Scarlett Moore

When the door swung open, Nathan’s breath caught. The world didn't shimmer or glitch—just stopped. Scarlett Moore stood in the frame, the same devastating bombshell she'd always been. Red lips, dark eyes, body built like sin, wrapped in a leather jacket and low-cut top. And just like that, he was sixteen again, sitting in the back of her rust-red Jeep while she drove him and Jack to the mall. She used to play loud music and chew on Twizzlers, and he'd marvel at how anyone could be so casually sexy. He remembered the summer heat, the sweat clinging to his palms, the way she laughed at her own jokes—and he remembered the night he woke up sticky and breathless, sheets tangled around him, the dream still clinging like fog. Scarlett had played a starring role in that dream. And now here she was, real as day, smirking at him like she knew exactly who he was and exactly how much trouble she wanted to cause.

"Well, look at you," she said, leaning one shoulder on the doorframe. "All grown up."

Nathan couldn't speak. Could barely think. Scarlett Moore! One of his first crushes! Butterflies invaded his stomach with an intensity bordering on queasiness.

She arched a brow, eyes sweeping over the flowers in his hand, the nerves on his face. "Were you seriously planning on taking me to some fancy little bistro in that stiff suit?" She leaned in, voice dropping to a purr. "Because I've got a better idea."

He opened his mouth. Closed it again. Somewhere behind his ear, Sally was quiet. No prompts. No compatibility index. Just silence.

Scarlett pulled the flowers form Nathan's hand, tossed them over her shoulder unceremoniously, and winked. "Come on, lover boy, I'm taking you to my bar."

Her bar turned out to be a neon-drenched, prohibition-themed hideout tucked behind an unmarked alley door. The second they stepped inside, the music hit—a pulsing, velvet rhythm that pressed into his skin like a lover's breath. The strong smell of spilled **** filled Nathan's nostrils. While his eyes adjusted to the flashing lights in the dim room, he wondered how far things would go with Scarlett. It had been years since he had seen her, years since Jack and Scarlett's family had moved away. The last time they were in the same room, Scarlett would have only considered him a boy. Now, it seemed, she saw him differently.

Scarlett pulled him in with a hand around his wrist. "Don’t worry. I won't bite," she said, glancing over her shoulder. "Unless you ask nicely."

He laughed, an unexpected guffaw. Scarlett looked him him with one eyebrow up, the burst out laughing herself.

She ordered for them both—something sweet and heavy—and brought him to a corner booth dimmed by red light. They talked. About everything and nothing. Nathan started stiff, careful, but Scarlett made it impossible to stay that way. She was quick with a joke, shameless in her flirting, and surprisingly interested in how he'd been. No pressure. Just... a night.

He realized it then—Sally was still silent. He felt a sudden guilt pinch his chest. He'd lashed out at her. Yes, she was just code, but Nathan had grown to care about his creation. And besides his own feelings, having a time-travelling AI who is mad at you isn't the best strategy for getting home again. He's have to check in with her once she reemerged.

"Hey," Scarlett said, dragging her fingers slowly down his arm. "You good?"

He looked at her, into those storm-dark eyes. "It's just been a really weird day."

Scarlett grinned. "Then let's make it a really simple night!" She slid out of the booth, holding out her hand. "Dance with me."

Realizing that most people don't get a chance to live out their fantasies, Nathan took her hand and got up. If Scarlett wanted him to dance, then it was time to boogie. She dragged him to the dance floor, found an empty spot, then wrapped her arms around his neck.

Their bodies fit together like heat and hunger. Scarlett danced like Nathan was the only person in the room with her. Eyes locked to his, she leaned in close and pecked him on the lips almost immediately, a soft, gentle kiss that drew him deeper into her wiles.

Nathan moved in concert with his date, side to side, step by step. She was beautiful, but it was more than beauty that drew him in. There was and always had been something dangerous about Scarlett. Even when he was young, Nathan knew that she could be a **** to be reckoned with. He'd seen her chew up and spit out so many of her boyfriends, watching from the distance of Jack's bedroom door.

Not that dangerous scared him away. Nathan found it exciting. Maybe not long-term, but for tonight, for now, Scarlett was exactly what he needed.

He'd have to thank Sally.

As if sensing that Nathan's mind had begun to wander, to overthink his situation, Scarlett shifted gears. Her soft lips, which had been gently teasing him, transformed into a greedy beast, drinking of him without warning. It wasn't awkward. Nor was it rushed or full of tension. It was slow. Intimate. But hungry. Needy even. A match struck in the dark.

She pulled back just enough to breathe, her voice a whisper in his ear. "Doesn’t have to mean anything."

She kissed him again. This time he fully committed to reciprocate.

They didn't go back to the booth.

Scarlett caught his hand and led him past the bar with a look that said don’t think, just follow. Her grip was firm, confident, threading through the crowd like she owned it—which she did. Neon lights pulsed over her skin as they moved, brushing her shoulders in electric pink and deep indigo. She threw open a heavy black door near the stockroom, revealing a space beyond that felt like a secret: low light, leather couch, liquor bottles lining the wall like trophies, and a haze of something warm and spiced in the air.

The door clicked shut behind them.

She turned, leaned back against it, and looked at him—not just at him, but through him. Then she stepped forward and kissed him hard. Gone was all hint of teasing, of playfulness. This was pure hunger. This was decisive. Her hands slid up under his shirt, fingers skating across his skin with a mix of urgency and intent. She pressed herself into him, and he answered instinctively, hands finding the curve of her waist, the small of her back, the soft pull of her hair.

His jacket hit the floor first. Then her jacket. Buttons scattered, his shirt torn open, hers pulled over her head and flung aside. She was heat and curves and a whisper of perfume he couldn't name but never wanted to forget.

Clothes hit the floor, leaves fallen in the autumn of their passion.

She pushed him back onto the couch, straddling him in nothing but lace and confidence. Her mouth found his again, slower this time, savoring the taste of him. Her hips moved with unhurried purpose, the friction building until thought gave way to instinct. By the time he entered her, he was so enthralled that he had lost track of what was happening. Long gone were thoughts of time travel, of AI, or resets. He only had Scarlett, and she only had him.

They found a rhythm together—breathless and bold. Her name was a gasp on his lips; his, a moan on hers. Every touch was deliberate, every kiss deeper than the last, like they were both trying to lose themselves in the other, just for a little while.

Skin met skin.

And for once, Nathan didn’t think. He didn't worry about tomorrow or the loop or compatibility indexes or what it meant. There were no algorithms here. Just the pulse in his neck, the heat in his core, the soft scrape of her nails down his spine.

She whispered something he didn't catch, and it didn't matter.

No consequences.

No pressure.

Just now.

Just this.