Chapter 15 Luke
FIFTEEN
LUKE
The car is quiet, the kind of quiet that holds something heavy in its chest. Daniel drives one-handed, the other tapping a restless rhythm on the steering wheel.
I sit stiffly in the passenger seat, hands in my lap, replaying everything in my head.
Every comment. Every tight-lipped smile.
Every time I bit my tongue when I wanted to bite back.
But mostly, I’m thinking about what Daniel said.
Still kind. He still has love in his heart for his friends.
That part keeps echoing.
Eventually, I exhale and glance over at him. “Hey.”
He flicks his eyes toward me, then back to the road. “Yeah?”
“Thanks,” I say softly. “For that. For all of it.”
Daniel’s mouth curves just a little. “Anytime, glitter boy.”
I huff a breath that’s almost a laugh and look out the window. It doesn’t fix everything. But it feels like something.
Daniel pulls up in front of our building, the car idling quietly as the sun starts dipping below the skyline. It casts the world in gold, but I still feel gray on the inside.
I unbuckle my seatbelt slowly, fingers brushing over the cool metal before I glance at him.
“Thanks for coming,” I murmur. “And for… everything.”
Daniel turns toward me in his seat, one hand still on the wheel. “I meant what I said back there.”
I nod, throat tight.
“You’re one of the best people I know, Luke. A pain in the ass? Absolutely. But a good one.” He offers a soft smile. “You deserve to find your own version of happily ever after—without your parents’ bullshit, without their judgment.”
My chest aches. I don’t know what to say, so I just nod again.
Daniel reaches over and squeezes my hand. “And for the record? You’d make a hell of a real boyfriend for someone too. Not me. But someone.”
That gets a weak laugh out of me. “Don’t tempt me, you know I want what I can’t have.”
He winks. “Night, slut.”
I climb out of the car and shut the door behind me. He pulls away, the taillights fading into the street, and I stand there for a second, staring up at my building.
Alone again. But not unloved. Not tonight.
My room is quiet when I get in.
No music, no laughter, no Ty or Will playing video games, no Daniel spread across the mattress like a sleep-deprived octopus. Just me, the soft creak of floorboards beneath my shoes, and the leftover ache from trying not to care.
I drop my keys on the small table and toe off my shoes, heading straight for the bedroom. The second the door clicks shut behind me, my shoulders slump.
I replay everything.
The too-sweet smiles. The not-so-subtle jabs. The way Daniel stood up for me like I was worth defending. As though I mattered.
And then I remember the messages. The ones I didn’t open. The ones I didn’t want to open… until now. I grab my phone from the nightstand and drop onto the edge of the bed. My thumb hovers over the Prism icon for a beat before I finally tap it.
Seven messages. All from WhiskeyAndInk.
Silas.
My heart thuds. It’s not the hot, breathless kind of thud that happens when he’s touching me—it’s heavier. Messier.
I read each message slowly. The apology. The explanation. The heartbreak behind Xavier’s name.
By the time I hit the last message—I care. Too fucking much. My chest feels tight, like I’m trying to breathe underwater.
It changes things. Not everything. But something.
I stare at the blinking cursor for a long time before I start typing.
Me: I didn’t open your messages last night. I didn’t want to feel anything for you.
But I was lying to myself, and now I don’t know what the hell to do with that.
I hit send before I can overthink it.
Then I set the phone down and fall back onto the mattress, staring at the ceiling, wondering if anything in my life makes sense anymore—or if I’m just finally admitting that I don’t want to stop wanting him.
The reply comes faster than I expect.
My phone buzzes once, twice. I grab it before it can make a third.
WhiskeyAndInk: You’re not the only one who doesn’t know what the hell to do. I’m thirty-two and apparently have the emotional range of a damp sponge. So… that’s where I’m at.
I huff out a laugh, low and shaky. It shouldn’t make me feel anything. But it does. Because that’s not his locker room voice. That’s not Coach Gray.
That’s Silas. And I want to know this version of him.
I want the version of him that made me beg with not much more than a few touches and a look. The one who kissed me as if I was the first spark he felt in years. And the same one that benched me because he couldn’t handle watching another boy break.
And maybe I should be mad about it. Maybe I should still be hurt.
But instead, I’m lying here on my bed with my heart twisting and my lips tilted up like some lovesick idiot, while the butterflies in my stomach try to go braindead escaping.
I type back slowly.
Me: You’re not a sponge. You’re more like a grumpy cat who pushes people away so they don’t see how soft you are inside. But I see you. And I’m still here.
My phone buzzes again.
WhiskeyAndInk: Careful, Luke. You keep saying things like that, and I might start hoping for more than I should.
My heart flips.
