The secrets we bury

Playing with Fire

Saturday crept in like a secret.

The sun poured through my blinds, casting golden shadows across my bed, and I laid there — sheets tangled between my legs, lips curled into a grin, phone buzzing beside me.

I was texting Ethan.

And God, it felt good.

He was fresh.

New.

Exciting.

Not some schoolboy with daddy issues or frat boy with fake charm.

He was twenty-four. A man.

Me:

Tell me more about yourself. What do you do? I typed, fingers flying.

His reply came instantly.

Ethan:

Just finished my degree in teaching. Got offered a sub job at a high school. I’m thinking of taking it.

I bit my lip

.

Me:

Interesting… maybe you could teach me a few things, I replied, teasing.

There was a pause.

Then:

Ethan:

Maybe… how do you know Thornton?

My stomach tightened.

Me:

I used to tutor his little sister, Averie.

Lie. Smooth and clean.

The texts kept going.

Flirty. Fast. Addicting.

I sent him a picture — low angle, pouty lips, lacy bra peeking through my tank top.

He replied with a shirtless mirror shot, abs tight, jaw sharp.

I was hot. Bothered. Imagining his hands.

Until—

Thornton:

I want to see you.

Ugh.

This man.

I stared at the text like it might bite.

What the hell was I getting into?

And why did something deep in my stomach twist like a warning?

I ignored it, like I always did.

Where? I texted.

We agreed on his apartment; the one off campus, close enough to the university but far from the noise of the frat house. His private little den.

I threw on the skimpiest dress I owned. tight, black, with a slit high enough to feel illegal.

Glossed my lips. Curled my hair. Spritzed my perfume like a weapon.

And hit the road.

Thornton’s Apartment

I knocked once.

He opened the door shirtless, jeans low on his hips, body still humming with the kind of energy that made girls lose their morals.

He smirked like he’d been expecting me.

No words.

He stepped aside, and I walked in.

We didn’t talk — not at first.

There was no need.

The tension?

Already waiting for us.

We kissed like we were starved for it. Rushed. Rough. Needy.

Clothes disappeared.

Fingernails clawed.

Breath hitched.

He pushed me against the wall, the table, the edge of the bed.

We didn’t make love.

We fought through s*x — all heat and hunger and control.

It was toxic.

And addictive.

And so, so good.

Afterward, I laid tangled in his sheets, hair wild, heartbeat slowing. He lit a cigarette, eyes heavy as he stared at the ceiling like it might whisper answers.

I watched him — studied the curve of his jaw, the tension in his shoulders, the way he didn’t look at me.

“What?” I asked finally.

He exhaled.

“That girl,” he said.

I didn’t flinch.

I already knew.

“Melanie?”

He nodded.

“She’s… different,” he said slowly. “There’s something real about her. Like she’s not trying to impress anyone. It’s kind of… refreshing.”

I rolled over on my side, propped myself up on one elbow, pretending to be unbothered.

“She’s cute,” I said casually. “And totally into you, by the way.”

He looked at me, surprised.

“You don’t care?”

I smiled — wide, bright, calculated.

“Of course not. We’re just fun, Thornton. You and me? We know what this is.”

He blinked. Nodded once. Believed me.

Idiot.

Because while he laid there thinking I didn’t care, I was already setting the stage.

If he wanted Melanie?

Fine.

He could have her.

But only if I handed her over.

Only if I got to control it.

If I couldn’t have Thornton’s heart, I’d control the girl who did.

And besides… if Melanie got hurt in the end?

Well.

She knew what she signed up for.

I texted in the group chat the second I walked out of Thornton’s apartment. The evening air was warm, sticky against my skin, my legs still trembling slightly. Lipstick smudged. Pride intact.

Me:

I think Melanie and Thornton like each other. Should we set them up?

Emma:

Do you think that’s a good idea?

Averie:

Are we forgetting he’s my brother and he’s 21?? She’s a minor.

I rolled my eyes and smirked at the screen.

Me:

How many college guys have we f****d?

Didn’t think age was a concern, Averie.

A pause.

Averie:

You’re right… but I don’t want Thornton to get in trouble.

He’s already on bad terms with Mom and Dad.

Especially Dad.

Of course he was. The Graysons had enough skeletons in their closet to build a second family.

Emma:

What did you have in mind, Ava?

I slipped into my car, shut the door, and sat still for a moment. My fingers hovered over the screen.

Me:

I’d never let Thornton get in trouble.

He’s like a brother to all of us.

The words made me sick.

He had been inside me less than an hour ago, had gripped my waist and whispered things only a lover should whisper.

Now I was calling him family?

I stared at my reflection in the rearview mirror, running my fingers through my hair like I could shake off the guilt.

But guilt doesn’t stick to girls like me. It slides right off, like gloss on glass.

Me:

I think I have a plan.

As long as Melanie doesn’t try to cross me, she’ll be fine.

A beat.

Me:

Let’s meet at my place.

We’ll go over the details.

I tossed my phone on the passenger seat and started the car.

The engine purred.

Let the games begin.