: I Rose Onto My Toes…

Embarrassment surged up inside me so badly it almost made me nauseous. Being laughed at by Noah and his friends had hurt… cut me open in all the ways humiliation knows how to, but somehow this was worse.

Way fucking worse than it should have been.

When Mr. Gage’s eyes landed on me, their usual calm narrowed slightly, just enough to show surprise… then confusion that made me want to disappear.

“Mr. Gage,” I breathed out, voice barely audible, shaky, more fragile than I wanted it to be.

Why did he have to see me like this?

The fuck!

He didn’t reply to me and stepped forward, his shoes clicking softly on the tile as he entered the hall.

When he was close enough he let out a controlled sigh and tilt of his head. “You’re dripping water on my floors, Thea.”

The words hit harder than they should have.

Simple. Blunt. CRUEL.

But laced with the very thing I feared most: inconvenience.

I blinked slowly, staring up at him, numb for a moment because my emotions were fighting for space.

Then his remark finally clicked in my mind, cutting through the fog.

“Oh…” I swallowed, scrambling mentally. “I’m so sorry.”

I pushed myself up, legs wobbling, almost slipping again as the wet tile shifted under my foot. I caught myself just in time, but not gracefully—more like a newborn deer trying its hardest not to collapse again.

“I…I’ll clean it up,” I rushed out, desperate to restore even a shred of dignity. To fix it. To not be a burden atleast. “I’m really sorry, I’ll take care of it right now—”

I turned, already trying to hurry away, mind spinning with panic, but before I could take a full step, his hand shot out and wrapped firmly around my wrist.

I froze, breath catching in my throat as I looked back at him.

“Don’t,” he said quietly.

My brows knitted. “I… don’t understand—”

“Just call the housekeeper,” he replied, voice low but steady. “You’ll hurt yourself if you try to clean in that condition.”

That condition.

I followed his gaze as it flicked downward, at my soaked shirt clinging to my body, the tremor in my hands, the redness around my eyes, the way my breath was uneven, chest still rising and falling too quickly.

I must have looked more wrecked than I realized.

And the realization made my eyes burn again.

“I’m really sorry,” I whispered, my voice trembling. “I…I didn’t mean to make a mess. I didn’t mean to…”

“To what?” he asked quietly.

My lips parted, but no sound came out. I didn’t know how to answer.

He exhaled slowly, his gaze still fixed on me.

“You’re shaking,” he said, and there was no judgment in his tone this time. Only something that sounded dangerously close to concern.

I shook my head quickly, trying to step back, but he didn’t let go of my wrist, as if he was keeping me from slipping again.

“I’m fine,” I lied.

“You’re not.”

The finality in his voice made my throat tighten. My tears stung again, threatening to spill over.

“I’ll… I’ll just go to my room,” I murmured, pulling gently against his hold.

His hand didn’t leave my wrist.

If anything, his grip tightened like he wasn’t willing to let me walk away just yet. His suitcase slipped from his other hand and hit the floor with a soft, heavy thud. The sound echoed faintly through the hall.

Before I could process what was happening, that now-free hand lifted… and gently tilted my chin up.

“What has my stupid son done this time?” he asked, voice low with just the slightest undercurrent of frustration.

The warmth from his hand spread down my neck in a way I didn’t expect. Maybe it was because I was drenched and cold… or maybe it was the way he said My Stupid Son like he was already piecing things together without needing me to confirm it.

“N–Nothing,” I finally stammered. “It’s… really nothing.”

His brow lifted slightly.

I wanted to say something but I wasn’t in a position to complain, so I simply just shook my head.

“So you’re telling me,” he let out slowly, “that nothing happened… yet you’re soaked, shaking, and hiding in the hallway instead of being outside with the others?” He paused, letting the silence stretch before adding. “Instead of being with my son.”

I swallowed hard.

“I just… needed a break from the sun.”

“The sun.” His voice held a hint of dry amusement. “You don’t have to cover for him.”

My breath hitched.

Then he added, almost offhandedly, “That boy’s been cycling through girls since he was sixteen. This isn’t the first time one of them has ended up crying in my house.”

My face fell before I could stop it, and my free hand curled into a fist at my side.

“I see,” I murmured.

His hand under my chin tilted ever so slightly, enough to force my gaze up toward him.

“Does mentioning my son’s past upset you?”

“Upset me?” I let out a short scoff before I could stop myself. “No. Not at all. I just… I know everyone has a past. Noah is no different.”

His eyes narrowed just a fraction, as if he could hear the lie twisting through my tone.

I tried to recover, adding quickly, “Even you, Mr. Gage.”

But as soon as the words left my mouth, mortification flooded me.

