It takes half an hour before I hear the rumble of their bikes outside. The sound fades down the road, leaving the house too quiet.
I stare at my reflection in the mirror. My cheeks are flushed, my skin too warm. My body doesn’t care that logic says no. My hormones clearly didn’t get the memo. I mutter something unrepeatable and brush my hair out of my face.
I need to start reading thrillers. Something with blood and ghosts instead of kisses and hands sliding up skirts.
Nimbus jumps onto the dresser, tail curling around his paws. “Don’t look at me like that,” I tell him. “It’s not my fault they look like that.”
He blinks, unimpressed.
I grab a hoodie and head downstairs. The living room is clean—dishes washed, controllers stacked neatly, blankets folded. They even wiped the counter. There’s a note stuck to the fridge with a magnet shaped like a fish.
Thanks for dinner. We’ll bring the drinks next time. —L & M
I can’t help smiling. For all their chaos, they’re good men. Too good for me to mess this up again.
Still, something in me hums when I think about them. About how Maddox had looked at me earlier, his eyes catching on my mouth before he turned away. Or how Liam had stood a little too close in the doorway, his scent familiar enough to bring back things I’m supposed to have forgotten.
I shake my head, open the fridge, and reach for the bottle of wine that isn’t there. “Fucking Liam,” I mutter. He must have finished it.
I slam the door gently, lean my forehead against the cool metal, and sigh. I feel off. Not just from the suppressant or the long day. Something’s restless under my skin. Maybe seeing Shepard today stirred it. That man could always throw me off my balance.
Nimbus weaves between my legs, purring, rubbing his head against my ankle. “At least you still like me,” I say, reaching down to scratch behind his ears.
The house feels bigger when it’s empty. I sink onto the couch, curling my legs beneath me, the book open on my lap again. I try to read, but the words blur. My mind keeps drifting back to the noise of laughter, the smell of them in my house.
Liam’s cologne—cinnamon and clean soap. Maddox’s darker, a hint of pine.
My body reacts before I can stop it. Heat pools in my chest, and I press the book tighter against myself, trying to breathe through it.
This is ridiculous. They’re my friends.
I flip a page. The heroine is falling apart in the hero’s arms, and I want to throw the book across the room. I close it instead, drop it onto the coffee table, and stand. Maybe tea will help.
The kettle takes forever. I stare out the window while it heats, the moon hanging low over the water. The reflection catches on the glass, silver light spilling across the counter. Everything feels quiet again. Too quiet.
Nimbus hops onto the counter, tail swishing, staring at me like he knows exactly what kind of mess I am tonight.
“Don’t judge,” I tell him. “You’ve never had hormones like this.”
He meows, unimpressed, and knocks the magnet off the fridge with one paw.
I laugh despite myself, scoop it up, and stick it back. My hand brushes the note again, the ink smudged slightly where one of them must have touched it after washing dishes.
The kettle clicks off. I pour the water, add a tea bag, and stand there holding the mug between both hands, breathing in the steam.
It’s late, but I’m not tired. I should be after a day like this, after seeing Shepard and trying not to think about him, after having Maddox and Liam sprawled on my floor like temptation with controllers. But my body refuses to relax.
I wander toward the window again. Outside, the streetlights cast long shadows across the empty road.
Nimbus curls up on the couch, already asleep. I sip my tea and stare at nothing for a long time, wondering when everything started to feel so complicated.
It used to be easy—work, home, friends, repeat. Then Liam had to go and ruin the simple parts by being kind when I needed it most. Then Maddox came along with that smile that looks like trouble and a heart that’s too damn big for his chest.
And now here I am, fighting off thoughts that make my skin too warm and my breath too shallow.
It’s almost one when I give up pretending I’m tired. The book on my lap hasn’t moved in twenty minutes, and the tea on the table has gone cold. Nimbus is asleep on the couch, paws twitching like he’s chasing ghosts. I stand, grab my denim jacket from the hook, and tell myself a night out isn’t the worst idea.
The air outside tastes like salt and leftover rain. The street’s empty, just the sound of the ocean in the distance. I open the ride-share app, type inBar 2.0, and wait for the little car icon to move.
