Chapter 7 #3
When the next explosion flashes across the screen, his hand finds my shoulder. The pressure is steady, reassuring. His thumb draws slow circles near my collarbone. I should lean away. I don’t.
The movie keeps rolling, but the air shifts—heavy, humming. The popcorn bowl slides to the table. His hand travels to my jaw, tipping it toward him.
He kisses me.
It’s gentle at first, exploratory, the way he always is on the ice—testing, assessing, adapting. My body answers before my brain catches up. The taste of salt from the popcorn lingers between us.
Then something inside me clicks. The kiss deepens, tilts, catches fire. My fingers curl in his hoodie. His hand moves to my waist, pulling me closer. The warmth of his body seeps into mine, grounding and dizzying all at once.
He murmurs against my mouth, “God, you taste good,” and I make a small sound I don’t recognize as my own.
Kyle pushes me into the cushions, settling between my legs.
I can feel him against me, and I wonder if this is something I want.
The movie’s forgotten. The world shrinks to this couch, this breath, this heartbeat under my palm.
When his hand slips beneath my shirt, heat flares down my spine. For a moment, I let it.
Then—like a knife through fog—a memory cuts through: Magnus’s mouth on mine, the scrape of teeth, the command in his voice when he said Not yet.
The comparison hits like a slap. I pull back, heart hammering.
“Wait,” I breathe.
Kyle freezes, blinking. “What’s up?”
“I—um. I think I just… need a second.”
His jaw flexes, just barely. He leans back, runs a hand through his hair. “Sure. No pressure.”
The words are right; the tone’s too tight.
“I’m sorry,” I start, but he waves it off.
“Don’t apologize. I get it. We’ll take it slow.” He tries to smile, and it’s almost convincing. “Next time I’ll cook less wine into the sauce.”
That earns a laugh out of me—thin, but real.
We finish the movie in comfortable silence, the kind that pretends the interruption never happened. He doesn’t touch me again, and I don’t reach for him. When the credits roll, he stretches, yawning.
“It’s late,” he says. “You good to drive?”
“Yeah.”
He walks me to the door, lingering under the porch light. The air’s cold enough to bite, and for a moment we just stand there, two people pretending they’re not thinking about what almost happened.
“Thanks for tonight,” I say.
He smiles. “Anytime, Hale.” Then, softer: “Drive safe, okay?”
“I will.”
He leans in and kisses me again—brief, chaste, sealing the evening like punctuation. Sweet. Predictable. Safe.
I slide into my car, start the engine, and glance at my phone out of reflex. One new notification: Story viewed by magnus.flint.
My pulse stutters. He saw it.
The drive home is a blur of quiet streets and streetlights smearing across the windshield.
The kind of drive where thoughts fold in on themselves until they’re just static.
I replay the night—Kyle’s laugh, his hand on my waist, the taste of his mouth—and then, like a reflex, another memory overwrites it: Magnus’s voice low in my ear, Mine.
By the time I reach my condo building, my nerves are tight. I pull into my usual spot in the underground lot, kill the engine, and sit there a moment trying to breathe the night out of me.
Then I see him.
Magnus.
Leaning against the entrance of the condo like he belongs there.
Black hoodie, ripped jeans, a look on his face that could start wars. He’s half-lit by the yellow garage lights, shadows cutting sharp angles across his cheekbones. His eyes find mine through the windshield before I can pretend not to notice.
My heart slams once, hard enough to hurt.
The garage hums like it’s holding its breath. The concrete is slick from rain tracked in by the cars, and my headlights flash once before dying.
I step out of my car.
“Magnus?” The name scrapes out of me. “What the hell are you doing here?”
He pushes off the wall slowly, all lazy confidence and something darker simmering underneath.
“Nice story,” he says, voice low. “Popcorn, wine, cozy lighting. Very cutesy.”
My stomach twists. “You were watching?”
His smirk sharpens. “You wanted me to.”
I blink, thrown off balance. I mean, he’s right, but I wasn’t expecting him to show up at my fucking house. “You’ve officially lost your mind.”
