The Playboy

EPISODE 6: Almost Kiss

Peter DeLuca didn’t sleep.

Not really.

He lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling of his dark room, the faint glow of city lights slipping through the window.

Everything was quiet.

Too quiet.

And his mind?

Wasn’t.

Your voice.

Your expression.

The way you walked away.

Again.

“I don’t stay where I’m not needed.”

The words replayed.

Over and over.

Peter exhaled sharply, dragging a hand down his face.

Why did that bother him?

It shouldn’t.

It was just a girl.

Just another situation.

Just another.

No.

That wasn’t true.

Because no one had ever made him feel like this before.

Uncertain.

Unfinished.

Restless.

His eyes finally closed.

And that’s when it happened.

🌙 THE DREAM

You were there.

Of course you were.

Standing closer than you ever allowed yourself in real life.

No distance.

No walls.

No calm control.

Just you.

Your eyes softer.

Your guard down.

Your breath is uneven.

Peter stepped closer.

And this time.

You didn’t step back.

“You’re not supposed to look at me like that,” you murmured.

“Like what?” his voice was lower. Rougher.

“Like you actually mean it.”

He didn’t answer.

He just reached for you.

Slowly.

Carefully.

Like if he moved too fast, you’d disappear.

His fingers brushed your wrist.

You didn’t pull away.

That alone—

That was enough to undo him.

“You keep running,” he said quietly.

“Because you don’t stay,” you whispered back.

That hit even in the dream.

His hand slid up slightly—hesitant, like he wasn’t sure he was allowed.

“But I would,” he said.

Your eyes searched his.

“Then prove it.”

Always that.

Always the challenge.

But this time—

It wasn’t sharp.

It wasn’t distant.

It was soft.

Dangerously soft.

Peter leaned in.

Closer.

Your breath caught.

But you didn’t move.

Didn’t run.

His forehead brushed yours.

Barely.

Close enough to feel everything.

The tension.

The heat.

The pull.

“Say something,” you whispered.

But he couldn’t.

Because if he did.

This would become real.

And then.

Your lips almost touched.

Almost.

Peter’s eyes snapped open.

BACK TO REALITY

His chest rose sharply.

Breathing uneven.

The room was dark again.

Silent.

But the feeling?

Still there.

Stronger.

Worse.

“Damn it,” he muttered under his breath.

He sat up, running a hand through his hair.

That wasn’t just attraction.

That wasn’t just curiosity.

That was something else.

Something deeper.

Something he wasn’t ready for.

And it pissed him off.

Because now—

He couldn’t ignore it.

THE NEXT DAY

The air between you changed.

Instantly.

Peter felt it the moment he saw you.

In class.

Same seat.

Same calm.

But now?

Now he noticed everything.

The way your fingers moved across the page.

The way you tucked your hair behind your ear.

The way you avoided looking at him.

Or maybe.

The way you were trying not to.

“Morning,” he said, dropping into the seat beside you.

You didn’t look at him.

“Hi.”

Short.

Controlled.

Like last night didn’t happen.

Like none of it mattered.

Peter leaned back slightly, watching you.

“You left early.”

You kept writing.

“I told you. I don’t stay where I’m not needed.”

There it was again.

His jaw tightened.

“That’s not what that was.”

Now you looked at him.

Finally.

“And what was it?” you asked.

Peter hesitated.

For the first time.

He didn’t have an easy answer.

“It didn’t mean anything,” he said.

Your expression didn’t change.

“I know.”

That hit harder than expected.

“Then why”

“Because I don’t do half-attention,” you cut in. “And I definitely don’t compete.”

Silence.

That word.

Compete.

It lingered.

Peter leaned in slightly.

“You think that’s what this is?”

Your eyes met his.

“I think you’re used to people fighting for you.”

“And you’re not?”

“No.”

Simple.

Final.

That should’ve ended it.

But instead.

It pulled him closer.

“You’re different today,” you added quietly.

That caught him off guard.

“How?”

You studied him for a second.

Then:

“Like you’re thinking too much.”

A pause.

Then, softer:

“What changed?”

That question.

It landed somewhere deeper than anything else.

Because he couldn’t tell you.

Couldn’t say:

I saw you last night even when you weren’t there.

I almost touched you.

I almost.

He exhaled slowly.

“Nothing,” he said.

You didn’t believe him.

That much was clear.

But you didn’t push.

You just nodded once.

“Okay.”

And turned back to your work.

That should’ve been it.

But it wasn’t.

Because now.

The silence between you?

Felt heavier.

Charged.

Like something was building.

Something neither of you were saying.

AFTER CLASS

The hallway was crowded again.

Loud.

Chaotic.

Peter caught your wrist before you could disappear.

Not rough.

But firm.

You froze.

Slowly turned back.

“Don’t,” you said quietly.

But you didn’t pull away.

Peter stepped closer.

Too close.

“Then stop walking away,” he said.

Your breath hitched—

Just slightly.

Then steadied.

“You give me a reason to.”

That hit.

His grip loosened—but he didn’t let go.

“What do you want from me?” he asked.

Your eyes searched his.

Like you were trying to figure something out.

Something real.

“Consistency,” you said finally.

“Not attention when it’s convenient.”

Silence.

That word again.

Real.

Peter stepped even closer now.

There was barely any space left.

Your back was near the wall.

His hand dropped from your wrist but stayed close.

Not touching.

Just there.

Your breath was uneven now.

So was his.

“Then don’t walk away,” he said softly.

Your voice dropped.

“Then don’t give me a reason to.”

The tension snapped.

Everything stilled.

Your eyes dropped.

Just for a second.

To his lips.

Then back up.

That was it.

That was the moment.

Peter felt it.

That pull.

That heat.

That almost.

He leaned in.

Slowly.

Giving you time to stop him.

You didn’t.

Your breath caught.

But you didn’t move.

Didn’t run.

Didn’t look away.

Your eyes fluttered slightly.

And your lips.

Were right there.

So close.

Too close.

And then.

You turned your head.

Just enough.

Breaking it.

The moment shattered.

Peter froze.

Your voice was barely above a whisper.

“This isn’t a game to me.”

Silence.

That hit harder than anything else.

Because suddenly.

It wasn’t a game to him either.

And that?

That was the problem.

You stepped away.

Creating space again.

Distance.

Safety.

“I don’t do ‘almost,’” you added quietly.

Then you walked away.

And this time.

Peter didn’t stop you.

Didn’t follow.

Didn’t speak.

Because he was still standing there.

Trying to understand something he’d never had to before.

Something real.

Something messy.

Something he couldn’t control.

And for the first time.

Peter DeLuca wasn’t chasing for fun anymore.

He was chasing because he needed to.