In Love With Him

Chapter 26

It was a close game, the kind where the whole crowd teetered on the edge of their seats. I still didn’t really understand all the rules, but when Liam caught the ball and ran it in for the final touchdown, even I stood and clapped. The bleachers shook under the stomping feet of the crowd. The cheerleaders screamed his name, students went wild. Apparently, this win was a big deal.

I clapped along with Marty and Finn but felt disconnected, like I was watching it all happen from the outside.

As the bleachers thinned and the crowd began to funnel toward the parking lot and exits, I followed my friends down the ramp. That’s when I saw Liam jogging toward me, his jersey soaked in sweat, strands of blond hair matted to his forehead.

He grinned. “Hey.”

I smiled back. “Hey, congrats. That was… intense.”

“Thanks.” He rubbed the back of his neck, still catching his breath. “Uh, are you going to the Halloween dance next Friday?”

I nodded casually. “Yeah. I think so.”

Liam shifted his weight awkwardly. “Cool. Do you, uh… want to go with me?”

I blinked. My brain short-circuited. Liam Carson—star athlete, Mr. Popular, the boy I’d crushed on since second grade—was asking me to the dance?

My stomach flipped and I choked out, “Sure.”

A beat of silence followed before Liam leaned in a little, like he was going to kiss me.

Panicked, my fight-or-flight kicked in.

“See you Monday!” I blurted and punched his arm gently before taking off like a deer in headlights.

By the time I stopped, I was breathless—not from running, but from the fact that I had completely humiliated myself. What the hell was wrong with me?

Behind me, Marty and Finn caught up, both snickering uncontrollably.

“Oh my God,” Marty cackled. “Did you just punch him and run?”

Finn leaned over, wheezing from laughter. “That poor boy. His ego’s probably broken.”

“Shut up,” I groaned. “I panicked.”

We reached my front porch. It was already 11 p.m., and the house was dark and still.

“Shhh,” I hissed as we quietly opened the front door and crept inside. “Everyone’s asleep.”

We tiptoed up the stairs and into my room, trying not to laugh too loudly.

Once we flopped on my bed and scattered across the blankets, talk of the dance resumed.

“Okay, I’ve officially decided,” Marty announced, pulling out her phone. “I’m going as a sexy cop. Thigh-high boots, sunglasses, fake handcuffs. Hot, right?”

Finn dramatically flipped his hair. “I’m going as a rainbow pimp. Platform shoes, pimp daddy cane, and everything. It’s gonna be fabulous.”

I smirked. “You guys are nuts.”

“What about you?” Marty asked, propping her chin on her hand.

I chewed my lip. “I was thinking Harley Quinn. From Injustice 2.”

Marty raised her eyebrows. “Damn. Hot and badass. I like it.”

“I dunno…” I hesitated. “It’s a little revealing.”

“Exactly,” Finn and Marty said at the same time, bursting into laughter.

I rolled my eyes and got up. “I’m getting water. Be right back.”

I padded down the stairs barefoot, yawning and brushing my hair back from my face.

As I entered the kitchen, the front door suddenly creaked open.

I froze.

Dominic stumbled in, smelling like alcohol and cigarettes. His shirt was unbuttoned, his hair mussed, and his eyes slightly glassy.

“Heyyy,” he slurred slightly, closing the door behind him. “How was the game?”

I blinked. “You’re drunk.”

He smirked. “Nahhh… just...a little dehydrated.”

I folded my arms. “They won. Liam scored the last touchdown.”

He scoffed and made a face. “Of course he did.”

The second I said Liam’s name, the memory of him leaning in to kiss me hit like a wave of humiliation.

Dominic squinted at me. “What’s wrong?”

I shook my head. “Nothing.”

He walked closer, leaning slightly on the counter. “Come on. I’ve been around you long enough to know when something is definitely not nothing.”

For some reason, maybe because I was still in a haze from the game, maybe because I just needed someone to hear it, I confessed, “He tried to kiss me.”

“Liam?”

I nodded. “Yeah. I panicked and… punched him. Then ran.”

Dominic tried to hold it in, but a snort escaped his lips, followed by a full belly laugh.

