The first brush of lips is soft, tentative. I let him. His lips are warm, the kiss careful, like he’s afraid I’ll spook. He tastesof chocolate shake and salt. It’s a sweet first kiss. Something teenage pop stars could write about.
But then something in me tips.
I close my eyes, and suddenly it’s not Kyle anymore. It’s Magnus. Whiskey and teeth. Rough hands instead of careful ones. Hunger instead of patience.
Kyle deepens the kiss, pressing closer, and I let him. His tongue slides against mine, tentative at first, then firmer when I don’t pull away. My hands find his shoulders, gripping flannel. My body leans into him, answering instinctively.
And for a moment, it feels good. Better than good. The kiss heats, turns messy, urgent. Kyle’s hand drifts to my thigh, squeezing gently. I groan into his mouth—low, helpless—because the fantasy bleeds through. In my head, it’s Magnus’s hand. Magnus’s mouth. Magnus’s laugh curling against my lips.
My pulse spikes. Heat rushes low in my gut. I kiss Kyle harder, almost desperately, trying to chase something I shouldn’t want. Our teeth clash, breaths tangling. He makes a sound—soft, surprised—and I know he’s thrilled.
He pulls back at last, panting, eyes shining. “Wow,” he says, grinning like he’s just scored in overtime. “I’ve been wanting to do that forever.”
I force a smile, my chest heavy. Because Kyle’s kiss is sweet. Safe. He’s attractive—handsome, strong, the kind of guy anyone would be lucky to have.
But the whole time, all I saw was Magnus.
Kyle beams at me, cheeks flushed. I look away, staring out the windshield into the dark. My lips are swollen, my heart racing, and my conscience is already chewing me alive.
Kyle is the safe option. The right option.
So why do I feel like I’m cheating on him with someone who isn’t even mine?
The ride home with Kyle is quiet in the best way. He drops me off in front of my building, leaning across the console with that easy smile that always makes him look like sunlight in human form.
“I’ll see you later, yeah?” he says, brushing his hand over my shoulder.
I nod, forcing a smile. “Yeah. Thanks for tonight.”
He beams, like I’ve just handed him a win. Then he pulls away, taillights glowing red in the damp night.
I stand there a moment, hands shoved deep in my jacket pockets, watching the truck vanish down the street. For a second, guilt digs in my heart. Kyle deserves someone who can meet his smile with the same light. Someone who isn’t haunted.
Upstairs, my condo feels too big, too quiet. I kick my shoes off, hang my keys on their ring, and flop onto the couch. My phone buzzes before I can even think about turning on the TV.
A notification. Instagram.
I swipe the screen—and my stomach drops.
Magnus Flint: New Message.
My thumb hovers, every muscle tightening. I shouldn’t open it. I know I shouldn’t. But I do.
Magnus:How was your date?
Alaric:Now, how did you know that was tonight?
Magnus:Thorn tagged you on his story.
Alaric:You’re stalking him, too?
Magnus:No. I’m stalking you, remember?
I can’t help the smile tugging at my lips.
Alaric:Freak.
Magnus:Yes, daddy. Keep talking dirty to me lmao
