Page 48 of Don't Puck Your Best Friend’s Girl

"If you don't want to hook up," he adds, softer now, "at least hang out with me. Let me make up for being a dick." A hint of accusation enters his tone. "Though I should remind you that you have my number. You could have texted me anytime."

He's right, of course. I could have reached out instead of stewing in my anger all week. Could have asked why he avoided me in the hallway instead of assuming the worst. Could have done a lot of things differently.

"Fine," I say, the word carrying more weight than its single syllable should allow. "But not here."

Something like victory flashes across his face, quickly masked. He steps back, offering his hand like we're in some old-fashioned movie. "After you."

Against every screaming warning from my better judgment, I follow him out of the room. The party seems louder now, more chaotic, or maybe that's just the thundering of my pulse in my ears. I spot Mina near the makeshift dance floor, Jake's arms wrapped around her waist as they sway to a song that's too fast for such movement.

"I'm leaving," I tell her, leaning in to be heard over the music.

Her eyes flick to Cade, standing a deliberate foot behind me, then back to my face. A knowing smile curves her lips, but concern shadows her eyes. "Be careful," she mouths, giving my arm a squeeze.

Outside, the night air is cool against my flushed skin. Stars pepper the sky above campus, indifferent witnesses to what might be the second biggest mistake of my life — or perhaps just the continuation of the first.

Cade's car is parked a block away, a dark sedan that somehow fits him perfectly — not flashy but undeniably expensive in a subtle way. He opens the passenger door for me, another unexpectedly gentlemanly gesture that doesn't align with the image I've constructed of him.

Once he slides into the driver's seat, the interior feels impossibly small. He hasn't even started the engine when he turns to me, eyes dark and serious in the dim glow from the dashboard.

"You have no idea how badly I want you."

The words land like a physical touch, sending heat coursing through my veins. I've been desired before, but never like this — never with this raw honesty that strips away pretense.

He starts the car but doesn't shift into drive yet.

"I thought we were just hanging out?" I question.

He grins, not disagreeing.

"My place," I say. "My roommates won't tell Byron."

The unspoken acknowledgment that we're still hiding, still wrong, hangs in the air between us. But he just nods, putting the car in drive. As we pull away from the curb, his hand finds my thigh, fingers tracing idle patterns through the denim of my jeans. Each touch is casual yet deliberate, a promise of what's to come that makes my breath catch.

The drive to my apartment feels both endless and too short. Neither of us speaks, the silence filled with anticipation and the gentle stroke of his thumb against my leg. When we arrive, I lead him up the stairs, irrationally nervous about what awaits inside.

Chloe is sprawled on the couch in her pajamas, a textbook open on her lap and a nature documentary playing on low volume. She looks up as we enter, her expression shifting from surprise to understanding in the span of a heartbeat.

"Hey, Chlo," I say.

Her eyes move from me to Cade, taking in our body language, the tension vibrating between us. "Hi," she replies simply, no judgment in her voice.

A nervous laugh escapes me as I grab Cade's hand, pulling him down the hallway to my bedroom. The moment the door closes behind us, I turn the lock. Whatever happens next, we've chosen it with clear intentions.

I shrug off my jacket, letting it fall to the floor in a gesture that feels symbolic somehow. "This is probably the stupidest thing I've ever done," I admit, voicing the thought that's been circling my mind since I followed him out of the party.

"Definitely not," Cade disagrees, stepping closer. His fingers brush my cheek, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear with unexpected tenderness. "Believe me, I've done much stupider things."

"Like telling Byron about us?" The question isn't meant to wound, but I see him flinch slightly anyway.

"Like thinking I could forget about this — about you — after one night." His honesty disarms me, strips away my defenses one by one. "Like pretending I wasn't looking for you at that party tonight."

My heart stutters in my chest. "You were looking for me?"

"From the moment I walked in." He traces the line of my jaw with his thumb, tilting my face up to his. "I told myself I was just being cautious, making sure we didn't have another awkward hallway moment. But that was a lie."

"What was the truth?" My voice sounds strange to my own ears, breathless and uncertain.

"The truth is that I've been thinking about you all week," he confesses. "Replaying that night over and over. Wondering if it would ever happen again."

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