“I— Wait. I didn’t mean that the way it sounded.”

For a heartbeat he went still, thumb frozen against my bottom lip.

Then, slowly, the corner of his mouth curved.

His hand left my chin, sliding away only to shove deep into the pocket of his slacks, the motion pulling the fabric tight across his hips. But he still didn’t release my wrist. His grip tightened, thumb pressing over the frantic beat of my pulse.

“That’s true,” he murmured. “I’ve had my share.”

I lifted my gaze to meet his… but instantly regretted it—or maybe not regretted exactly if I were being honest, but I felt the hit of something sharp and hot in my stomach.

His gaze wasn’t on my face anymore.

It went lower.

Tracing the soaked cloth clinging to my chest, the way it had gone nearly transparent, outlining every curve and shiver. My nipples tightened traitorously under the weight of his stare, and there was no hiding it—not when my cloth were plastered to me like that.

“Mr. Gage?” I called, my cheeks burning so hard it felt like the heat might steam off me.

When his eyes flicked back to mine, the hunger in them was blatant that it stole whatever was left of my common sense.

I took a step forward.

One single step, closing the space until the damp fabric of my shirt brushed the crisp front of his. Until I could smell his cologne. Until I could feel the heat coming off him like a furnace against my chilled body.

His pupils swallowed the gray, his breath ghosting over my lips as he stared at me with a gaze no father should ever have while looking at his son’s girlfriend.

Another inch and we’d be kissing.

Another inch and I’d know exactly how that stubble would feel scraping my throat, my breasts, the inside of my thighs.

Another inch and there would be no pretending this was anything innocent.

I rose onto my toes…

: It Made Sense

His grip on my wrist tightened just slightly, and his chest rose in the faintest inhale—

BZZZ BZZZ BZZZ

His phone rang.

The sound slicing through the spell.

His eyes shifted away, his jaw flexed, and he let go of my wrist, but not abruptly, no, it was a controlled release that told me he knew exactly what was happening… and so did I.

Without a word, he reached down, grabbed his suitcase, and lifted his phone with the same hand that had just touched my chin.

“Yes,” he answered, voice clipped and distant now, as if the last sixty seconds had never happened.

He didn’t look at me again.

He just walked past me, heading up the stairs with calm, measured steps, phone at his ear, discussing business or something mundane while my heart thundered like I'd run miles.

As soon as he disappeared around the corner, heat rushed to my face so violently I thought I might combust on the spot.

I pressed my shaking hands over my cheeks.

“Oh my God,” I whispered.

I stood rooted to the spot until his footsteps faded and only then did I bolt to my room.

I slammed the door, locked it, threw myself face-down on the bed, then proceeded to bury my face in it and screamed, the sound muffled and useless.

If that phone hadn’t rung…

Don’t you dare fucking think about it, Thea!

God, I was shaking.

My whole body felt wired, oversensitive, like one graze of fabric would set me off.

I could still feel the phantom pressure of his thumb on my lip, the way his eyes had stripped me bare without ever touching skin.

My hand slid down my stomach before I could stop it, pressing hard between my legs, chasing friction that only made me ache worse. A whimper slipped out, mortifyingly loud in the quiet room.

I yanked my hand away like I’d been burned and rolled over again, dragging the pillow over my head as if I could smother the memory of those eyes.

Hours passed, but they didn’t feel like hours.

They felt like something stretched thin, tight, and trembling along the edges.

I kept sitting on the edge of my bed, arms wrapped around my knees, wearing a fresh shirt now but still feeling soaked, like the cold pool water had somehow gotten into my bones.

I pressed my hands to my face, groaning softly.

God, what was I even thinking? Why had I stepped closer?

That’s so… so low!

Eventually the sky outside my window shifted from bright gold to soft violet, and then darker still. The house was still as loud as ever downstairs, the sound of laughter, clinking glasses, splashing from the pool again, then slowly quieted as people finally left. My phone buzzed a few times, Noah’s name lighting up the screen with a few texts:

hey babe u okay?

come downstairs

dont be mad

I didn’t answer a single one.

That’s a crucial part in sulking.

My stomach did growl quietly at some point but the embarrassment of going to the kitchen kept me glued to the bed.

I stayed in my room and froze when I heard a knock at my door.

I knew that knock, two soft taps and then one louder one.

Noah.

I swallowed hard but didn’t say anything, hoping maybe he’d think I was asleep.

Another knock came but this one was a bit softer. “Thea? Babe, I know you’re awake. Your light was on earlier.”

I sighed, sat up, and flicked on the bedside lamp. The room looked pathetic in the yellow glow: my suitcase half-unpacked in the corner, my damp bikini still dripping from the shower rail.

