LOGINSomething sharp flashed in his eyes. He dropped the bag and crossed the small room in three strides. I backed up on instinct until the edge of the counter pressed against my lower spine. He stopped close enough that I could feel the heat coming off him, close enough that the clean scent of his soap mixed with the faint remaining trace of whatever perfume Avery had left on his hoodie. “Say that again,” he said, quiet. “Which part? The spoiled part or the asshole part?” “The part where you pretend this is only about the help.” His hand came up and braced on the counter beside my hip, not touching me, but close enough that the shift of his body trapped me in place. My pulse hammered so hard I was certain he could see it in my throat. I hated the reaction. I hated more that he had learned exactly how to provoke it. “You’re in my space,” I said. “You’re in my pool house.” “Because your mother put me here.” “Because I asked her to.” The admission sat between us, blunt and unapologe
"Say what?”“That you don’t want me to move.”The words hung between us, dangerous and accurate. I could feel the rise and fall of his chest. I could see the pulse at the base of his throat. My own heart was slamming so hard I was certain he could hear it. The anger in my blood had nowhere left to go except straight into the other, more complicated heat that had been building since the night he grabbed my wrist in the hallway.“I hate you,” I said.“I know.”“I mean it.”He lifted his hand and for a second I thought he would touch my face. Instead his fingers brushed a loose strand of hair behind my ear, light enough that it could have been accidental if not for the way his eyes stayed locked on mine. The contact was barely there. It still sent a clear current down my spine.A phone buzzed against the desk behind me and at the same time Rhys’s gaze dropped to my mouth. The air between us felt stretched thin enough to snap. I hated how easy it would be to close the last inch. I hated m
The next day,i entered the kitchen which smelled like coffee and the citrus . A single mug sat drying on the rack. I found the sticky note she left on the counter."He’s home so don't cause more trouble for me Sloane."I crumpled the paper and shoved it in my back pocket.The back stairs felt longer than they had the day before. Every step tightened something behind my ribs. I told myself I was only here because she needed the help and the Langfords paid on time. I told myself a lot of things that felt thinner the closer I got to his door.Rhys stood at the window with his back to me, phone pressed to his ear while speaking in the low, easy tone . He wore black training shorts and a white T-shirt that had ridden up slightly on one side. The morning light cut across his shoulders. He didn’t turn when I stopped in the doorway, but the line of his spine shifted like he already knew I was there.“Yeah,” he said into the phone. “Tell Coach I’ll be twenty minutes late. Something came up.”
I didn’t sleep well.Every time I closed my eyes I saw him at the top of the stairs, hands in his pockets, watching me like he had already decided the next move. By morning my jaw ached from clenching it through the night. I pulled on jeans and a faded black sweater, tied my hair back, and left before my mother could ask why I looked like I had been arguing with someone in my dreams.The Langford house was quiet when I arrived through the service entrance. My mother’s note on the kitchen counter was short and precise: *Second floor. Guest rooms and Rhys’s wing. Supplies in the hall closet. Stay out of the master suite.*I took the back stairs two at a time.The second-floor hallway smelled like lemon oil and the faint clean scent of the laundry service they used. I started with the guest rooms because they were farthest from his door. Dusting. Vacuuming the edges the weekend staff always missed. Changing the pillowcases even though no one had slept in them. The work was familiar. It g
The bell rang before I could answer. Chairs scraped. Voices rose. Rhys stood slowly, collected his bag, and looked down at me while the rest of the class filed out. “See you at lunch, Bennett.” He walked out without waiting for a response. I stayed seated until the room emptied, then pressed the heels of my hands against my eyes until the anger settled into something manageable. When I finally stood and left, the hallway felt too bright and too loud. Lunch was worse. I usually ate on the low wall behind the science building where the noise thinned out. Today Rhys was already there, sitting on the wall like he had claimed it, two teammates flanking him and a girl from the dance team perched sideways on his left. He saw me the moment I turned the corner. A slow, deliberate smile pulled at his mouth. I changed direction and headed for the library instead. He found me there twenty minutes later. I was at a back table with my history notes spread out when a shadow fell across the p
On Monday morning, I pushed through the side doors of Northridge High with my bag slung over one shoulder and the same black hoodie I wore when I wanted to disappear. The hallway was already loud—lockers slamming, someone shouting about practice schedules, the usual cluster of junior girls blocking the water fountain. I kept my head down and moved toward my locker on the second floor.I made about eleven steps before I saw him.Rhys Langford stood in the middle of the main corridor like he owned the tile under his feet. Letterman jacket open, backpack hanging off one shoulder, three girls already angled toward him like flowers tracking the sun. One of them laughed too loudly at something he said. Another reached up and fixed the collar of his jacket with the kind of casual intimacy that made my stomach turn.I didn’t slow down.I also didn’t look away fast enough.His eyes found mine over the top of the blonde’s head. The same blue that had watched me leave the gala two nights ago. F







