Friday Night

Friday night, rain hammered softly against the windows while a movie played unnoticed in the living room.

Claire sprawled across the couch in black shorts and an off-shoulder sweater, one bare leg stretched along the cushions.

Daniel sat in the armchair nearby, pretending to watch television.

Pretending very badly.

Claire noticed every glance now. Once she’d seen it, she couldn’t unsee it.

She smiled faintly toward the television. “You know what’s funny?”

Daniel didn’t look away from the screen. “What?”

“You’ve developed this habit lately.”

“Explain. I’m sure this will be enlightening.”

Claire turned her head slowly toward him. “You keep staring at my chest when you think I’m not looking.”

Silence.

Daniel’s jaw tightened.

“That’s not true.”

“Yes, it’s true. And if not at my chest, then at my butt.” Claire’s lips twitched. “You’re doing it again.”

Daniel muted the television. “Claire.”

The warning in his voice only made the heat curl lower in her stomach.

She shifted slightly on the couch, letting the oversized sweater slip farther off one shoulder. “Relax. I’m joking.”

“You joke about inappropriate things.”

“Maybe because you react to them so well.”

Daniel finally looked at her directly.

Big mistake.

Claire saw it happen in real time — his eyes dipping briefly before snapping back to hers, almost irritated with themselves.

A tiny thrill shot through her.

Caught you.

She tilted her head innocently. “See?”

Daniel stood abruptly. “This is getting ridiculous. I’m going to bed.”

Claire chuckled under her breath as he headed toward the hallway.

“Careful,” she called after him. “At this point I’m going to start thinking you actually find me attractive.”

Daniel stopped in his tracks.

“Don’t you dare mention that nonsense to your mother.”

“And if I did?”

He kept walking without answering.

Claire smiled slowly to herself.

Because silence could be an answer too.

Later that night, Claire found him in his pajamas standing at the counter pouring whiskey into a glass.

Only one light was on above the stove, casting the kitchen in amber shadows.

Daniel looked more than tired.

Cornered.

Claire walked in quietly and leaned beside him.

“Can't you sleep?”

Daniel froze almost imperceptibly.

“You have no idea.” His voice came out low and rough.

Claire turned toward him slowly.

He smelled like whiskey, cedarwood and the lingering warmth of sleep.

Dangerous combination.

“You could just tell me to stop,” she said softly.

Daniel looked at her then.

Directly.

And for one unguarded second, she saw the truth in his expression so clearly it sent heat rushing through her chest.

He didn’t want her to stop.

He swallowed hard. “You don't know where this might lead us.”

The room felt smaller suddenly.

Claire’s pulse fluttered.

Neither of them moved.

Then she reached for his whiskey. Without asking, she slid the glass from his fingers. Turned it until she found the spot where his lips had touched the glass, and then she pressed hers against exactly the same spot.

As she drank, she held his gaze the entire time.

His hand moved automatically to her waist.

Not forceful. Kind of a reflex. Like his body had made the decision before his mind could stop it.

The contact lasted maybe four seconds.

But it felt enormous.

Because now there was no uncertainty left.

They both knew.