Chapter Twelve — Rhett
Chapter Twelve
Rhett
I drove forty-three miles back to Lakeview with Tessa’s kiss still on my mouth.
That was not poetic.
It was a problem.
A serious one.
Possibly medical.
Because every few minutes, I caught myself touching my lower lip like the answer might still be there.
It was not.
The memory was.
Soft.
Careful.
Completely initiated by her.
That part mattered.
A lot.
Tessa Monroe had kissed me.
Not for a camera.
Not because the university wanted natural rapport.
Not because people were watching.
She had kissed me on her father’s porch with nobody there to misunderstand it.
Then she had looked almost as terrified as I felt.
Which should have been reassuring.
It was not.
I turned onto the highway.
Eli’s car handled better than mine.
Quieter too.
That gave me too much room to think.
I should have turned on music.
Instead, I replayed the night.
Dinner.
The internship folders.
Tessa saying she did not remember choosing law school.
Her father admitting he might have confused protected with prepared.
The way her knee had stayed against mine beneath the table.
The way she had thanked me for showing up.
Then the kiss.
One brief kiss.
Not enough.
That was the problem.
I wanted more.
Not in the usual way.
The usual way was simple.
Attraction.
Chemistry.
A night everyone understood before it started.
This was different.
I wanted to know what would happen if Tessa stopped overthinking long enough to kiss me twice.
I wanted to know what she looked like when she woke up late and did not have time to become composed.
I wanted to know what she would choose if nobody handed her a list first.
I wanted to be there when she figured it out.
That was not flirting.
That was a future trying to form without permission.
My phone buzzed in the cup holder.
I waited until the next stoplight.
A message from Cam.
Cam: Alive?
I typed:
Rhett: Unfortunately.
Three dots appeared.
Cam: How was meeting Dad?
Rhett: He threatened me.
Cam: So it went well.
Rhett: Very.
I locked the screen.
The light changed.
Ten seconds later, the phone buzzed again.
Cam: DID YOU KISS HER
I nearly drove onto the shoulder.
How did he know?
Then I remembered Cam did not know anything.
He simply asked the question every six hours.
I ignored him.
Another message arrived.
Cam: Your silence is legally an admission.
I turned the phone facedown.
That lasted two miles.
Then Tessa texted.
Tessa: Did you make it back yet?
My chest did something embarrassing.
I picked up the phone at the next light.
Rhett: Still driving.
Her reply appeared immediately.
Tessa: Then stop texting.
Rhett: You texted me.
Tessa: I expected you to answer later.
Rhett: That sounds inefficient.
Tessa: Drive.
I smiled.
Rhett: Yes, boss.
The typing bubble appeared.
Stopped.
Then:
Tessa: Good night, Rhett.
I read it twice.
The light behind me turned green and someone honked.
I lifted one hand in apology.
Then drove.
No mention of the kiss.
No regret either.
That had to be good.
Probably.
Maybe.
I hated uncertainty.
Which was ironic, considering I had built an entire personality around pretending nothing mattered enough to require answers.
By the time I pulled into the team house driveway, every downstairs light was on.
Bad sign.
The front door opened before I reached the steps.
Cam stood there wearing sweatpants, one sock, and the expression of a man who had been waiting for scandal.
“You’re late.”
“I’m not twelve.”
“Did you kiss her?”
I walked past him.
“Hello to you too.”
Noah sat on the floor with a bowl of cereal.
Eli was in the armchair reading something on his tablet.
Both looked up.
Cam shut the door.
“Dinner ended two hours ago.”
“Her father and I discussed investments.”
“You know nothing about investments.”
“Exactly. It took a while.”
Cam followed me into the living room.
“Did you kiss her?”
“No.”
The lie came too fast.
Every person in the room reacted.
Noah lowered his spoon.
Eli looked over the top of his tablet.
Cam smiled slowly.
“You absolutely kissed her.”
“I said no.”
“You said it like a man who has recently been kissed.”
“What does that sound like?”
“High-pitched.”
“My voice was normal.”
“It cracked.”
“It did not.”
Noah pointed his spoon at me.
“It kind of did.”
I looked at Eli.
He shrugged.
“Noticeable.”
Traitors.
All of them.
I threw Eli his keys.
He caught them.
“Car okay?”
“Better than mine.”
“Low bar.”
Cam moved closer.
“Where?”
“At her father’s house.”
“No. Where on the body?”
I shoved him backward with one hand.
“Go away.”
His eyes widened.
“Oh, my God.”
“What?”
“You’re blushing.”
“I’m tired.”
“You never blush.”
“I have blood.”
“Barely.”
Noah stood, abandoning the cereal.
“What kind of kiss?”
I stared at them.
“This conversation is over.”
Cam blocked the hallway.
“Was it fake?”
The room changed.
Not much.
But enough.
The joking edge softened.
That was the real question.
Not whether we kissed.
What it meant.
I looked toward the stairs.
Then back at them.
“No.”
