Back To You

Something about last night (7)

I woke up with a dull ache behind my eyes and the taste of regret and tequila still on my tongue.

Not regret-regret. Just... the kind that makes you question what the hell you said and who you might've said it to.

Olivia's guest room was quiet, the sunlight slicing through the blinds in narrow, sharp lines. I turned over, groaning at the creak of the mattress and the pulsing in my skull.

My phone buzzed somewhere near the floor. I reached blindly, eventually snatching it off the carpet and blinking at the screen.

Tayler:
Survived the night?

I stared at the text, the corners of my mouth betraying me with the hint of a smile.

There it was again. That pull. That warmth. That danger.

I didn't reply.

Instead, I sat up slowly, swinging my legs off the bed and pushing my hair out of my face. I barely had time to stand before Olivia barged in without knocking, still in sweatpants, a coffee in one hand, her phone in the other.

"Good, you're alive," she said. "Nate said you looked like you were gonna throw up on the Uber driver."

I shot her a glare. "That was your idea, ordering six tequila shots for the table."

"Guilty," she grinned. "But also, I was not the one making out with Tayler in the corner like we were at prom."

I froze. "We did not make out."

"You did."

"No—"

"You did," she repeated, pointing her coffee cup at me. "And don't even try to lie. Everyone saw it. Aisha literally texted me a GIF of it."

I buried my face in my hands. "I was drunk."

"Yeah," she said, plopping down beside me, "but drunk words, sober thoughts... or whatever."

I groaned into my palms.

She nudged me with her shoulder. "Come on. You two were kind of cute."

"That's not helpful."

"No," she said, standing back up, "but it's true."

⸻

By the time we made it to the kitchen, the house was already buzzing with lazy morning chaos.

Markell and Cody were arguing about cereal, Aisha was making something vaguely healthy with kale, and Nate was trying to fix the Bluetooth speaker that kept cutting in and out.

Tayler was there too.

Sitting at the end of the counter with a mug in one hand and a half-smile playing on his lips like he knew something I didn't.

Our eyes met for half a second, and my stomach flipped.

I looked away quickly, focusing on pouring orange juice I didn't even want.

Olivia slid into the bar stool beside me and leaned in with a whisper. "You okay?"

"I'm fine."

"You're lying."

Before I could answer, Tayler pushed off his stool and walked over like he had all the time in the world. His eyes skimmed over me, stopping briefly on the side of my neck — the spot where I knew he'd kissed me the night before.

"Morning," he said, voice low and annoyingly smug.

"Morning," I said back, too cool. Too flat.

He tilted his head. "You remember last night?"

"Some of it."

He stepped closer. "Want me to remind you?"

I shot him a look. "I'm good, thanks."

He smirked but didn't push it. Just slid his hands into the pockets of his hoodie and said, "You ran out on me."

"You fell asleep at the booth."

"Liar. I was waiting for you."

I felt Olivia watching us with the world's loudest silence. I grabbed my juice and headed for the patio door.

He followed.

⸻

The morning air was sharp but calm. I stepped outside barefoot, the cold cement shocking my skin awake. Tayler trailed behind me like he belonged there.

"Why are you following me?" I asked without turning.

"You're avoiding me."

"Can you blame me?"

"No," he said honestly. "But I still don't like it."

I turned then, folding my arms. "What do you want from me, Tayler?"

He studied me. "I don't know yet. But something about last night... it didn't feel fake."

A beat passed. Then another.

I dropped my arms. "It was tequila."

He stepped closer. "And the way you kissed me?"

My throat tightened.

"I've known you a long time, Mads. I know when you're pretending."

"I'm not—"

"You are," he said quietly, but not unkindly. "You're pretending to hate me. Pretending like what happened between us is buried. But it's not."

I wanted to argue. I wanted to push him away with all the reasons he didn't deserve this version of me.

But I couldn't.

Because part of me still wanted him.

Still missed the way he looked at me like I mattered.

Still felt safest in the arms of the person who once broke me.

He stepped even closer, our bodies barely inches apart now.

"I meant what I said," he murmured. "I still got you."

I swallowed. "Don't say that unless you mean it."

His eyes didn't waver. "I do."

Then, like it wasn't the most complicated thing in the world, he leaned in and kissed me again — slow, deliberate, nothing like the buzzed mess from the night before.

This kiss felt real.

And real scared the hell out of me.

⸻

We broke apart at the sound of the patio door swinging open.

It was Nate, balancing a cup of coffee and two granola bars.

"Oh," he said, eyebrows raised. "Didn't mean to interrupt."

Tayler stepped back like it was nothing. I just stood there, blinking.

Nate smirked and tossed a bar at Tayler. "Breakfast of champions."

He disappeared back inside like it wasn't a big deal.

But it was.

Because now I couldn't lie to myself.

Something was happening.

And it wasn't over.

Not even close.