It's just the heat period right?
1849 Words
Gianna.
My whole body ached.
Not the normal kind of ache. The kind that came from heat — from memories I couldn’t shake. The kind that still burned even after the fire was gone.
I turned on my side and groaned. The sheets still smelled like him. My skin still buzzed, and no matter how many times I told myself to stop thinking about it, the memory of his touch kept slipping in — uninvited, unstoppable.
It wasn’t supposed to happen.
It wasn’t supposed to mean anything.
I ran a hand down my face. “Get a grip, Gia.”
I pushed out of bed and dragged myself into the bathroom, brushing my teeth like it could scrub the thoughts out of my head.
Just as I rinsed my mouth, my phone began to buzz across the counter.
“Hey, Mum,” I said, grabbing it and stepping out of the bathroom.
“Hey, baby! How are you?” Her voice was bright, light, carefree. She sounded happy — happier than I’d heard her in a while.
“I’m okay,” I said, forcing a small smile. “How’s the vacation?”
“It’s going really well.” I could practically hear the grin in her voice. Then, “Honey, you know colleges are resuming soon. I think you should apply to Northview College. It’s a great place, not far from the city. I’ve told Ivan to take you.”
My stomach dropped.
I didn’t think it’d be this soon, but it wasn’t like I planned on staying home doing nothing. Maybe it was good. Maybe the distraction would help.
“Alright, thanks.”
“You’re not mad?”
“Mad? What should I be mad for?”
“I decided without consulting you,” she said, voice small.
“It was thoughtful, Mum,” I replied softly, then added, “but situations vary.”
She chuckled. “Yes, yes. Now go get ready. The dean takes punctuality very seriously.”
“Okay. I’ll call to tell you how it went.”
“Alright, honey. Uh—Gia?”
“Yes?”
“Are you okay?”
I paused. The question cut a little deeper than she meant it to. “I’m fine, Mum. Take care.”
“You too, darling. Bye.”
When the call ended, I exhaled heavily.
Fine. Sure. Let’s pretend that’s true.
I headed downstairs and froze halfway through the kitchen doorway. Ivan was there — calm, collected, coffee mug in hand — like nothing happened.
The same man who’d had me losing my mind last night now stood there scrolling through his phone. No guilt, no hesitation. Just casual, infuriating calm.
He looked up at me briefly. “Did your mum tell you?”
“About the registration? Yeah.”
“Good. Go get ready. We’ll leave by eleven.”
And just like that, he walked out.
No mention of last night. No acknowledgment. Nothing.
I told myself it didn’t matter — that it was just the heat. We needed to ease the pain, that’s all. It didn’t mean anything… right?
Right.
I shook the thought away and headed upstairs. A quick shower, a fitted black dress that stopped above my knees, a jean jacket to tone it down, white sneakers, perfume.
Normal. I needed to feel normal.
When I stepped outside, he was already in the car. His jawline sharp, hair slightly messy, the sleeves of his black shirt rolled up. I hated how he made my pulse jump without trying.
The ride was quiet. Unbearably quiet — except for the low hum of the music he played, and the occasional sound of him shifting gears.
When we got to Northview, he parked and turned to me. “I’ll wait at the car. If you don’t find me, just give me a call.”
“I don’t have your number.”
He stretched out his hand. I passed him my phone, and when his fingers brushed mine, I swallowed hard.
“There. Good luck,” he said, voice low, then got out.
The interview went surprisingly well. The dean seemed impressed, and I was almost smiling when I left — until a voice stopped me.
“Hey!”
I turned. A guy was jogging toward me, sunlight catching his blonde hair and green eyes. He had a friendly grin, confident but not cocky.
“You’re new here, right?”
“Yeah.”
“I’m Cole.”
“Gia.”
“Well, Gia, I saw you earlier and thought I’d come and say hi. You look good.”
“Thanks,” I said, trying to be polite.
“You heading out?”
“Yeah.”
“Alright, I’ll be around the library if you ever want company today.”
He flashed a smile and walked off. It was… nice. Simple. No games.
That lasted two minutes.
Because when I reached the parking lot, I saw him.
Ivan.
Leaning on the car.
A girl between his legs.
Her hands in his hair. His mouth on hers.
For a second, I couldn’t breathe. Anger shot through me — sharp, burning, unreasonable. My chest tightened, my fingers curled into fists.
Of course. Why should he care? It meant nothing. Nothing.
I cleared my throat loudly. They jerked apart. “Don’t mind me,” I said, forcing a fake smile. “Just forgot my purse.”
