Hostile Affection

Chapter 6: The Aftertaste

Troye's POV

The moment I spotted the man stepping out of the bar, my chest tightened like a vice.

Tobias.

Even from this distance, there was no mistaking him—broad shoulders, that commanding presence, the kind of confidence that claimed space long before his voice did. My brother.

I had always known this was his bar. Knew it the moment I saw the sign, the way it carried his fingerprints without needing to be told. And yet, some foolish, naive part of me had prayed we wouldn't cross paths. That he'd be in the back, busy, distracted. That tonight of all nights, fate might grant me a sliver of invisibility.

But no. He was walking straight toward the exit. Straight toward me.

My heart thundered against my ribs, wild and frantic. There was no time to hide. No corner dark enough to swallow me whole. My mind scrambled for a way out, but my body betrayed me first.

Before I knew what I was doing, I turned to Nicco. My hand shot out, closing around his wrist. And then-in a single, breathless, irreversible motion-I pressed him against the wall and kissed him.

God.

It was messy. Desperate. A collision more than a kiss. I wasn't good at this—I didn't know how to be. No boyfriends, no girlfriends, not even a sloppy teenage experiment in some forgotten corner. My lips moved out of sheer panic, instinct, survival.

And then-something shifted.

Nicco kissed me back.

Not with panic. Not with hesitation. But with skill. With heat. With a kind of unshakable confidence that stole the ground out from under me. His mouth moved against mine like it belonged there, like he'd been waiting. My knees threatened to give way. The panic that had ignited the kiss melted into something terrifyingly sweet, dangerously addictive.

Until a voice cut through the haze, low and amused.

“Get a room, Nicco.”

Tobias.

My entire body went rigid. Breath snagged in my throat. I didn't turn around. I couldn't.

Nicco only chuckled, unfazed, as if this sort of interruption was nothing new. But me? I was unraveling, thread by thread. The second I felt Tobias's presence retreat, I broke away.

“I'm sorry,” I whispered, though I wasn't sure who the apology was for-Nicco, myself, the universe. I couldn't stay long enough to explain.

I turned and left, my steps uneven, my chest burning.

“What the f**k?! Come back here!” Nicco's voice rang out behind me, sharp with confusion and demand.

But I didn't stop. I couldn't.

I tore through the parking lot, reached my car, and collapsed into the driver's seat. My hands were shaking so hard I had to bury them in my face just to feel grounded.

What the hell did I just do?

Fuck.

***

Nicco's POV

I stormed back into the bar, jaw tight, fists balled at my sides. My pulse was still racing, my mouth still tingling. Damn it-I could still taste him. Still feel the fire he'd left behind.

That kiss.

I hated how it blindsided me. Hated even more how my body had betrayed me, responding before my brain could catch up. There'd been something about the way his lips pressed against mine—soft, but bold, demanding in their own clumsy way-that set heat flooding through me. Hell, the second it happened, I was hard.

I dropped back into my seat, trying to mask the chaos tearing through me, but it was useless. My friends had already clocked the shift in me, their eyes narrowing with curiosity.

“What happened?” Venice asked, scooting closer, her gaze scanning me like she was piecing together a puzzle.

Franco didn't even bother with subtlety. “I saw you earlier. Where's the hot guy who came up to you, Nicco?”

“Wait—what? Someone came up to him?” Yasser leaned forward, clueless.

“You wouldn't know,” Jacob cut in, his smirk sharp as ever. “You were too busy flirting at the bar. But yeah, we saw a hot guy approach Nicco and drag him outside.”

“That was fast,” Venice muttered, eyebrows arched high.

I shot them a look-equal parts exasperation and resignation. I knew I wasn't escaping this interrogation, so I gave them pieces of the story. The parts I was willing to share. Not the whole truth. Not yet. They didn't need to know that the man who kissed me was Troye Mondejar, the elusive owner of Caffeine Chapter.

Not yet.

“You deserved it,” Franco said with a snort. “Now you know what it feels like to be left hanging.”

“That's so weird, though.” Yasser frowned. “He kissed you... and then just left?”

Venice tilted her head, her voice cutting sharper. “Wait a second. Doesn't that go against one of your golden rules? No PDA in public-especially with random hook-ups.”

