Anticipation

Alexa's POV 

I stood in front of the mirror, smoothing down the short black dress I'd bought just for tonight. Twenty years old. Finally. Ethan had promised this birthday would be the one—candles, dinner, and then back to his place where we'd stop dancing around what we both wanted. I'd waited long enough. My hands shook a little as I applied one last coat of lipstick, the red bright against my skin.

My phone buzzed on the dresser. I snatched it up, heart jumping.

Running late. Be there soon. Love you.

I smiled and typed back: Hurry. I have plans for you.

The party was at a rented loft downtown—my friends had gone all out with balloons, music, and way too much tequila. I laughed and danced with them, but my eyes kept flicking to the door. Every time it opened, my stomach flipped. Ethan never showed.

By eleven, the excitement had curdled into something sour. I checked my phone again. No new messages. Calls went straight to voicemail. My best friend squeezed my shoulder.

"He's probably stuck in traffic or something. Don't let it ruin your night."

But it already had. I forced a smile, downed another shot to dull the edge, and told everyone I needed air. Outside, the cool night hit my bare arms. I leaned against the wall, thumb hovering over Ethan's name. Anger mixed with the disappointment, thick and heavy in my chest. I'd planned everything. Worn the dress he liked. Shaved in all the right places. And he couldn't even show up.

My phone rang. Not Ethan. Dominic.

I hesitated before answering. "Hey."

"Alexa." His voice came through low and steady, the way it always did. "Your mother called. Said you might need a ride home."

Of course she had. Mom was somewhere across the ocean on another business trip, but she still kept tabs. Dominic had been the one handling the home front for five years now—ever since she married him. He wasn't loud about it, never made a big deal. He just showed up when things needed fixing. Like tonight.

"I'm fine," I said, even though my words slurred a tiny bit from the shots.

"You don't sound fine. I'll be there in twenty."

He hung up before I could argue. I stared at the screen, a weird flutter in my stomach that had nothing to do with the alcohol. Dominic wasn't like Ethan. Ethan was my age, fun, careless in that boyish way that used to feel exciting. Dominic was... different. Older. Calm. The kind of man who walked into a room and made everything else feel smaller. He'd never treated me like a kid, exactly, but there was always this quiet authority around him. Protective. Like I mattered.

I went back inside long enough to say quick goodbyes, ignoring the pitying looks. When I stepped out again, his black car was already waiting at the curb. Dominic leaned against the driver's side, arms crossed, watching me approach. The streetlight caught the sharp line of his jaw, the way his shirt stretched across his shoulders. He looked good. Too good for a stepdad, my brain supplied unhelpfully.

"Get in," he said simply.

I slid into the passenger seat. The leather was cool against my thighs. He didn't say anything at first, just pulled away from the curb and merged into traffic. The silence stretched, comfortable at first, then heavy. I fidgeted with the hem of my dress.

"He didn't show," I muttered finally. "Ethan. Promised the whole night would be special and then ghosted."

Dominic's hands tightened on the wheel, knuckles whitening for a second before relaxing. "His loss."

I laughed, bitter. "Yeah. My perfect twentieth birthday. Wasted."

"You're too beautiful to be crying over a boy."

His voice was low, velvety, and dangerously close even though he hadn't moved. I turned my head. He was looking straight ahead, but the words hung between us like smoke. Heat crept up my neck. I'd heard him say nice things before—compliments on my grades, my art projects—but never like that. Never with that edge.

"I'm not crying," I whispered, though my eyes stung.

He glanced over, just once. His gaze lingered a beat too long on my face, then dropped to my dress before snapping back to the road. "Good. You deserve better than someone who can't keep a simple promise."

The car felt smaller suddenly. His cologne filled the space—something clean and expensive that made my head spin worse than the tequila. I shifted in my seat, crossing my legs. The movement made the fabric ride up, and I caught him noticing. Or maybe I imagined it. Either way, warmth pooled low in my belly, confusing and unwelcome.

We'd shared the house alone plenty of times while Mom traveled. Quiet dinners, late movies, him helping with my car when it broke down. I'd always felt safe with him. Lately, though, safe had started feeling like something else. Something that made me hyper-aware of how close he sat, how his voice wrapped around me in the dark.

"You always come through," I said softly, staring at his profile. "Even when she doesn't."

He didn't answer right away. The city lights slid over his face as we drove. "Someone has to look out for you."

The words should have sounded fatherly. They didn't. They sounded like a promise. Or a warning.

I swallowed hard, the alcohol making everything sharper and fuzzier at the same time. My heart beat too fast. This was stupid. He was my stepdad. The man who'd married my mother. But right then, with Ethan's absence still stinging and Dominic's steady presence filling the car, the line between comfort and something far more dangerous felt paper-thin.

We turned onto our street. The house loomed ahead, dark and empty. Mom wouldn't be back for weeks.

Dominic killed the engine. The sudden quiet pressed in.

He turned to me, eyes dark in the low light. One hand lifted, brushing a stray tear from my cheek with his thumb. The touch burned.

"You're drunk," I whispered, my breath hitching, even though I knew he wasn't. Not really.

His thumb lingered, tracing lightly. "And you're irresistible."

The words landed like a spark on dry grass. I didn't pull away. Neither did he.

"What now?" I asked, voice barely there.

Dominic's gaze dropped to my mouth. "Now I take you inside."