain skin makes her look like she got hand-picked for aTwilightreboot. Small, yet plump, light pink lips, dark silky hair stopping just shy of her ass. Body stacked in a kind of way that hits every category at once: plus-size curves, gym-girl confidence—without the gym—and D-cups that put in overtime.
And she owns every bit of it. That’s what I love about her most—she carries herself like she’s the prize. Hell if I was a guy, I’d shoot my shot first glance.
During high school, I would crash at Arina’s whenever my mom and I blew up. But last year, her mom married her rich boss and moved out. So now, the house is ours.
Two girls playing house, pretending we’re grown while the world presses down harder than we can handle.
Her uncle rents one of the spare rooms, but he’s basically a ghost. In and out, hardly ever noticed. If anything, him being there makes the place feel safer—like no matter what happens, at least we’re not completely alone.
And through everything, Jacob’s still here. Even when’s dragging himself home from long shifts or answering my texts with half-sleeping replies, he keeps choosing me. We hold onto whatever little pockets of time we can steal—an hour here, a few minutes there—trying to convince ourselves it’s enough.
Sometimes it really does feel like the old us.
But other times, it feels like we’re tiptoeing around something neither of us wants to name. A feeling I’m scaredto stare too closely at, because I’m not sure I’d like what I see.
The distance is eating at us. Or maybe it’s just me—jealousy crawling in my chest like it pays rent. This isn’t high school anymore, where we saw each other every day and the girls eyeing him were just background extras. This is the real world—new jobs, new faces, and new people I’ll probably never meet.
? ? ?
It’s been three months living with Arina, and already it’s chaos. Her mom’s gone for good, leaving the house in our hands—free to decorate however we want. Cute in theory. But in reality, it’s a total nightmare.
What should’ve been a three-day flooring job dragged into two weeks of dust, crooked tiles, and contractors who clearly got their training off YouTube.
With both our rooms torn apart, we end up camping in the living room—Arina on the couch, and me on the air mattress. Not glamorous, but at least the place is ours. No moms breathing down our necks. No rules but the ones we make.
Technically, the house belongs to Arina’s great-grandfather, so the repairs are on her family. But the day-to-day cleaning is all me. Cooking, cleaning, laundry—basically everything.
Arina’s an only child who’s never had to lift a finger.
And it shows. Her room is a hazard zone. Clothes everywhere. Clean and dirty blending into one giant textile swamp.
I once walked in there and couldn’t even see the carpet.
The kitchen’s no better—dishes piled so high they looked like they were auditioning for the Leaning Tower of Pisa. If I don't step in, she’ll just pay her other friend to come clean.
