My first crush (COMPLETED)√

PART 2: Chapter 77: I'm the boss

(Music drifting faintly in the background — "Now or Never" by Halsey — its slow, aching rhythm filling the silence.)

Stephen's POV

"What do you want?" I asked, disappointment clouding my voice as I watched her.

"You," Patricia answered simply.

She slipped the strap from her shoulder, letting her bra fall carelessly onto the bed. The dim bedroom light painted her skin in warm gold, shadows stretching along the walls as if they were witnesses to something inevitable.

"You already have my attention," I muttered. "What exactly are you waiting for?"

She stepped closer, confidence radiating from her every movement, and settled onto my lap. Her fingers moved deliberately — undoing buttons, brushing against fabric, skin, hesitation.

"You like this, don't you?" I asked quietly, my voice tighter than I intended.

"More than ever," she whispered.

I caught her wrists gently.
"We don't have to do this, Patricia. Not here."

She tilted her head, eyes soft but persistent, her hand rising to cup my cheek.
"Don't pretend you don't miss us," she murmured. "You know now we are together... and I need you right now. I'm carrying your child."

The words landed heavy between us.

"Another time," I urged. "Please. You'll have me all to yourself — I promise."

She shook her head.
"No. Now."

Her kiss silenced my protest — warm, insistent, impossible to ignore. The room seemed to close in around us; the music's distant echo and the faint ticking of a wall clock were the only sounds left outside the storm of confusion in my head.

"This isn't right," I tried again, my voice faltering.

"Don't ruin this moment," she said softly, pressing closer. "She'll never know."

And in that fragile space between resistance and weakness — I gave in.

⸻

Afterward, I left the room first, straightening myself, my chest tight with guilt. Each step down the hallway felt heavier than the last.

I couldn't believe what I had done.
Not after everything Sharon and I had fought through.

The living room glowed warmly under the television's light. Sharon sat beside her dad, the flickering screen reflecting in her eyes.

"What took you so long?" she asked.

I forced a casual shrug.
"Bathroom disaster," I said lightly. "Trust me — you don't want the details."

She grimaced immediately.
"Please don't. I just finished eating a refreshing meal," I said, patting my stomach with a satisfied sigh. "By the way, I ate your meal. Couldn't let it go to waste."

Stephen's brows lifted, a teasing smile curling at the corners of his lips. "I wonder why you never get fat."

"Stephen, stop it." I nudged him lightly, though my voice held a playful warning. "You know I don't eat much. I was just really hungry — and I can eat as much as I want, right, Dad?"

The warm kitchen lights reflected softly off the polished table as my dad chuckled from his seat. "Of course. It's all yours."

The comfort of home wrapped around us — the lingering scent of spices from dinner, the quiet hum of the ceiling fan stirring the warm night air.

"C'mon, let's go inside and rest," Stephen said suddenly, scooping me up before I could protest.

"Drop me down, silly you!" I laughed, swatting at his back while he carried me down the hallway. My dad only shook his head, smiling fondly at the sight of us as we disappeared toward the bedroom.

Stephen nudged the door open with his foot and laid me gently onto the bed. The mattress dipped beneath me, the sheets cool against my skin.

"Why did you do that in front of my dad?" Sharon asked, brushing her hair back as she sat up.

"It's no big deal," Stephen replied casually, stretching out beside her and folding his arms behind his head as if the world itself were his pillow.

A moment of quiet settled between them — until Sharon's nose wrinkled.

"Can you smell that?" she asked, sniffing cautiously, her expression shifting from confusion to horror.

Stephen didn't even move. "No."

Her eyes widened as she took another breath. "It smells like a fart. It's only me and you in here and I didn't fart. That means you farted!" she shrieked, grabbing pillows and launching them at him while shielding her nose.

"I didn't, I swear!" Stephen protested, rolling away and raising his arms to block the fluffy assault.

The half-closed door creaked slightly as Patricia peeped in, her eyes narrowing at the laughter and chaos inside. Jealousy flickered across her face before she quietly lingered in the shadows.

"Don't lie — you farted!" Sharon insisted.

"I don't fart," Stephen said stubbornly — then sighed in defeat. "Fine... I farted. But it's no big deal!"

"What? Who doesn't?!" Sharon groaned dramatically, waving her hand through the air as if physically pushing the smell away. "I don't want you on the bed until you've calmed your butt down. Gosh!"

"But it's my bed," Stephen whined, sitting upright, wounded pride written across his face.

Sharon crossed her arms, lifting her chin with mock authority. "I'm the boss here."

The dim bedroom light cast soft shadows across the walls as their bickering melted into laughter, the playful warmth between them filling the space far more than the lingering smell ever could — unaware of the eyes still watching quietly from the doorway.