[BOOK2]
Friendship built their world. Love will break it open. ❤️
*****
I want her.
I want her more than I've ever wanted anything.
But I can't have her. Because the moment I admit that out loud, the moment I risk everything we've built, I could lo...
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My lips are still wet from Isla's kiss when I turn away.
It wasn't just a kiss—it was a plea. And I'd have given anything to stay pressed against her instead of walking toward the girl who helped wreck me.
But this isn't about what I want.
This is about proving the truth.
Peyton's easy to spot, glittering under the neon lights like she's center stage in her own show. She's got a drink in hand, her laugh just a little too loud, her eyes already tracking me as I cross the room.
Of course she notices. She always does.
"Theo," she purrs when I stop in front of her, lips parting like she's been waiting her whole life for this.
"Peyton." My tone is smooth, steady. No trace of the disgust knotting in my gut. I lean against the bar, close enough for her to think she's winning, far enough that I don't choke on it.
Her eyes sweep over me, lingering on my mouth, my shoulders, my hands. She doesn't hide the way she stares.
"Didn't think I'd see you here tonight."
I shrug, sip from my glass, force a lazy grin. "Needed a change. Hastings always delivers."
She tilts her head, smile sharp. "And here I thought you were avoiding me."
My jaw tightens, but I keep the smirk. "Avoiding you? Nah. If anything... I should be thanking you."
Her brows flick upward, amused. "Thanking me?"
"Yeah." I shift closer, my shoulder brushing hers, voice dropping lower. "For opening my eyes. For helping me realize some things weren't meant to last. Isla and me? We never really worked, did we?"
The words taste like ash. Like betrayal.
But Peyton eats them up, her lips spreading in a smug grin.
"I could've told you that a long time ago," she says sweetly, leaning in like we're sharing secrets. "You deserve someone who understands you. Who doesn't hold you back."
I laugh—low, forced, bitter. "Guess you were right."
Her hand trails up my arm, nails dragging. I let it happen, let it look like it's welcome, even though every nerve screams no. I lean closer, brushing a stray strand of her hair back from her shoulder. My fingers graze her skin, and bile rises in my throat. She shivers like I've given her a gift.
I want to rip my hand away. I want to go back to Isla, bury myself in her, scrub this moment from existence. But instead I let my knuckles trail against Peyton's jaw, light, suggestive, practiced.
She preens under it, eyes half-lidded, lips curling.
