"Shit, I'm sorry."
He apologized immediately, like he just realized what kind of damage he'd done.
Tsk. Isn't it a little late for that?
I don't bother replying. Just nod my head with that deadpan expression I've mastered over the years, give him a firm shove off, and keep walking. No glance back. No pause.
As I round the corner, I slam into something—or someone—solid.
Gosh, KD, seriously? Get it together. Why are you always bumping into people like this is a damn rom-com?
"KD?"
That voice—God, that voice—it's way too familiar. It creeps up your spine and clings like perfume you didn't ask to wear.
"M-Mr. Yellic?"
I stammer, blinking as if I'm genuinely surprised. Acting 101: Look startled. Confused. Caught off guard.
"What a coincidence. Care for some company?"
His hand rises—poised, charming, too smooth.
Before he can complete the gesture, another hand slaps his away.
"Back off, Thoven. Find someone else to flirt with."
There it is. That sharp, annoyed voice—Paige. Of course he had to show up now, carrying all that dramatic tension like a wet coat.
Seriously? Paige, did your brain short-circuit? When someone walks away from you after pushing you off and glaring like they want to bury you, maybe—just maybe—they don't want to talk.
Thoven raises an eyebrow and smirks, flicking his gaze between me and Paige like he's watching a trashy soap unfold.
"You already have company?"
His tone is playful, but there's something dangerous under it.
"Yes, she's with—"
Paige starts, but I don't let him finish. I slide my hand into Thoven's and look him dead in the eye.
"No. I don't."
We walk away, but we don't even get a full three steps before Paige grabs my arm again.
"Wait, KD. I said I'm sorry. Can we talk? Please."
My body stiffens. My heart flinches—but I don't let it show. I just yank my wrist free, no words, and keep walking.
Right into Thoven's car.
***
It's quiet inside. Tense. The kind of silence that doesn't sit—it presses. Crawls into your lungs.
Thoven finally breaks it.
"What the hell was that all about?"
I stare at my hands, fingers lightly twisting in my lap.
"Just a little argument."
He scoffs like I just told him the Earth's flat.
"Paige didn't look like he just had a 'little' argument. He looked like he got chewed up and spit out."
There's arrogance in his voice, sure. But also something else—concern, maybe. Loyalty. I don't really care.
"I said it's nothing."
I shrug, hoping he'll let it go.
He doesn't.
"So, what's the plan here? Huh? What are you trying to achieve?"
God, this guy's persistent. I smirk on the inside. If he only knew what he was stepping into.
"What do you think?"
I tilt my head slightly, still refusing to look at him.
"You show up out of nowhere. You mess with Paige, with Vaughn. You slip into our lives like a damn ghost, and suddenly we can't ignore you."
He's narrating his theory like it's gospel. But what he doesn't realize is that I didn't slip into anything. I was always there. Watching. Lingering like smoke. They just never looked closely enough to see the fire.
"'Mess with' is such a strong phrase. Don't you think? I prefer... light pranks. Or a bit of performance art."
He chuckles, dark and dry.
"Call it what you want. What's your endgame, little girl?"
Little girl? Cute. The condescension just adds fuel to the flames.
"Didn't you already figure it out?"
I raise an eyebrow slightly. Feeding his ego just enough to keep him talking.
"So all of this... because they reminded you of your ex?"
And there it is. The theory. The assumed motive.
So simple. So narrow. So wrong.
Inside, I laugh. They think they've put me in a box. Sweetheart, you haven't even found the lid.
But instead of correcting him, I freeze. Just slightly. Eyes widening. Breath catching.
Acting: startled, ashamed, cornered.
His smirk deepens in the rearview mirror. He thinks he's won.
Let him think that.
"W-what do you mean? W-what do you know?"
My voice trembles, just enough to stoke his ego.
"Let's just say I have my ways."
Yeah, your ways include walking into every trap I set.
I fall silent. He continues.
"I know me and my friends have a reputation—womanizers, dicks, whatever. But we're not heartless. We're not evil."
Why is he explaining himself to me? Guilt? Interest? Control?
Whatever it is, I'm riding this wave.
"You really think I'd risk messing with your group? With you watching everything like a hawk?"
"Then stop."
His voice is lower now.
Stop? As if I could.
This isn't about a broken heart. This is about justice. About memory. About truth. And if he thinks I'm doing this for attention, he has no idea what kind of storm is brewing.
I sigh and glance at him.
"Now that you've noticed me because of this... how do you expect me to stop?"
My voice softens. Vulnerable. Bait.
He turns. Our eyes meet—and in one swift motion, his lips find mine.
His kiss is rough. Urgent. Heat and pressure.
His hands grip my waist and pull me onto his lap.
Now I'm straddling him, one hand on the seat for balance, the other tangled in his hair.
He groans into my mouth. I grind lightly. He kisses harder.
"So you like my attention now, huh?"
He murmurs, kissing down my neck.
"Mmm. Yeah. And I bet you love this game."
"You're the only one who knows how to play it right."
"So... do you see me differently now?"
I bite his lower lip. Just a little. Just enough.
He grips my hips tighter.
"You're way out of their league. You're the only one who gets me."
Sure, buddy.
How many girls have heard that line? Do they get a loyalty card?
My phone buzzes. Saved by the vibe-killer.
I smirk, slide off his lap, open the car door. As I step out, I lean back in, kiss him once more—slow and sweet—and whisper:
"See you around, Mr. Yellic."
And just like that—I disappear again.