“Shhh!” I rushed over to slap his arm. “You’re gonna wake my dad!”

He tried to hold in his laughter, but amusement danced in his eyes. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry—but seriously? You punched him?”

“I panicked!” I whispered, cheeks burning. “It was mortifying.”

He ran a hand down his face, breathing through the last of his chuckles. “Okay, okay. I’m done. I swear.”

I looked away, embarrassed and kind of annoyed.

Then his voice softened. “Hey, Kennedy, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t laugh. Look… your first kiss should be special, you know? It should happen naturally. When you least expect it.”

Something between us shifted then.

I looked at him—really looked at him. His eyes were softer now, the alcohol dulling the usual sharpness in his features. He had one hand on the counter for support and the other gently touched my shoulder.

And then, just like that, he leaned in—and kissed me.

Was this really happening?

Dominic’s lips were on mine. Gentle. Warm. Soft. Like velvet brushing against skin. For a second, I didn’t believe it. I thought maybe I had finally lost my damn mind. But no… this was real.

I knew I should’ve pulled away. Knew I should’ve shoved him back, reminded him—and myself—that he was my stepbrother, that this was wrong on so many levels. But I couldn’t. I didn’t want to. My body wasn’t listening to logic—it had other plans.

Then I felt it—his tongue, lightly tracing the seam of my lips like a question. Like he was asking permission.

I should’ve said no. But instead… I parted my lips.

And he kissed me deeper.

Our tongues met in a slow, deliberate dance. My heart thudded against my ribcage like it was trying to escape. His hand gently cupped my cheek, thumb brushing just below my eye, while the other slid around my waist and pulled me closer—so close our bodies touched. Fit. Aligned. Like two pieces of a puzzle that had finally found each other after being lost in different boxes.

His body was solid against mine, warm and steady while mine felt like it was unraveling.

And in that moment, nothing existed but him.

Nothing else mattered.

Until—

“Kennedy?”

My father’s voice.

I ripped myself away from Dominic, heart slamming into my throat. His body tipped backward onto the couch as I shoved him down and grabbed the throw blanket from the armrest. I tossed it over him in a panic.

“Pretend you’re asleep,” I whispered harshly.

Dominic mumbled something incoherent, the alcohol in his system doing half the work for me. I spun around just as the stairway light clicked on, momentarily blinding me.

My dad stood at the bottom of the stairs in sweats and a t-shirt, hair sticking out a little like he’d just gotten out of bed. “Hey… I heard something. Everything okay down here?”

I forced a breath into my lungs, trying to calm my racing pulse. “Yeah. Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you. Dominic just got home. He passed out on the couch.”

Dad stepped forward slightly and peeked over my shoulder. Dominic, thank God, was doing a pretty convincing job of being unconscious. Blanket up to his chest, one arm thrown over his head, mouth parted slightly.

My dad nodded. “Alright. Just keep it down, alright? I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Okay. Night,” I breathed.

He turned the light off and disappeared upstairs. I waited—counting the seconds—until I heard his bedroom door click shut.

The moment it did, I spun back around, heart still pounding.

But Dominic wasn’t faking anymore.

He was actually asleep.

His chest rose and fell in slow, steady rhythms. His face, for once, was completely relaxed. The hard lines between his brows gone. His mouth—those same lips that had just been on mine—softened in sleep. I knelt beside the couch without even thinking, gently pulling the blanket higher over his chest.

He looked... beautiful.

Strong. Handsome. But also calm. Safe. Like he was someone I could fall into and never want to leave.

What the hell did that kiss mean?

Was it just the whiskey talking for him? Just a drunken mistake, one he’d forget come morning?

Or had it meant something?

Because it meant something to me.

God… it meant everything.

My first real kiss—and not just a kiss, but that kiss—with him.

I bit the inside of my cheek, trying to stop the storm of emotions spiraling in my chest. Because I knew one thing for sure: I wasn’t going to bring it up. Not unless he did. If he woke up tomorrow and pretended like it never happened… then I’d do the same.

But I’d never forget it.

Even if it meant nothing to him.

Even if he never kissed me again.

I would carry the memory of that kiss for the rest of my life.

My first real kiss—was from him.