Cocky bastard.
It’s a dare.One I want to fail just to watch him fall with me.
Something low and tense rolls through my gut.Lust laced with old want.A flash of memory that isn’t safe.His mouth, my tongue, her breathless gasp between us.The way the three of us fit—too much, too loud, too right—until the next morning when reality hit and destroyed what could’ve been the best friendship.
Cally doesn’t step back.He doesn’t even blink.
He just stares.
Like he remembers too.
Like he’s picturing what I am.
Her, laughing.Us, younger.My hand on her thigh.His mouth on her shoulder.That night we crossed every line and tried to pretend it meant nothing.That we could go back.
I hate that I remember how he tastes.
I hate it more that sometimes—like right now—I want another sample.
I yank the cloth back and hand it to Vesper without looking at her.My fingers graze hers.She’s the reason.The center of this fucked-up gravitational pull.
But Cally’s still in my periphery, still close, still?—
“Well?”she says lightly, forcing levity into the air so thick I could cut it with my fucking teeth.“Anyone want to comment on how pale I am now?Or should we just do that thing where you both pretend you’re not fighting over who gets to babysit me?”
“You’re not pale,” Cally says, voice low, eyes still on me.“You’re flushed.”
“For fuck’s sake,” I mutter.
She smirks.“Am I glowing too?”
Cally shrugs, still not moving.“You always glow, sunshine.”
She rolls her eyes like it doesn’t land.But her cheeks go pinker.
And me?I finally blink.
Because if I don’t, I’ll do something reckless.Like kiss him just to make it hurt.Or kiss her because it already does.
Or worse—both.
And that?
That would fucking wreck me.
But my body doesn’t care about years.
My body fucking remembers.
Wanting more is a problem I can’t afford right now.
I turn away first.I always do.
Because if I don’t, the wanting starts to look like permission.
Cally doesn’t say anything.He never needs to.He has this infuriating way of letting silence do the work, like he knows exactly how long to let it stretch before it presses on the wrong places.He knows I’m wired to react.Knows I hate being seen when I’m cornered.
And fuck, I am cornered.