“Come in,” I muttered.

The door opened before I could finish the word, and he peeked in, smiling like absolutely nothing had happened earlier.

He was in swim trunks and a linen shirt, unbuttoned, hair still a little damp from the pool. He looked tan and relaxed and unfairly annoying and irritatingly beautiful, the way he always did, and for a moment the resentment flared so hot I almost told him to get out.

Instead I hugged my knees tighter.

Fuck him.

Fuck his gene.

And fuck me for being attracted to attractive men.

“There you are,” he said, slipping inside. “You’ve been hiding all day.”

I didn’t answer.

He walked over and sat beside me on the bed, smelling faintly of chlorine and some fruity drink someone probably handed him poolside.

“So…” he began casually, “uh… did you eat anything?”

“Mm.” I shrugged, not confirming anything.

He let out a slow breath and flopped back on my mattress. “Okay… so you’re doing the one-word-answer thing. That’s how I know you’re mad.”

I stayed silent.

He turned his head toward me. “Thea…”

I didn’t look at him.

Noah sighed again, louder this time, the dramatic kind he used when he wanted sympathy. “Maybe I… took the joke too far.”

I almost snorted. Maybe? But all that left my mouth was a thin, “Okay.”

He groaned and sat up. “Look… I’m sorry, okay? I took it too far this afternoon. The whole ‘don’t be a buzzkill’ thing. I was showing off for the guys. It was stupid.”

I stared at my knees. “Okay.”

“That’s it? Okay?”

“What do you want me to say?”

He scooted closer, the mattress dipping. “I want you to stop sulking.” His voice dropped into that teasing lilt. “If you don’t stop making that sad little face, I’m gonna have to fix it.”

I rolled my eyes, but my lips twitched traitorously.

He leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to my cheek. “There. Better?”

I didn’t answer.

He kissed me again, lower, near the corner of my mouth. Again. And again. Quick, silly, relentless kisses that smelled like salt and summer and the boy I’d fallen for two years ago.

“Noah—”

Another kiss. “Stop sulking.”

“I’m not…”

Kiss. Kiss. Kiss. His stubble tickled; I squirmed, a reluctant giggle escaping before I could trap it.

“Stop!” I laughed, shoving at his chest.

He pulled back just far enough to grin. “There she is. Still mad?”

I bit my lip, the laughter fading. “Yes.”

“Liar.” He dove back in, peppering my cheek, my jaw, the tip of my nose with exaggerated smacking kisses until I was breathless and giggling again, swatting at him.

“Okay, okay! I’m not mad, you idiot. Stop!”

He finally relented, resting his forehead against mine, both of us grinning. For a moment it almost felt like before: like we were still twenty and invincible.

I wrapped my arms around his neck, pulled him down, and kissed him for real.

It was soft at first, grateful, then deeper.

I parted my lips, slid my tongue against his, tasting mint gum and him as my fingers curled into the hair at his nape.

I wanted him closer.

Fuck!

I wanted to erase the memory of gray eyes and rough hands and the ache that had been living under my skin for hours.

But the second my tongue touched his, Noah stiffened.

He pulled back abruptly, breaking the kiss. Before I could process it, he brought the back of his hand to his mouth and wiped, hard, like he was erasing me.

The room went bone chilling cold.

Did he just…

I stared at him, heat draining from my face. “Why would you—”

He ran a hand through his hair, groaning. “Thea, seriously? What did I tell you?”

I opened my mouth, then closed it, heat burning up the back of my throat.

He’d said it before — too much for my liking— that “too much sex ruins couples,” that “people who go at it all the time burn out,” and that “keeping things spaced out makes the relationship last longer.”

At first I’d believed him, nodded, smiled and said okay and told myself it was mature.

Romantic, even.

We were building something real.

It made sense at that moment.

But God gave mercy, months had passed.

Months!!!

And except for a few rushed kisses, a few make-out sessions that he always cut short, a few “not tonight, babe” fucking excuses… nothing.

Absolutely nothing.

I feel deprived and maybe that was why I reacted to the way Mr. Gage had looked at me.

Why a single fucking moment felt like fire after weeks of cold.

This wasn’t normal. This wasn’t fucking healthy.

“But…” I whispered.

“No buts,” he cut in immediately, holding up a hand. “I told you already, we have to pace ourselves.”

He brushed imaginary dust from his shirt, not even meeting my eyes. “And you know I care about you. But you get too emotional about stuff sometimes. Today? The pool thing? It wasn’t that deep.”

I felt slapped.

How could he still say that?

He stood up, stretching lazily. “Look, just… don’t overthink everything, okay?”

How about… too late?

