“You’re not actually reading that.”
I glance up from Luca’s history textbook, which I’ve been staring at for the past ten minutes without processing a single word. He’s sprawled across his bed like he owns the world, completely ignoring his own homework while watching me pretend to care about the Industrial Revolution.
“I am reading,” I lie.
“Page sixty-seven. Same paragraph. For ten minutes.”
Shit. “I’m a thorough reader.”
“You’re a liar.” He grins and nudges my knee with his foot. “What’s got you so distracted?”
Everything. You. This room that smells like your cologne. The way you keep looking at me like you’re waiting for something.
“Nothing,” I say. “Just tired.”
“Bullshit.”
I flip a page aggressively. “Can we please just focus on the assignment?”
“What assignment?” Luca sits up, tilting his head. “We’ve been here an hour and haven’t done a single problem.”
“We’re supposed to be studying.”
“No, you’re supposed to be studying. I never said I was actually going to do homework.”
I stare at him. “Then why did you invite me over?”
The question hangs in the air like smoke. Luca’s expression shifts, becomes more serious, more focused. He scoots closer on the bed, close enough that I can feel the heat radiating off his skin.
“Good question,” he says quietly.
My mouth goes dry. “Luca—”
“We need to talk about it.”
“About what?”
“The kiss.”
My heart stops. Literally stops. I’ve been dreading this conversation for days, hoping maybe we could just pretend it never happened and go back to being normal best friends who definitely don’t make out at parties.
“There’s nothing to talk about,” I say quickly.
“Isn’t there?” He shifts even closer. “Because you’ve been weird as hell since Friday night.”
“I haven’t been weird.”
“Noah. You literally hid behind a trash can yesterday when you saw me coming.”
“I was… tying my shoe.”
“For five minutes?”
I clutch the textbook tighter. “Can we please just drop this?”
“No.” His voice is firm. “We can’t keep pretending it didn’t happen.”
“Why not? It was just a stupid game.”
Luca goes very still. “Was it?”
The way he asks makes my stomach flip. Like maybe it wasn’t just a game for him either. Like maybe I’ve been torturing myself for nothing.
“Of course it was,” I whisper, but even I don’t believe it.
“Because the way you kissed me back…” He leans forward, eyes locked on mine. “That didn’t feel like a game.”
Heat floods my face. “I was drunk.”
“Look at me, Noah. You’ve checked your phone twelve times in the last ten minutes.”
I shove my phone face-down on the table. “I was not checking my phone.”
“You literally just did it again while denying it.”
“That was—I was checking the time.”
“The time is on your laptop screen. Right there.” He points at the corner where it clearly says 3:47 PM. “Try again.”
My face burns. “Maybe I was checking messages.”
“From who? Your mom? Because she’s literally in the kitchen making us sandwiches.”
“I have other people who text me.”
“Name one.”
“Fuck you.”
He laughs, leaning back in his chair like he’s got all the time in the world to dissect my pathetic social life. “You get exactly three texts per day. Your mom asking if you need lunch money, your debate coach with practice updates, and me.”
“That’s not—how do you even know that?”
“Because I text you constantly and you always respond immediately. Except when you’re pretending to have a social life.”
Of course he fucking counted. Because Luca pays attention to everything, remembers everything, especially the things I wish he’d forget.
“Look,” I start, but he cuts me off.
“You came over tonight,” he says, moving closer until our knees are touching. “Said you needed help with history. But we both know that’s not why you’re here.”
My breath catches. “Yes, it is.”
“Then why haven’t we opened a single book that actually matters for the assignment?”
I glance down at the textbook in my lap. It’s the wrong fucking textbook. We’re supposed to be working on chemistry, not history.
“I…” My brain short-circuits. “I grabbed the wrong book.”
“Did you?” His voice is soft, almost gentle. “Or did you just need an excuse to come over?”
The room feels about a thousand degrees hotter. Luca’s watching me with those dark eyes, waiting for an answer I can’t give without completely humiliating myself.
“I don’t know what you want me to say,” I whisper.
“I want you to be honest.”
“About what?”
“About why you’re really here. About why you kissed me back. About why you’ve been driving yourself crazy for four days instead of just talking to me.”
I open my mouth to deny it, but nothing comes out. Because he’s right. About all of it.
“Noah.” He reaches out and touches my hand, just barely. “Talk to me.”
“I can’t.”
“Why not?”
Because I’m in love with you. Because that kiss ruined me. Because I’m terrified you’ll realize I’m not worth the complication.
“Because it’s complicated,” I say instead.
“It doesn’t have to be.”
“Yes, it does.” I try to pull my hand away, but he holds on. “You’re you, and I’m me, and we’re friends, and—”
“And what if I don’t want to be just friends?”
The words hit me like lightning. I stare at him, sure I must have misheard.
“What?”
“What if I want more than that?”
My heart is beating so fast I’m surprised it doesn’t explode. “You don’t.”
“How do you know what I want?”
“Because you’re Luca Reyes,” I say desperately. “You could have anyone. Why would you want—”
He doesn’t let me finish. Just reaches out, cups my face in his hands, and pulls me toward him. The textbook falls to the floor with a thud as he kisses me, soft and sure and completely devastating.
And God help me, I kiss him back.
This time, there’s no crowd cheering. No bottle to blame it on. No excuse except that I want this more than I’ve ever wanted anything.
His hands slide into my hair, and I make this embarrassing sound against his mouth. He responds by pulling me closer, until I’m practically in his lap, until there’s no space left between us.
“Is this okay?” he whispers against my lips.
I nod, not trusting my voice.
He kisses me again, deeper this time, and I feel like I’m drowning in the best possible way. His hands are warm on my back, his mouth tastes like mint and possibilities, and for a moment I let myself believe this could be real.
But then reality crashes back in.
“Wait.” I break the kiss, breathing hard. “Wait, we can’t—”
“Why not?”
“Because…” I scramble backward, nearly falling off the bed. “Because we can’t.”
The words come out sharp, panicked. Luca stares at me, lips swollen, eyes dark with confusion and something that might be hurt.
“We can’t,” I repeat, like saying it twice will make it true.