The walk back from the arena felt longer than usual, the night air sharp against my flushed skin. Every step sent a dull throb through my bruised ribs, but the real ache lived somewhere deeper — in the memory of Caleb’s mouth on mine, the way his hands had trembled against my skin, the raw honesty in his voice when he admitted he was done pretending. My lips still tingled. My body still hummed with unfinished need. And through it all, the thin thread of fear that someone might have seen us.
I slipped into 114 Oak Street as quietly as I could. The house was dark and still, only the faint hum of the refrigerator downstairs breaking the silence. I paused at the top of the stairs, palm pressed against Caleb’s door for one heartbeat, then forced myself into my own room. The paper-thin wall bet
