Not just backfired. Exploded in my face in ways I couldn't have predicted and definitely can't control.
Because of Henry and his text message asking for money, reminding me that I have responsibilities beyond my own emotional safety. Because of the baby coming, an innocent life that needs things I can help provide if I just stay in this arrangement a little longer.
And because of Artan.
That kiss.
My fingers drift to my lips without conscious thought, touching the place where his mouth claimed mine just hours ago. The memory burns through me with startling clarity, more vivid than it should be, more affecting than I want it to be.
The way he pulled me across that small table like the distance between us was intolerable, like he couldn't stand another second of separation. The way his hand felt against the back of my neck, firm and sure and possessive in a way that made my brain stop working entirely. The way his mouth moved against mine like he'd been holding back for years and finally, finally couldn't anymore.
Possessive. That's the only word that captures it. He kissed me like the idea of not kissing me was impossible to even consider.
It ignited something in me I've never felt before. Something fierce and desperate and entirely too complicated to examine too closely. Something that makes my chest ache and my skin feel too tight and my thoughts scatter in directions I shouldn't let them go.
And it's not just Artan creating this chaos inside me.
It's Erion too. The dressing room at the boutique. The way he made me come apart without hesitation or apology, like my pleasure was his to claim.
And Luan. That kiss at the club that started as performance and became something else entirely. Something that made me forget where we were, who was watching, what any of it was supposed to mean.
I'm walking a tightrope with all of this. With my feelings that won't stay neatly categorized. With their feelings that I can't quite read or understand. With the growing certainty that if I don't get it all out in the open soon, if I don't force some kind of honest conversation about what's happening here, I'm going to fall.
And the landing is going to hurt.
I intended to do exactly that when Artan and I got back to the apartment this evening. But Erion was waiting for us. Leaning against the kitchen counter with that signature smirk, pale blue eyes tracking our entrance with knowing amusement.
Before I could gather my courage to say anything, before I could even open my mouth, Erion pulled Artan aside. They had a brief conversation in Albanian, voices low and urgent, words I couldn't understand but could feel the weight of.
Then Artan turned back to me, his expression apologetic and frustrated in equal measure. "We have to leave. Business that can't wait. But we'll talk soon. I promise."
And then he kissed me. Quick but intense, his mouth hard against mine for two seconds that felt like forever. Left me standing there stunned and breathless and entirely unable to form words.
Erion just smirked. Walked over and kissed my forehead with surprising gentleness, like I was something precious that needed protecting. And without another word, they both left.
I haven't seen Luan since this morning. When Artan and I got back from Pilsen, from tacos and kisses, Luan's bedroom door was already closed. He didn't emerge for dinner. Didn't respond when I knocked softly to ask if he wanted food. Just silence behind that closed door that felt deliberately final.
So now I'm here in the guest room that's become mine, tossing and turning, trying to settle racing thoughts enough to find sleep that refuses to come.
A loud crash echoes through the apartment.
The sound shatters the silence, sharp and violent and entirely wrong for this time of night.
Followed immediately by cursing. Low and vicious. Words I can't quite make out but can feel the anger in.
I'm out of bed before conscious thought catches up, adrenaline spiking through my system. Moving down the hallway on bare feet, the hardwood cool against my skin.
Luan stands facing the open freezer, his posture rigid with pain or frustration or both. Ice cubes are scattered across the tile floor around his feet, dozens of them catching the light and gleaming like scattered diamonds.
"What happened?" The question comes out breathless from my quick movement.
He turns toward my voice, his movements careful and controlled despite whatever chaos just occurred. "Migraine. Bad one." His voice is tight, each word clearly costing him effort. "Was trying to do what you did at the club. Ice on the back of the neck. Obviously didn't work out."
Now that I'm closer I can see the tension in every line of his body, the way he's holding himself too still like movement will make the pain worse.
"I'm sorry I scared you," he adds, the apology automatic.
"You didn't need to do this alone." I'm already moving, crouching down to gather the scattered ice cubes, the cold biting into my fingers. "Why didn't you call me?"
