The rhythmic creaking of the bed, coupled with muffled moans and sharp gasps, could easily provoke dirty thoughts in anyone's mind—and for once, they wouldn't be wrong.
A firm hand pressed her head down into the mattress before abruptly yanking it back up. Her lips parted, a heady, lustful expression taking over her face. Her back trembled as she struggled to maintain the arch he had demanded.
"Arch your back," his voice came from behind, rough, impatient.
She obeyed with difficulty, exaggerating her moans in an attempt to play into the moment—only for her face to be shoved down into the sheets again. The rough thrusts suddenly halted.
"I don't want to hear that fake shit," he growled. "This is just a transaction. Just arch that waist and let me fuck you."
Her nails dug into the mattress, anger flaring in her chest, but she swallowed it down. She wasn't the only one using someone here.
The slick, wet sounds filled the room again as he resumed, his pace growing frenzied. She felt his rhythm become erratic, his breathing labored, signaling his climax approaching. His grip on her waist tightened, bruising, as he drove into her harder. Not that she minded—she had already reached her peak minutes ago.
A sharp cry escaped her lips.
With one final thrust, he groaned, pulling out quickly and removing the condom. He rolled onto his back, chest rising and falling as he looked at her sprawled out on the bed.
"Now that's some stress relief," he muttered, tossing the used condom into the trash.
She turned to face him, a slow smirk curling her lips. "I want you to do something for me."
He exhaled, running a hand through his damp hair. "And what would that be?"
She sat up, her voice dropping into a conspiratorial whisper. "I want you to get someone wasted."
His brows furrowed slightly. "Wasted?" He studied her, noting the gleam in her eyes. "You mean drugged?"
She nodded. "Kylie Roit. I want her completely out of her senses."
He stared at her for a long moment before realization dawned.
So that's what this is about.
A deep chuckle rumbled from his chest. "Fuck." He sat up, shaking his head. "You've got to be kidding me."
She didn't laugh. Instead, her face twisted with something unsightly and dangerous, jealousy was practically overflowing from the girl.
"Did you really think I deal in that kind of shit?" he scoffed. "I indulge, yeah, but not in that."
She clenched her jaw. "We made a deal."
"A vague one."
"You said you'd do something for me in return. This is what I want."
He exhaled sharply, standing up. His broad, naked frame loomed over her as he grabbed a wad of cash from the glass table and tossed it at her.
"I don't do that shit," he said coldly. "And even if I did, Kylie wouldn't be on my list."
Her expression darkened. "You'll regret this, Ryan."
His lips curled into a lazy smirk. "Maybe I haven't made myself clear." He took a step closer, voice low, dangerous. "We're just fucking. You don't know shit about me, but I know a lot about you. So tread carefully."
His gaze flickered with something unreadable.
"And don't fuck with me."
Without waiting for a response, he strode toward the bathroom, calling over his shoulder.
"And get the fuck out of my house."
---
Kylie stood in front of the mirror, holding up a black dress for Marie's inspection. It was backless, hugging her curves, ending mid-thigh—a bold choice.
"My mom picked this out," she murmured.
Marie, sprawled lazily on the bean bag, tilted her head, scanning Kylie from head to toe. A slow, mischievous grin spread across her lips.
"Let me put it like this—if I were Alec, I'd have you against the nearest wall right now."
Kylie's cheeks burned. "Marie!"
Marie merely shrugged, unfazed. "What? I can guarantee he won't be the only one thinking that. Your ass practically twerks with every step you take."
Kylie groaned, adjusting the fabric over her chest. "I think it's showing too much cleavage," she muttered. "And where the hell is Angie? She hasn't even called."
The dress did fit snugly around her ample bust, the fabric stretching a little too tightly.
"But I like it," Marie teased. "Wear it for me. Pretty pleeeeease?"
Kylie sighed, finally peeling the dress off and swapping it for her sweatsuit. "I think my mom lost her mind picking that dress."
Marie snorted. "Please. If my dad saw what I'm wearing to the party, he'd probably lock me in my room."
She pulled out her own outfit—a black leather dress, strapless, pleated at the hem. It was scandalously short, even shorter than Kylie's.
"Since I can't go home in this," Marie added smugly, "it's a sleepover at your place."
Kylie eyed her, recognizing the mischievous glint in her friend's eyes. Oh boy.
She grabbed her nail kit, settling in front of Marie to do their nails. But as she glanced up, she noticed Marie staring at her phone, her expression unreadable.
"Marie? Marie."
No response.
"Marie!"
Marie snapped out of her trance, blinking.
Kylie frowned. "What's wrong?"
Marie exhaled, handing her the phone. "I don't think Angie likes you much, Kyl. She's jealous of you. And now, everything adding up…"
Kylie took the phone hesitantly. Her brows furrowed as she read the group chat messages Marie had screenshotted.
