PHOENIX:
The second the door clicked shut behind him, the air in the apartment changed.
Thicker.
Hotter.
Him.
I could feel Ryder’s presence like a pressure behind me, a gravity I hadn’t prepared for. I poured the shots to keep my hands busy, but the tremble was there in my fingers. The damn glasses clinked too loud against the counter.
We drank in silence.
And then I said it.
“What are we doing, Ryder?”
Because I couldn’t keep playing dumb. Couldn’t keep pretending that I didn’t feel it—the tension that crackled between us like electricity in a storm. That I didn’t hear the echo of my own name from his mouth in every room he entered. That I didn’t wear his goddamn hoodie to bed some nights, still smelling like him even after all these years.
He didn’t answer right away.
Just sta