But before I could summon the courage to say it he was already walking to the door, only pausing when his hand were on the knob.

“Oh — and don’t stay up too late,” he added lightly. “We’re going out tomorrow.”

“Noah—”

“I love you,” he said and slipped out, shutting the door with a soft click that somehow sounded louder than a slam.

: Fuck Me, Mr. Gage

I pulled my knees back to my chest and pressed my forehead against them, trying to breathe around the lump in my throat.

Tomorrow Noah would act like everything was fine. He’d kiss my cheek at breakfast, call me babe in front of his friends, and I’d smile because I had nowhere else to go. I was the broke girlfriend living in his father’s house, the one whose own mother had stopped taking her calls.

To put it plainly, I couldn’t afford pride.

So it was okay.

Everything was okay.

Noah not being sexually attracted to me as before was okay.

Who knows, maybe it’s because I haven’t been putting up enough effort to look good for him.

Maybe he needs a break from sex.

Maybe…. Fuck!

Even in the dark where I know nobody could see me, I still couldn’t let myself admit the truth I’d been choking on for weeks:

I feel so fucking ugly right now.

I feel hideous and it pissed me off seeing him so close to other women.

No…

That’s not completely true.

I wasn’t angry at Noah for flirting with other girls by the pool.

I was angry because he’d stopped flirting with me.

God! Isn’t that just outright pathetic.

I covered my face with my hands and exhaled shakily.

Sleep, I told myself.

Just sleep before you start crying again like an idiot.

But a Ding broke the silence.

At first I ignored it, assuming it was my phone, but when I glanced across the room and saw my own device lying on the dresser, I knew it definitely wasn’t.

The sound had come from somewhere closer like right beside me.

I pushed the blanket aside and found Noah’s phone half tucked between the pillows where he must have forgotten it.

Jeez, he can be such an airhead sometimes.

I picked it up gingerly when another notification lit up the screen.

A little red (1) on the Messages icon showing on the screen.

Curiosity is a fucking bastard.

I’ve always known that, but knowing and stopping are two different beasts.

‘Stop, Thea,’ my own voice scolded inside my skull. I actually slapped both my cheeks with my palms. ‘Don’t do it’.

But my legs were already swinging off the bed.

I typed his password before I could talk myself out of it and the messages app opened immediately.

There wasn’t any need to scroll to see who was texting.

Nahh… why scroll when it was right there.

At the very top… staring at me.

Why scroll when I was face to face to a nude picture that came with a nice little text: I’m waiting for you, baby. Door’s unlocked so bring that mouth I miss so much.

My breath slipped out of me in a soft, pathetic sound and I dropped the phone onto the blanket as if it burned me.

My heart cracked so loudly I could almost hear it. And then… something strange happened.

I started laughing.

Who in their right mind would laugh right now?

Oh, right. Me, apparently.

“Oh my God,” I choked out, laughing harder.

But tears started spilling down my face at the same fucking time.

Talk about perfect timing.

I probably sat like that for minutes — laughing and crying, crying and laughing — until the laughter faded and only the tears remained.

Silent tears that rolled down my cheeks and dropped onto my knees.

I wiped them with the back of my hand and inhaled.

After a long moment, I stood up.

My body moved before my thoughts did, leaving the phone behind as I walked to the door, stepped into the hallway, and closed it gently behind me.

I walked past the stairs and down to the corridor that led to the west wing — to where his father’s room was.

And as I took every step, my mind repeated the same horrible thought over and over again:

Would I be a terrible person if I said that what I saw hurt me… but also relieved me in some weird fucked up way?

Because now I wouldn’t have to feel guilty about what I was walking toward.

What I was about to do.

What I had been wanting since the moment his father’s fingers touched my chin.

The phone. The nude. The message.

They felt like a permission sent straight from hell.

Like the universe whispering, If He Cheats, You Can Cheat Too.

And that whisper… God, it was loud.

Before I knew it, my knuckles were tapping gently against Mr. Gage’s door.

The door opened almost immediately.

He was barefoot, wearing only low-slung navy sweatpants, hair damp from a shower. The hallway light sent shadows across the broad line of his shoulders. He looked like every forbidden fantasy I’d ever had, all wrapped in one unfairly beautiful, exhausted man.

His brows drew together when he saw my face. “Thea?”

I stepped right into his space, tilting my head back to lock eyes with him as I slowly began unbuttoning my nightwear, ignoring his startled “Thea?” while I kept going until the swell of my cleavage came into view—then he reached out, caught my hand to stop me, and pulled me flush against him in the same motion.

“What do you think you’re doing?!”

I never broke his gaze.

“Fuck me, Mr. Gage,” I said softly. “Please.”