'Angie's jealous… of me?'
"That doesn't make any sense," Kylie said, stunned. "She's beautiful. Her family is doing well. Why would she—"
Marie gave her a pointed look.
Kylie scrolled further, her heart sinking as she saw Angie's snide remarks—her jabs at Kylie's inexperience, her insinuations that Kylie wasn't 'woman enough' for Alec.
Marie sighed. "She knew we'd confront her. That's why she's been avoiding us."
Kylie bit her lip. "Maybe we should talk to her…"
Marie's expression hardened. "Kylie, she's not our friend anymore."
Kylie didn't want to believe it. But deep down, she knew—Angie wasn't the same friend she'd once known.
Marie stretched dramatically. "Sooo, let's call Cole and actually enjoy our night."
---
Cole shoved his hands into the pockets of his sweater, rocking back on his heels as he rang the doorbell. He expected Kylie to open the door.
Instead, it was Michael.
Of all people.
Kylie's brother stood in the doorway, his expression unreadable—the one person, apart from Alec, that Cole could *never* get a good read on.
Cole arched a brow. "Are you not gonna move out of the way and let me in?" he asked sarcastically, shifting his weight.
Michael didn't budge.
Instead, he leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed over his broad chest, his sharp gaze dragging over Cole from head to toe.
It wasn't the usual indifferent look Cole was used to from him.
No, this time, there was something else behind it. Something assessing. Something *different.*
Cole swallowed, suddenly hyperaware of how long Michael was staring at him. He shifted uncomfortably, tugging at the sleeve of his sweater before adjusting the strap of his bag.
Still, Michael said nothing.
Irritated, Cole exhaled sharply. "Dude, seriously?"
Michael didn't respond, but after a beat, he finally stepped aside.
Cole slipped past him quickly, muttering a curse under his breath as he shut the door behind him. He turned, thinking Michael had gone back to whatever the hell he usually did.
But no.
Michael was still there.
A few steps behind him.
Watching.
Cole stiffened. It's not like he *didn't* know Michael—he'd been friends with Kylie for years. They'd had plenty of casual conversations, enough that Cole had assumed Michael just saw him as one of Kylie's many friends and nothing more.
But this?
This was different.
And Cole wasn't sure he wanted to know how different.
He opened his mouth, about to call Michael out on whatever this weird staring contest was, when Kylie's voice broke through the tension.
"I knew I heard the doorbell!"
Cole turned just in time to see Kylie coming down the stairs, her face lighting up when she spotted him.
She barely spared Michael a glance before grabbing Cole's hand, tugging him toward her room.
Michael still hadn't said a word.
Cole let her pull him along without complaint, only realizing how tense his shoulders had been the second he was away from Michael's suffocating presence.
They reached the stairs, and Kylie finally released his hand, completely unaware of the silent war that had just taken place behind her.
Cole would never admit it out loud, but he felt relieved.
And yet, as he followed Kylie upstairs, he couldn't shake the feeling of Michael's eyes still on him.
---
"Call her again," Marie said, trying to keep her focus on painting Kylie's nails.
Cole sighed, pressing the call button for the third time.
"Why isn't she answering?" Kylie frowned, inspecting her freshly painted hand. "She was so excited for tonight. That's so weird."
The group was starting to worry when Cole's phone suddenly dinged with a message.
He glanced down, reading it aloud: I'm getting a ride, you guys don't have to pick me up. See you there xoxo—he paused, his expression twisting—"and a kiss emoji."
Marie scoffed. "That does sound like something she'd send. That crazy girl."
Kylie sighed in relief. "Well, at least she's ok. Now, " She turned to Cole, curiosity lighting up her features. "What are you wearing?"
Cole grinned, reaching into his bag. "Oh, I got something for tonight. Its nothing fancy"
But as he dug through the contents, his confidence quickly morphed into panic.
"Wait—where is it? Hold on—no, no, no—" He rummaged faster, growing more frantic until—
Finally, he pulled out his outfit.
A black, long-sleeved turtleneck.
A tight one.
Just looking at it, Kylie could already tell it would cling to him like a second skin.
Cole stared at it in horror. "Khaleesi, that degenerative thing of a sister," he muttered under his breath, running a hand down his face.
Then, with a reluctant sigh, he reached in and pulled out the pants—a pair of sleek black-and-silver fashionable cargo jeans.
Marie, still focused on Kylie's nails, barely held back a snicker. "At least she's got style," she mumbled under her breath.
Cole shot her a glare. "Yeah? Tell that to me when I'm suffocating in this damn turtleneck."
Kylie bit her lip, suppressing a laugh. "Honestly? I think you'll look good."
Cole groaned. "That's not the point, Kylie."