I stare at the screen for a long beat, then type back.
Me: You make it sound like I’m dangerous.
Another pause. Then:
WhiskeyAndInk: You are.
I bite my lip. Feel the tug of a grin I don’t mean to have.
Me: Is that why you ghosted me after round two?
WhiskeyAndInk: I didn’t ghost you. I panicked. Then tried to pretend I didn’t care…I do.
If that isn’t obvious.
I let that sit. Let my pulse calm down enough to respond.
Me: You had a real funny way of showing it. Locker room sex followed by avoidance? Classic coach move.
I hit send before I can think better of it. There’s a pause.
WhiskeyAndInk: I deserved that. Maybe I was hoping if I kept my distance, I could stop wanting more. Didn’t work.
I swallow hard. Fingers hovering.
Me: You really suck at casual, you know. But for what it’s worth… I didn’t hate round two.
WhiskeyAndInk: Same. Every time I look at you, it’s a new reason to forget why I said no in the first place.
I sink my teeth into my lower lip and type out my response. Curiosity killed the cat, and it might kill me too, but I can’t stop the question.
Me: Why did you say no?
There’s a long pause. The kind that makes me wonder if he’s going to answer at all. Then my screen lights up.
WhiskeyAndInk: Because I don’t know how to want someone without needing control. And you make me lose every bit of it.
I blink, my breath catching.
Me: That sounds like a you problem, Coach.
Three dots appear. Stop. Start again. Then finally—
WhiskeyAndInk: It is. But you’re also the only problem I haven’t wanted to solve.
My heart thuds hard in my chest.
Me: Careful, Gray. That almost sounded like flirting.
WhiskeyAndInk: I’m old, not dead.
Me: Well that’s good. Because if you were dead, I wouldn’t have anyone to fantasize about bossing me around on the field and in bed.
No reply. Just the typing bubble blinking. And I wait—grinning this time.
The typing bubble disappears. Then comes back.
WhiskeyAndInk: Jesus, Luke.
Me: Not exactly the name I want you moaning. But we can work on that.
I stretch out on the bed, door shut between me and my roommates, phone glowing in my hand. My heart is hammering, anticipation curling low in my gut.
WhiskeyAndInk: Tu si eres un hermoso desastre.
I pause and pull up a google search needing to know what that means. Hmm. You really are a beautiful disaster. Fitting. I bite my lip again and type out another message.
Me: You like it. You liked it that night in your bed, when I said your name like a prayer and begged you not to stop.
No answer, just the bubble. I smirk, letting my thumb hover over the screen.
Me: You gonna pretend you don’t remember the way I trembled under you? How I clawed at your back, left scratches down your spine because you wouldn’t let me come until you said I could? How I followed every single command?
Still nothing. But I know he’s reading it. Feeling it. So I go for the kill.
Me: Bet your hand’s already on your cock just thinking about it.
WhiskeyAndInk: You need to be careful.
I snort. I’m not sure I know how to be careful.
Me: Or what?
WhiskeyAndInk: Or I’ll stop pretending this is a mistake. And next time I get my hands on you, I won’t stop at just once. I’ll keep you from coming until you’re wrecked and ruined and begging to be mine.
Fuck.
I let out a breath, eyes fluttering shut as heat pulses through me. My fingers tighten around the phone.
Me: Say less.
WhiskeyAndInk: Tell me what you’re wearing.
I grin, slow and sinful, already reaching down to palm myself through my jeans.
Me: Nothing but the thought of you.
There’s a beat of silence. Then another message lights up the screen.
WhiskeyAndInk: Touch yourself. But don’t come. Not until I say.
God. Why does that make my thighs press together like I’ve been wired to obey him? I pop my button and slide my hand beneath the waistband of my jeans, fingers skimming the curve of my stomach as I type one-handed.
Me: That bossy thing really does it for me, Coach.
WhiskeyAndInk: You think I don’t know that? You lit up when I told you to get on my bed. And you fucking glowed when I held your wrists down and told you to take it.
My hand wraps around my cock, already hard, already leaking, like he’s here in the room with me. As if I can still feel his breath against my ear when he growled that first command.
Me: Keep texting. Tell me what you’d do if you were here.
WhiskeyAndInk: I’d lay you out on the bed. Tie your hands above your head with your own shirt.
Take my time kissing every inch of you…but never where you want it.
Fuck. I squeeze harder, thighs twitching.
WhiskeyAndInk: I’d get you so hard and desperate, you’d start grinding up into my hand.
Whining.
Begging.
And I still wouldn’t let you come.
Me: You’re evil.
WhiskeyAndInk: You love it, hermoso. You want to know what I’d do next?
Me: Please.