The bonfire crackled against the velvet dusk, casting flickering shadows over the gathered faces. Laughter swirled through the air, blending with the sharp tang of burning wood. I hugged the edge of the gathering, cradling a mug of cider that had long since gone cold. It wasn't the chill in the evening air that made me shiver—it was Miles.
He stood a few feet away, the firelight painting his face in gold and shadow. His presence was a weight I couldn't escape, a magnetic pull that made my pulse race and my skin crawl all at once. He hadn't spoken to me since last night, but the tension between us had only thickened, as tangible as the smoke curling into the star-speckled sky.
"Riley, come sit with us," my mother called, her cheerful voice piercing through the murmur of the group. I forced a smile and shook my head, pretending to sip my cider.
"I'm fine here," I said, the lie sitting heavy on my tongue.
Out of the corner of my eye, I caught Miles shifting. He was watching me again. His gaze was relentless, a silent dare that made my heart pound in defiance.
The group broke into conversation once more, their voices fading into background noise as he stepped closer. I felt him before I saw him, his presence like a shadow creeping over my skin.
"Still avoiding me?" His voice was low, just for me, and it carried a thread of something between amusement and irritation.
I didn't look at him. "I'm not avoiding you."
"Liar."
The word cut through me, soft but sharp. I clenched my mug tighter, the ceramic cool against my palms.
"I don't have anything to say to you," I replied, my voice steady despite the storm brewing in my chest.
"You don't, or you won't?" He stepped closer, the space between us narrowing to something unbearable.
I finally turned to face him, my eyes locking on his. "What do you want, Miles?"
His lips quirked into a faint smirk, but there was no humor in it. "I want to talk."
"Well, I don't." I stepped back, but he mirrored the movement, his proximity suffocating.
"Why are you so afraid of this?" he asked, his tone a maddening mix of curiosity and challenge.
"I'm not afraid," I shot back, my voice rising.
"Then stop running," he said, his words quiet but forceful. "Face it. Face me."
The firelight danced in his eyes, turning them into molten amber. For a moment, the world around us disappeared, the voices, the laughter, the fire itself fading into the background. It was just us, locked in a battle neither of us wanted to name.
I opened my mouth to retort, but the words died as his hand brushed my wrist. The touch was light, almost accidental, but it sent a jolt through me. I hated the way my body reacted, the way my breath caught and my heart betrayed me with its erratic rhythm.
"You can't ignore this forever," he murmured, his voice dropping to something almost gentle.
The fight in me wavered. Just for a moment. And that moment was all he needed.
His lips met mine, the kiss stealing the breath from my lungs. It wasn't soft or tentative—it was fire, consuming and inescapable. My resolve crumbled as his hands gripped my waist, pulling me closer.
I hated him. I hated myself more for the way I melted into him, for the way my fingers curled into his shirt as if holding on for dear life.
The sound of footsteps shattered the moment. I broke away, my chest heaving as I stumbled back. My eyes darted to the source, and my stomach dropped.
My mother stood a few feet away, her expression a mix of curiosity and something sharper. The firelight cast her features in stark relief, and the suspicion in her gaze made my breath catch.
"Riley," she said, her voice calm but pointed. "What's going on here?"
Miles straightened, his expression unreadable. His hands fell to his sides, but the heat of his touch lingered on my skin.
"Nothing," I said quickly, my voice shaky. "We were just—"
"Talking," Miles interjected smoothly, his tone infuriatingly steady.
My mother's eyes flicked between us, her brow furrowing. "Is that so?"
"Yes," I said, too quickly. "Just talking."
Her gaze lingered on me, probing, searching. I felt like a child caught sneaking out past curfew, the weight of her scrutiny pressing down on me.
"Alright," she said finally, though her tone suggested she didn't believe me. "Come back to the fire. People are asking about you."
I nodded, grateful for the excuse to escape, but my legs felt leaden as I walked away. Behind me, I could feel Miles' gaze burning into my back.
The storm wasn't over. If anything, it had just begun.