“Maybe.” He takes a step closer. The sound of his boots echoes against the concrete. “Didn’t you see my message? I don’t know why you think you can fuck around with me, Hale.” He closes in on me, voice rough. “Tell me what happened tonight.”
I feel the air leave my lungs. “It’s none of your business.”
His eyes flick over me, slow, deliberate. “Did he kiss you?”
I grit my teeth. “How do you even know where I live?”
Magnus smiles—no warmth in it. “I asked around. And of course I saw that skyline in your story. Easy to find once you’ve stared at it long enough.”
The hair at the back of my neck stands on end. “That’s insane. You’re a stalker.”
He steps closer again. “Or maybe I just notice details.”
The space between us shrinks. The air feels charged, heavy with the kind of energy that comes right before lightning strikes.
“Answer me,” he says, quieter now. “Did Thorn kiss you?”
“You have no right to—”
“Answer me.”
His tone isn’t loud, but it cuts straight through me. There’s no room to hide. My back hits my car door with a dull thud. The cold seeps through the fabric of my hoodie, sharp against the heat building in my chest.
“Stop,” I say, but it sounds weak even to me.
He moves closer, just enough that I can feel the heat of him, but he doesn’t touch me. Not yet. His voice drops to a dangerous whisper. “You let him kiss you, didn’t you?”
I look away. “I’m not talking about this with you.”
He exhales a short laugh, more like disbelief than amusement. “You keep saying that, but here you are—still standing, still listening.”
“Because you cornered me,” I snap.
“And you haven’t walked away,” he says.
My pulse is loud in my ears. I can feel its truth like a bruise. He’s too close, too intense, too aware of how much space he takes up in my head.
“Would you even let me?” I say, trying to make my voice steady.
“Tell me to leave.”
“You need to leave.”
He smiles, something sharp and dangerous. Something that sends a thrill down my spine. “I will. After you answer me.”
I meet his gaze, and for a second neither of us breathes. The question hangs there, heavy as gravity.
Finally, I give in—not because I want to, but because the silence between us demands something to fill it. “Yes,” I say quietly. “He kissed me.”
Something flickers in his eyes—jealousy, anger, maybe both. He moves before I can think, his hand pulling me by the back of my neck. His mouth is hungry against mine. A whimper escapes my throat as his tongue slides into my mouth.
He tastes like whiskey and cherries. My hands pull his hips towards mine, feeling the length of him against me.
Magnus breaks the kiss, his mouth trailing down my neck. “That picture supposed to make me stop thinking about you?” he asks. His voice is low, frayed around the edges. “Because it didn’t. It made me walk here in the rain just to claim you again.”
He bites the base of my neck harshly before licking the hurt.
“Until you tell me to stop, until you tell me you don’t want me, you’re mine.” His mouth brushes my ear.
“You can lie to yourself all you want, but you know it. I see it every time you look at me.” He kisses me again, mumbling against my mouth. “Shit, you’re driving me crazy. I can’t think. I can’t breathe unless I see you.”
The honesty in his voice makes me want to melt. “Magnus...”
He captures my mouth again. I moan as he presses closer to me.
Magnus forces my chin to meet his hungry eyes. “I swear to god if you let him fuck you.”
“I didn’t,” I gasp.
A look of relief spreads on his face. His hand is no longer rough but caressing my face like he’s trying to memorize every mark. “Good boy.”
Before I can speak, he turns and walks away. His footsteps echo until the sound fades into the hum of the lights.
I stay there, frozen, heart hammering so hard I can feel it in my fingertips. The cold air seeps into my skin, but inside I’m burning.
He’s gone, but the scent of him lingers—sharp and electric, like ozone before a storm. I drag a hand down my face, trying to steady my breathing. The world feels tilted, off-kilter, as if I’ve stepped out of reality and can’t find my way back.
I want to be furious. I want to feel violated, insulted, anything but what’s actually curling low in my gut.
He was jealous. Possessive. Wild.
And part of me—some reckless, traitorous part—liked it.