Ava
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The apartment was dark except for the kitchen light he always left on for her.
She stumbled through the front door just after midnight, laughing under her breath at something on her phone before finally noticing him sitting at the counter.
Watching.
Her smile widened immediately.
There you are,she said softly. He didn’t answer right away. Older than her by enough years to know better, old enough that every look he gave her carried restraint stretched painfully thin. His fingers tapped once against the ceramic mug in front of him before he finally spoke.
You like making me wait for you?She closed the door behind her slowly.
Maybe.That answer settled heavy in the room. She crossed the apartment without hurry, dropping her bag beside the couch before leaning against the counter near him. Close enough now that he could smell her perfume underneath the rain.
You were worried,she teased.
I was irritated.
Same thing.His eyes dragged over her for a second too long — the short skirt, the damp hair, the expression that always looked a little too pleased whenever she caught him staring.
You know,he said quietly,
most girls your age would be smarter than this.
And most men your age,she replied, stepping even closer,
would’ve asked me to leave by now.Neither of them moved after that. The tension sat thick between them, familiar and dangerous, while the rain hammered softly against the windows outside. And when his hand finally settled against her waist, she leaned into it like she’d been waiting for him to stop pretending.