The single word settled over the room.
Cam’s smile faded.
Eli set down the tablet.
Noah nodded slowly, like he had just received important tactical information.
“No,” Cam repeated.
“No.”
“So this is real now?”
“I don’t know.”
“But the kiss was real.”
“Yes.”
“And she kissed you?”
I narrowed my eyes.
“How did you know?”
Cam pressed a hand to his chest.
“Because if you had kissed her without a signed consent form and three days’ notice, she would have buried you beneath Monroe Hall.”
Fair.
I dropped onto the couch.
Cam sat beside me.
Too close.
I shoved his knee away.
He returned it.
“So what happens now?” he asked.
“I don’t know.”
“That is not like you.”
“What does that mean?”
“You always know what happens next.”
“That is completely false.”
“With women.”
There it was.
The old version of me.
Predictable in his unpredictability.
Flirt.
Charm.
Keep it light.
Leave before anyone asked whether the fun meant anything.
“I don’t want to do the usual thing,” I said.
Eli nodded once.
Cam looked almost proud.
It was disturbing.
Noah sat on the coffee table.
“What is the usual thing?”
“Do you live under the stairs?” Cam asked.
“I’m clarifying.”
“The usual thing,” I said, “is not relevant.”
“It seems relevant if you’re not doing it.”
I leaned back.
The couch springs groaned.
“I don’t know what Tessa wants.”
“Ask her,” Eli said.
“That is terrible advice.”
“It’s the only advice.”
“She kissed me and immediately went inside.”
“That is still information,” Cam said.
“She also said the kiss was not part of the arrangement.”
Noah frowned.
“Was that before or after?”
“After.”
“Then she was probably scared.”
Three heads turned toward him.
He looked offended.
“What? I understand people.”
“You microwaved a fork,” Cam said.
“That was unrelated.”
Eli picked up his mug.
“What did you say?”
“I asked if she wanted me to pretend it didn’t happen.”
“And?”
“She said no.”
Cam slapped both hands onto his knees.
“This is exhausting. She likes you.”
“That is not the problem.”
“What is?”
I looked down at my hands.
“The arrangement has an end date.”
Nobody answered immediately.
Because they understood.
One event had become another.
Then dinner.
Then a kiss.
But Tessa still treated every step like a temporary extension she could revoke before it became dangerous.
And maybe she could.
That was the part I could not control.
Cam’s voice softened.
“Then give her a reason not to end it.”
“That sounds manipulative.”
“I didn’t say trick her.”
“What did you mean?”
He shrugged.
“Be someone worth choosing.”
The sentence hit harder than expected.
Possibly because Cam had said it.
I looked at him.
“Who are you?”
“A romantic.”
“You once broke up with someone through a food-delivery note.”
“She appreciated efficiency.”
“She blocked you.”
“Temporary setback.”
Eli stood.
“Practice at nine.”
Cam groaned.
Noah picked up the cereal again.
The moment passed.
Mostly.
I headed upstairs.
My phone buzzed before I reached the landing.
Tessa.
Tessa: I should clarify something.
My stomach dropped.
That phrase had never introduced good news.
I went into the spare bedroom and shut the door.
Rhett: That sounds ominous.
The typing bubble appeared.
Disappeared.
Returned.
Tessa: The kiss was not part of the arrangement.
I stared.
We had already established that.
Rhett: I remember.
Tessa: I do not want you to think I did it because my father was watching.
Rhett: He wasn’t.
Tessa: I know.
Rhett: Tessa.
No response.
I sat on the edge of the bed.
Rhett: Why did you do it?
Long pause.
Long enough that I stood.
Then sat again.
Finally:
Tessa: Because I wanted to.
Every thought stopped.
Three words.
Simple.
Terrifying.
Honest.
I read them again.
Then typed the first response that came to mind.
Rhett: Good.
Deleted it.
Too small.
Rhett: I wanted you to.
Deleted that too.
Too obvious.
Then I laughed at myself.
This was ridiculous.
She had handed me the truth.
The least I could do was give one back.
Rhett: I wanted you to. I still do.
The typing bubble appeared immediately.
Stopped.
Returned.
Tessa: That was not a question.
Rhett: It can be.
No answer.
My pulse climbed.
Then:
Tessa: Good night, Rhett.
I smiled.
Rhett: Coward.
Tessa: Correct.
Rhett: Tomorrow?
A full minute passed.
Tessa: We need to discuss the rules.
There it was.
Of course.
Tessa responded to emotional instability by drafting policy.
Rhett: I love when you threaten me with administration.
Tessa: Noon. Student center.
Rhett: Is this a breakup meeting?
Tessa: We are not together.
That one landed.
Even though it was technically true.
I stared at the sentence.
Then:
Rhett: Right.
The message looked colder than I intended.
Her typing bubble appeared.
Disappeared.
Appeared again.
Tessa: That is what we need to discuss.
My chest tightened.
Not an ending.
Maybe.
Possibly.
I typed: