Julian's POV
As usual, Bryson and I head home for the weekend. I keep my face stone cold during the entire drive, jaw clenched and eyes fixed on the road. I need to make sure Bryson doesn't try to start a conversation about what happened at the club.
Bryson isn't as brave as he was that night, alcohol giving him confidence he clearly doesn't have sober. He keeps silent in the passenger seat, staring out the window.
But the memory of that night runs through my head on repeat anyway. How bold Bryson looked on that dance floor. How different from his usual careful, guarded self. How alluring he was with his hands on my waist, grinding against me like he had every right to.
I grip the steering wheel tighter, trying to focus on driving instead of remembering.
The question Bryso
