It had been four days since the pantry.
Four days since Jace bent me over a shelf with my dad steps away.
Four days since he told me he'd burn the world down just to taste me again.
And four days of silence.
No texts. No knocks on my door. No secret smiles across the table. Just space.
Too much space.
I didn't know if he was trying to protect me or punish me.
But the ache in my chest had replaced the one between my thighs.
I thought I could handle it. Thought I could pretend that what we had was just sex just heat and hormones and bad timing.
I was wrong.
Because I missed him.
I missed the way his fingers tangled in my hair, the way he whispered "mine" when no one could hear. I missed how we never needed words to understand what the other wanted.
I missed being reckless.
But today was different. Today we had company.
My mom's friends were over. The house was filled with the clink of wine glasses, the scent of overcooked pasta, and the sound of too-loud laughter.
I tried to stay upstairs, but she called me down just before dessert.
That's when I saw him.
Jace.
Standing in the kitchen in black jeans, a dark gray tee, hair still wet from a shower. He hadn't shaved. He looked unfairly hot for someone pretending I didn't exist.
And worse he looked perfectly fine.
I, on the other hand, was unraveling.
He glanced up once. Met my eyes.
Then looked away.
A stab to the chest.
"Avery!" one of my mom's friends called from the table. "Come sit with us!"
I forced a smile and moved to the dining room.
Jace stayed in the kitchen. Stirring sauce that didn't need stirring. Avoiding the fact that every time I exhaled, it felt like something inside me cracked.
I barely heard the conversation. Just noise. Faces. Forks clinking against plates.
Then I heard Avery.
"Oh my God, Jace," she said as she waltzed into the dining room uninvited. "You didn't tell me your dad was hosting."
I blinked.
No one else seemed surprised to see her.
Apparently everyone but me knew she was coming.
She walked straight to him, kissed his cheek. Possessive. Familiar.
He didn't stop her.
And that was the moment I knew.
He was trying to erase me.
Maybe not because he wanted to.
Maybe because he had to.
But either way, it gutted me.
I excused myself from the table and slipped out the back door.
The night air was cooler than I expected. Sharp. Sober. Real.
I sat on the edge of the pool and dipped my feet into the water, my hoodie pulled tight around me. Every splash, every ripple reminded me of the last time we were out here.
The kiss.
The beginning of everything.
"I was wondering if you'd come out here."
I turned sharply.
Jace stood by the door, hands in his pockets, jaw tense.
I didn't say anything.
He walked over slowly, then sat beside me. Not touching. Not close enough. Just there.
Silence.
"I didn't invite her," he said.
I laughed, bitter. "But you let her touch you."
"She does whatever she wants."
"You let her kiss you."
He turned to me, eyes fierce. "Because I can't kiss *you* in front of everyone."
That hurt.
Because it was true.
But it also wasn't fair.
I looked away. "You've been ignoring me."
"I needed space."
"You needed her?"
His jaw flexed. "I needed to remind myself this was supposed to be temporary."
My stomach dropped.
He looked at me again, eyes darker now.
"But then I saw you walk in. In that tight little dress. With your hair up and your mouth pouty and your legs fuck, Avery."
He leaned closer.
"I couldn't stop looking. I kept thinking about how you taste. How you sound when you fall apart around me."
My breath caught.
"I missed you," he whispered. "I've been trying to do the right thing. I've been trying to stop."
My lips trembled. "Why?"
"Because I don't just want your body anymore."
Silence.
"I want all of you," he said.
I turned to him slowly.
And when our eyes met, it was over.
He kissed me.
Hard.
Desperate.
Hands in my hair. Mouth claiming mine like he'd lost his mind.
I moaned into his mouth, clutching his shirt like it was the only thing keeping me upright.
"I don't care anymore," he said, pulling back just enough to look me in the eyes. "I don't care if it's wrong."
"Me either," I whispered.
He stood and offered me his hand.
We ran to the pool house.
It was dark and empty and barely used. The moment the door shut behind us, our mouths crashed together again.
Clothes flew.
My hoodie. His shirt. My bra. His belt.