I need to be sure

I let out a breath that’s almost a laugh. My heart’s beating too fast for how chill I’m pretending to be. “Offering yourself up, huh?”

“If it helps,” he says, grin easy but his voice is lower now, more serious underneath.

I shake my head, but I can’t quite wipe the smirk off my face. “You remember what I told you at the bar?”

His brows lift, but he doesn’t miss a beat. “Oh, I remember.”

“About that party.”

“Leather jacket. No shirt. No bra. And a bunch of guys thanking their lucky stars. Who could forget that?” he says, mouth twitching like he’s trying not to grin too wide.

I snort. “Damn. I didn’t think you were paying that much attention.”

“Trust me,” he says, leaning in just a little, eyes locked on mine. “I was. But why are you asking me this?”

The mood shifts — subtle, but it’s there. His knee brushes mine. His arm rests along the back of the couch, not quite around me, but close enough that my skin buzzes with awareness.

“Well... cause I was capable of doing pretty nasty stuff back then,” I say.

“And you’re suddenly not anymore?” he shoots back, soft, but there’s heat under it.

We’re both quiet for a second, just looking at each other, and I feel that pull — that stupid, reckless spark that used to get me into trouble back when I didn’t think too hard about consequences.

He leans in, just a fraction more, like we’re both testing how close we can get before the world notices. His eyes flick to my mouth and back again, and my breath catches.

But then it hits me — Monica. My best friend. His girlfriend. And this? This would be crossing a line I never did, even in my wild years.

I pull back, just a little, just enough to break the spell. My smile turns softer, steadier.

“Ryan...”

He pauses, like he’s waking up from the same haze I was in. He lets out a quiet breath, leaning back too. “Yeah. Shit. Sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

I cut him off with a small shake of my head. “No need to be sorry. We’re both... just tired, I guess.”

He gives a sheepish grin, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah. Tired.”

We laugh, not ****, but that kind of laugh that replaces the awkwardness.

And then, mercifully, he grabs the remote. “Alright. No more emotional minefields. Dumb comedy, coming right up.”

As Ryan scrolls through the channels, acting like nothing happened, I sink deeper into the couch, but my head’s spinning.

God. I came so close. So fucking close. One more second, one more breath, and I would’ve kissed him.

Monica’s boyfriend.

The thought makes my stomach twist — but not just with guilt. That’s the worst part. That split second where I could feel it, feel him, feel that rush of doing something I absolutely shouldn’t?

It turned me on.

I bite the inside of my cheek, staring at the screen but not really seeing it. What the hell’s wrong with me?

But I already know. It’s the same reckless streak that got me into all that trouble before. The part of me that liked walking the edge, liked the danger and crossed lines.

And now it’s awake again.

I pull the blanket tighter around myself, as if that’ll help.

Just breathe. Just focus on the dumb movie. Pretend I didn’t feel what I felt.