Hooking up with my best friend’s crush

The dining room glows warm under the chandelier, plates clinking, laughter bouncing off the walls. Snow dusts the windows outside—fat flakes still falling slow and silent—but in here it’s all heat: roasted meat, garlic, wine, Gwen’s mom’s famous casserole. Family and close friends around the long table. Cozy. Safe.

  Or so I thought.

  I’m mid-sip of coffee when the front door opens. Gwen jumps up, squealing. “CK’s here!”

  I glance up casually.

  Then freeze.

  Tall. Broad. Shaved head shining under the light, thick beard framing a jaw I know too well. Dark jacket still dusted with snow. Same heavy eyes that stared down at me last night while I arched and begged.

  The coffee scalds my tongue. I choke. Hot liquid sprays from my mouth in a messy arc—across the tablecloth, my lap, the plate in front of me. I cough violently, chest seizing, eyes watering like I’ve been punched.

  Gwen rushes over. “Selene! Oh my god, you okay?”

  I wave her off, coughing harder, napkin pressed to my mouth. “F-fine… went down wrong…”

  But I’m not fine.

  Everyone’s staring now—Gwen’s mom, her dad, cousins, aunts. And him. Christian. The man whose name I moaned like a maniac last night, legs wrapped around him, nails in his back, coming so hard I forgot how to breathe. The stranger I thought I’d never see again. One wild, unforgettable night in a storm. Done. Forgotten.

  Except he’s standing right here.

  Gwen laughs nervously, patting my back. “Breathe, girl. CK, come sit—this is my best friend Selene. She’s usually smoother than this.”

  He moves closer—slow, deliberate—eyes locked on mine with that same quiet intensity. “Nice to meet you… again.”

  My stomach drops.

  Gwen blinks. “Again?”

  I force words out, voice hoarse. “We… ran into each other last night. At the bar. Didn’t realize…”

  He sits across from me, casual as hell. “Yeah. Small world.”

  The table erupts in chatter—“How funny!” “What are the odds?”—but I barely hear it. My phone’s already in my lap under the tablecloth. I open the gallery. Pull up Gwen’s favorite old photo of him: blonde waves, clean-shaven, smiling wide like the sun never sets.

  I glance up.

  Back to the phone.

  Up again.

  Shaved head. Thick beard. Tired shadows under those eyes. But the tilt of his head. The set of his shoulders. The low, rough voice that growled my name while he drove into me.

  Christian Knight.

  The pieces slam together in my brain like a puzzle I never wanted solved.

  Christian Knight = C.K.

  C.K. = Gwen’s lifelong crush.

  The guy she’s talked about since we were teens.

  The one she still sighs over in drunk texts.

  The same man I let fuck me senseless last night—loud, desperate, no holds barred—thinking it was just a one-time thing.

  My best friend’s family friend.

  Sitting three feet away.

  While she beams at him like he’s the answer to every prayer.

  I feel the blood drain from my face. Nausea rolls in. Guilt hits like ice water.

  He catches my eye again—subtle, unreadable—but there’s a flicker. He knows I know.

  Gwen leans over, whispering excitedly. “Isn’t he even hotter in person? The beard suits him.”

  I force a smile, stomach churning. “Yeah… suits him.”

  Under the table, my hands shake so hard I nearly drop the phone.

  I’m in the deepest shit of my life.

  And the dinner’s just getting started.