I grabbed it from the car, but before I could walk off, his hand caught my wrist.
“Where are you going? Aren’t we going home?”
“You can go home. I’ll be fine. Besides, you have company.”
“Gianna, don’t be stubborn. I need to take you back home.”
“I have a ride already, Ivan. Go home.”
And with that, I walked off before I said something stupid. Of course, my first had to be with an obnoxious, arrogant, unfaithful id*ot!
I found the library and spotted Cole sitting on a bench, earbuds in. He looked up as I approached and smiled.
“Didn’t think you’d change your mind.”
“You should feel privileged,” I said, sitting beside him.
“Oh, I do.”
We talked — about the city, classes, random things. He was easy to be around, and for a moment, I didn’t feel that unbearable pull toward someone I shouldn’t want.
Until—
“Gianna!”
I froze.
Of course.
Cole turned, his smile fading slightly. “Ivan.”
Ivan’s eyes met mine, sharp and stormy. “Let’s go home.”
“I’m not returning home in the same car with you.”
“Gia—”
I turned to Cole. “Are you coming?”
He hesitated, then nodded and followed.
Cole drove me around the city, showed me places, made me laugh a few times. It helped — the air, the distraction. By the time we stopped at my gate, the sun was setting.
“I didn’t want to ask earlier,” he said, turning to me, “but do you stay with Ivan?”
“Stepbrother,” I said quickly.
“Oh.” He blinked.
“You guys seemed like you knew each other,” I said, remembering Cole had called Ivan's name earlier.
“That’s a story for another day.”
“Who said I’d get to hear it?” I teased.
“Ouch,” he said, clutching his chest dramatically.
“I’m kidding. Thanks for today.”
“Don’t you think it’d be fair to give me your number?”
I hesitated, then smiled faintly. “Just because I had a good day.” I recited my number, and he grinned.
“Goodnight, Gia.”
“Goodnight, Cole.”
Inside, the calm I’d built began to crumble. His scent hit me before I even saw him. Smoke. Pine. Heat.
When I stepped into my room, I froze.
Ivan was sitting on my bed.
He stood when he saw me. “What the hell, Ivan! You can’t just barge into my room.”
“Why the hell did you go with him?” he snapped.
“Meaning?” I crossed my arms.
“Did he touch you?” He took a step closer, anger flickering in his eyes.
“What if he did, Ivan?”
“I’d break his fingers.” His voice dropped low, dangerous. “No one touches what’s mine.”
He was too close now — his breath warm, his eyes dark. His hands brushed my waist before settling there, possessive. I hated how my body responded, how the pull between us came roaring back.
His lips crashed against mine—hot, fierce, claiming. For a moment, I forgot to breathe. The taste of him flooded my senses, intoxicating and familiar in a way that scared me. But then the image of that girl—her hands in his hair, his lips on hers—hit me like a slap.
I shoved him back, my palm flat against his chest. “Don’t kiss me,” I hissed, breathless. “Not after your tongue was down that girl’s throat—and God knows where else.”
He stood there, chest rising and falling, eyes burning with something wild. “You think that meant anything?” he growled.
“It looked like it did.”
He took a step closer, his voice dropping to a dangerous low. “You have no idea what it’s like, Gianna. Your scent is everywhere—every damn corner of this house. It’s in my head, under my skin, driving me insane.”
My heart skipped. His words weren’t gentle—they were a confession of frustration, not affection.
He continued, jaw clenched. “I kissed her because I needed to forget. Because if I didn’t do something—anything—I’d lose control around you.”
My pulse pounded so hard it hurt. The way he said it wasn’t tender, but it still made something twist deep inside me.
“Then stay away from me,” I said weakly. “Problem solved.”
He gave a dark, humorless laugh. “If only it were that easy, Ginger.”
I should’ve turned away. Should’ve told him to leave. But then he stepped closer again, his hand brushing the side of my neck, and my breath hitched.
“Tell me you don’t feel it,” he whispered.
I did. Every nerve in my body was on fire. The heat period was clawing at me, making it impossible to think straight.
“Ivan…” I murmured, and before I could think—before I could talk myself out of it—his lips were on mine again.
This kiss wasn’t soft. It was chaos and need, frustration and fire. I wanted to hate him. I wanted to slap him. Instead, I grabbed his shirt and kissed him back like my life depended on it.
The heat roared through me, consuming every inch of resistance I had left. His touch made my body tremble, my wolf pushing forward, desperate for him.
Why was I feeling this way? It's just the heat period, right?
- Writer
