The moment he opened the door and gave that sly little smile, I rolled my eyes.
"Oh," he said, pretending to act all casual, "I just wanted to open the door for you."
"Whatever," I muttered, brushing past him. My heart was pounding in my chest, but I wasn't about to let him see that. I walked out like nothing touched me, like nothing mattered.
But when I got home, my head wouldn't stay quiet.
I sat on the couch, replaying the scene, trying to convince myself that I was in control. That I didn't feel anything. That he was just another guy, another smooth talker, another danger I wouldn't fall for.
"Give me the gist," Nia's voice cut through my storm. She grabbed the bag from me and then gave me that suspicious stare she always did. "So… what happened? Tell me everything."
"Nothing," I said, too quickly. "We just talked."
"Talked? He didn't try anything?"
"No." I shrugged, trying to sound casual. "He just kept… talking about sex, though. Over and over again."
Nia smirked like she already knew the end of the story. "I told you, he's definitely a playboy. It's written all over him. So he didn't touch you?"
"No," I repeated, and then I hesitated. "He was… acting like a gentleman. But I know it was fake."
Her eyebrows rose. "So you didn't feel anything?"
I looked her dead in the eye and lied through my teeth. "No. I didn't feel anything. I was just good."
But the second she looked away, my mind betrayed me.
"Keep lying to yourself, Serena. You did feel something. You wanted to kiss him. You wanted to taste his lips. You noticed how pink they were, how soft, how wet. You wanted to".
"Stop it!" I suddenly blurted.
Nia blinked at me, confused. "Stop what? I didn't say anything."
I froze, heat rushing up my neck. "Oh… sorry. Not you. I guess I was just… in my feelings."
She sighed. "I see. You're starting to talk to yourself again. Not new around here."
"Whatever," I muttered, desperate to change the subject. "What did you cook?"
She shook her head but let it go. Then, as we ate, I slipped it out casually: "He asked me to come again tomorrow… Would you like to go with me? He said I can bring you along."
Her face lit up instantly. "Of course. Who doesn't want to tag along?"
The next day, the three of us sat in Adrian's living room. The vibe was easy, fun, and intoxicating. We played games, blasted songs, laughed too loud, and clinked glasses of alcohol.
Nia drank more than me, like she always did, and by the time it was getting dark, her phone buzzed. She smiled wickedly. "Oh, someone's coming to pick me up. I'm going out."
I frowned. "You're leaving me here?"
Before she could answer, Adrian cut in. "Since your friend's going, would you like to spend the weekend with me?"
My chest tightened. The air shifted.
"Yes, she would," Nia said, smirking like she'd been waiting for this exact moment.
I whipped my head to her. "You didn't even ask me"
"You will," she said firmly, gathering her bag.
And the stupid part of me caved. "Okay. I will then."
The night changed after Nia left.
His flirty side sharpened, like he'd been waiting for the exact moment we'd be alone. I tried to stay calm, to act normal.
I slipped into his bathroom with my clothes in hand, changed quickly, washed my face, brushed my teeth, stretched the time out as long as I could.
When I finally stepped out, I was wearing one of his shirts. It was too big, falling over my thighs, swallowing me whole.
"It does look better on you," he said, voice low, eyes burning.
"Whatever," I muttered, climbing into the bed. My cheeks were on fire.
We were drinking again, but the air was different this time. Close. Charged.
He leaned in, his breath brushing my ear. "You really do look beautiful, no matter what you're wearing. And I just… I can't control myself anymore."
My chest tightened. "You need to stop bluffing. Stop teasing me, Adrian. I know what you're trying to"
Before I could finish, his lips crashed onto mine.
It wasn't a soft kiss. It was deep, hungry, desperate. I gasped into his mouth, shocked at how much heat surged through me, how much I wanted it.
He pulled me closer, lifting me like I weighed nothing, laying me flat on the bed. His lips didn't leave me. They trailed down my neck, my ear, my collarbone.
Every nerve in my body lit up. I tried to catch my breath, tried to tell myself to resist, but my hands betrayed me, clutching his shirt, pulling him closer.
When his mouth reached my chest, I shivered. He looked up at me, eyes asking for permission. "Can I?"
My voice came out small, shaky. "Of course."
And he did. He touched me, kissed me, worshipped me in ways no one ever had. Every word he whispered between kisses burned me deeper. "You're so clean… so perfect…"
I wanted to fight it, but my body wouldn't listen. Every kiss down my stomach made me arch, every touch made me gasp. I gave in. Completely.
The night blurred into fire, tenderness, and heat.
When it was finally over, when our bodies lay tangled and the room smelled of sweat and wine, he held me close and whispered like it was the truest thing he'd ever said: "You're the best girl I've ever been with. You make me happy."
And me? I just blushed like an idiot, my heart pounding too fast.
See? my mind taunted. You said you could handle this. But look at you. You're already falling.
"No," I whispered back to myself, silently, stubbornly. It's just sex. Nothing more.
But as he kissed the top of my head and pulled me tighter into his arms, I wasn't so sure anymore.
The next morning, he made me breakfast. Eggs, toast, fresh juice. So simple, yet so… tender.
Why was he different? Why was this dangerous? Why couldn't I shake the feeling that I was stepping into something I couldn't control?
By afternoon, we were lying side by side on his bed, sunlight pouring in. His breathing slowed into sleep.
I let my eyes close, but just as I drifted, I heard it.
A whisper. So soft, so close, it made my heart stop.
"You're the love of my life."
I froze. My eyes snapped open. Was I dreaming? Was I awake? Did he actually say it?
And if he did… What did it mean?