SHIRTLESS IN THE KITCHEN

✿MOANA✿

Dylan didn’t give me a choice.

His hand wrapped around my wrist, firm and unyielding, and he pulled me into the nearest empty classroom. The door slammed shut behind us with a dull thud, the echo swallowing the quiet space. Only a thin wash of afternoon light filtered through the blinds.

I yanked my hand back the second he released it, stumbling a step away. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

"Wrong with me?" His voice was low, controlled, but sharp enough to cut. "You've been avoiding me all weekend. You left Saturday night without a word. Locked your door. Didn't show up for meals. So no, Queens, what's wrong with me isn't the question."

He stepped closer. "What's wrong with you?"

"I was tired," I said.

"Bullshit."

I lifted my chin. "I didn't feel like staying. I wanted to go home. That's it."

"You're lying."

"And what exactly are you going to do about it?" I crossed my arms. "Look, just because we're stepsiblings now doesn't mean we need to pretend we like each other. I hate you. You hate me. We act civil around our parents. And what happened on Saturday night will not happen again. End of story."

"End of story," he repeated quietly.

"Yes." I tried to move around him, but he shifted instantly, blocking my path.

His next words came softer and more dangerous.

"Do you really hate me, Queens?"

My pulse jumped. I felt my throat tighten.

"Yes," I forced the word out.

He moved closer, one slow, deliberate step at a time until my back hit the wall and the cold surface pressed against my spine. He braced one hand beside my head, caging me in without touching me.

He was so close that I could smell him. I could see the gold flecks lit up in his green eyes.

"Say it again," he murmured.

My breath stalled. My heart pounded hard enough that he had to hear it. I wanted to push him and run.

But my body stayed exactly where it was.

A minute of silence passed between us before I was able to find my voice.

"I hate everything about you," I said. My voice was shaking. "So stay away from me."

Then I shoved past him, hard, and stormed out.

My hands trembled as I walked down the hall. I curled them into fists until my nails bit my palms.

✧✧✧

Octavia and Lalissa were already at our usual cafeteria table, trays loaded. Their faces softened with concern when I approached.

"You okay?" Octavia asked, sitting straighter.

I dropped into my seat and forced a smile. "Yeah. What did you guys get me?"

"Some salad and fries," Lalissa said, sliding a tray over. "Your usual."

"Thanks."

Octavia leaned closer, lowering her voice. "Moana, what did he say?"

"Nothing important." I stabbed a fry, chewing without tasting it. "He just wanted to talk."

"About what?"

"Nothing. It's done."

They exchanged a look but didn’t push, and I was grateful. I didn’t want to talk about him. Didn’t want to remember how close he’d been. How my body reacted in ways I didn’t understand.

I didn't want to think about it.

We finished lunch with safer conversations: cheer practice, homework, the upcoming game. I played along, nodded at the right moments, but my head felt distant, foggy, somewhere else entirely.

By the end of the school day, exhaustion clung to me like a second skin.

✧✧✧

I ordered a ride home, sitting in the back seat with my head against the window as the city blurred past. The driver tried to make small talk but I gave short answers until he gave up. By the time we pulled into the driveway, the sun was starting to set.

I climbed out, thanked the driver quietly, and walked to the front door. The house was silent when I stepped inside. I glanced at the driveway. Richard had several cars, so seeing vehicles there didn’t mean anyone was actually home.

The silence confirmed it.

I was alone.

Good. I didn’t have the energy to pretend.

I dropped my bag in my room and collapsed onto my bed, staring at the ceiling. I tried not to think about him. Tried not to replay the moment his body caged mine. I tried not to feel the echo of his presence in my chest.

But it didn’t work.

Hours passed. The house stayed silent. The light outside my window faded from gold to purple to black.

Eventually, my stomach growled loudly, reminding me I’d barely eaten the salad and fries at lunch.

I’d grab something and come right back upstairs. Avoiding him is the plan now. It was not supposed to be like this but living under the same roof has changed everything.

I looked at my reflection in the mirror. I was wearing black shorts and a fitted singlet, hair piled into a messy bun, and I made my way quietly downstairs. The house was mostly dark, except for the glow of the kitchen lights spilling down the hall.

I stepped inside…

And froze.

Dylan was at the counter shirtless.

The muscles in his back shifted as he lifted a glass. His shoulders were broad, defined, his skin catching the light. His blonde hair fell forward slightly, obscuring part of his face when he turned just enough to register my presence.

I considered leaving.

Being hungry wasn’t that bad.

But my feet carried me forward anyway.

I walked past him without a word, refusing to glance his way. I opened the fridge and grabbed leftover pasta. I acted as if he was invisible.

But I felt him watching me. I felt the heat of his gaze like it was pressed against my skin.

I put the pasta in the microwave and crossed my arms as I waited, pretending the timer was the most fascinating thing I’d ever seen.

A full minute of silence passed.

Then, finally, his voice cut through the room, quiet, low, and dangerous.

"Mind how you dress around the house, Queens."

My head snapped toward him.

He was leaning back against the counter, arms crossed over his bare chest, eyes dragging over me slowly, taking in every inch of exposed skin.

"Excuse me?" I said.

"You heard me." His voice dropped even lower. "You walk around like that and you forget something."

My pulse stumbled. "Forget what?"

His eyes locked on mine, dark and unreadable.

"I'm a fucker, remember?" His gaze dropped to my thighs, then dragged back up to meet my eyes. "And I wouldn't mind bending you over the kitchen counter."

Then he pushed off the counter and walked out, leaving me alone with the microwave’s soft hum.

The timer beeped.

I stood frozen, my skin burning where his gaze had lingered, my breath unsteady and uneven, heat pooling low in my stomach.

And for the first time since Saturday night, I didn’t know if what I felt was fury…

or something far more dangerous.

He was playing a game.

And my body was already reacting.