From Frost to Flame

Part 25-Tangled in Turns

Pete's heart jolted as the figure's eyes met his, sharp and deliberate, cutting through the dim light of the car like a knife. He blinked rapidly, half-convinced his mind was playing tricks on him. But no. There was no mistaking that face—the one he thought he'd never see again, not here, not like this.

Vegas.

The name echoed in his mind, leaving him momentarily frozen in place. Pete's breath hitched, his pulse racing as his eyes locked with Vegas's—those piercing, unreadable eyes watching him with an intensity that sent a shiver down his spine.

"Pete!" Porsche's voice broke through his haze, casual and impatient. "Are you gonna stand there all night, or what? Come on, get in!"

Pete tore his gaze away from Vegas, his chest tight as he fumbled for composure. Without a word, he ducked his head and slipped into the car, the tension thick as he carefully shut the door behind him.

He hesitated, his nerves buzzing as he realized Vegas was still staring at him—silent, unflinching. Pete could feel the weight of his gaze, heavy and deliberate, making the air inside the car feel suffocating.

Swallowing hard, Pete got into the car and shifted as close to the door as possible, his body angled like he was ready to spring out at any moment. His heart hammered in his chest, but he kept his face blank, avoiding Vegas's eyes.

The silence was unbearable, but Pete didn't dare say a word.

Kinn glanced at the backseat through the rearview mirror, his gaze flickering between Pete and Vegas. A mischievous smirk curled on his lips. Porsche, sitting beside him, caught the look and instinctively followed Kinn's eyes, turning to steal a glance at the tense silence in the backseat.

The scene was too good to pass up. Porsche smirked too.

"So, Pete," Porsche broke the silence, his tone light and teasing. "How was your day, bestie?"

Pete, who had been trying very hard not to notice Vegas practically boring holes into the side of his head, blinked and stammered, "H-Huh?"

Porsche grinned wider. "I said, how was your day, bestie?"

Pete shifted awkwardly, clearing his throat. "It was... good."

Porsche tilted his head, narrowing his eyes. "Then why do you look so lost, huh?"

Pete's gaze darted to Porsche, then quickly away. "It's nothing," he mumbled.

"Bestie," Porsche said with exaggerated concern, dragging out the word. "Who was that guy earlier?"

Pete's brow furrowed. "What guy?"

"You know," Porsche said, twisting around in his seat to face Pete, his eyes gleaming with playful curiosity. "That guy who stopped his car in front of you. The one who oh-so-generously offered you a lift."

Vegas's posture shifted slightly, his expression carefully neutral, though his gaze flicked quickly to Pete before settling on the window.

Pete looked like he'd just been called out in front of the class, his mouth opening and closing as he scrambled for words. Finally, he managed, "Oh... that was my manager, Mr. Day."

Porsche's eyebrows shot up. "Mr. Day, huh?" he repeated, leaning closer as if Pete had just confessed to a secret affair. "Your manager personally offering you a ride home? That's... interesting."

Vegas adjusted his position, his eyes briefly darting to Pete before he looked down at his hands, fiddling with a loose thread on his sleeve.

"Day?" Porsche repeated, his eyes narrowing as if deep in thought. "Hmm... I think I've seen him somewhere before."