Exactly. My rule. Always had been. I hated attention, hated vulnerability, hated anyone catching me in a moment that wasn't fully under my control.

But this...

This wasn't the same.

It was just a kiss. One messy, chaotic kiss. And yet it rattled me, lit me up in ways that no carefully chosen partner, no late-night encounter, ever had. I didn't understand it. All I knew was that I wanted more.

“I bet you're pissed you didn't even get to finish,” Jacob teased, his grin wicked.

I didn't answer. Didn't even bother to look at him.

Because my mind wasn't here anymore. It was back there, replaying the moment in merciless detail—the grip of his hand on my wrist, the warmth of his body, the audacity to pull me in like that, as if he had every right.

I clenched my jaw.

Fine. If Troye Mondejar thought he could get away with that...

Then game on.

I was coming for him.

***

Troye's POV

I couldn't sleep.

I'd been staring at the ceiling for what felt like hours, chasing shadows across the plaster, but the moment wouldn't leave me. That kiss-my first kiss-looped in my head like a broken record. Awkward. Rushed. Born out of panic. Yet Nicco kissed me back. Kissed me with certainty, with heat, with something that felt dangerously close to intent.

I'd always known I was gay. That part had never been a question, not really. But I'd never imagined what a kiss could do. How it could turn my body inside out, scatter my thoughts like sparks flickering just beneath my skin. My lips still felt raw, almost bruised, but not unpleasantly so. Like they'd been marked. Claimed.

A soft weight pressed down on my chest, dragging me out of my thoughts.

Scarlet.

With the grace only a cat could have-the kind that made her queen of the world, and by extension, queen of me-she climbed onto me. She circled once, twice, before curling herself into a perfect ball on my stomach. A purring furnace anchoring me to the bed.

My lips tugged into the faintest smile.

“Can't sleep either, Scarlet?” I whispered, shifting against the headboard. My fingers found her fur, smoothing through the warmth of her coat. The sound of her purr filled the silence, steady, grounding.

She blinked up at me, slow, deliberate. The kind of look people said was a cat's way of hugging. I liked to believe it. I needed to.

“You know what?” My voice dipped lower, like I was sharing a secret only the two of us could hold. “Your daddy kissed someone tonight.”

Scarlet didn't react, of course. Just kept breathing, purring, existing as if the world couldn't shake her.

I chuckled softly under my breath. “Yeah. Weird, right?”

It wasn't the first time I'd confided in her like this. Scarlet was the only one who got the unfiltered versions of me-the parts I couldn't risk giving anyone else. My rants, my spiraling thoughts, my private confessions. Sometimes I wondered if she got tired of me. But she never walked away.

And that counted for something.

Out of the corner of my eye, I caught a flicker of light. My phone, face-down on the nightstand, was glowing again. It had been all night-buzzing, lighting up, demanding my attention.

Kent. Kiana.

They'd been calling nonstop, probably desperate to confirm if I'd really gone to the bar. If I'd really spoken to Nicco.

If I'd really done the unthinkable.

I hadn't answered. Not once. I couldn't. Not tonight.

It was too soon. Too raw. Too dangerous. If I picked up, if I let my guard down for even a second, I might say something I couldn't take back.

Tomorrow.

Tomorrow, they'd get the story.

Or at least the version I was brave enough to tell.

--

“Did you really not go to the bar last night to see Nicco, Troye?”

I clenched my jaw so tight it ached as I stacked another box of coffee filters onto the shelf. If Kiana asked me that question one more time, I was going to scream into a sack of beans. She'd been circling me since morning, probing, fishing, waiting for me to crack-and so far, I was barely holding the line.

It was easier to lie. Safer. Because the truth? The truth would unleash a level of teasing I wasn't emotionally equipped to survive.

“I doubt that,” Kent said, not missing a beat as he walked in carrying a crate of fresh pastries. “I mean, why else would I send you that picture of Nicco?”

“You're both being dramatic,” I muttered, forcing my hands to keep moving. “I didn't go. I backed out.”

“Should've just gone through with it,” Kiana sighed, disappointed, like I'd failed her personally, as she lined up stirrers by color like it was a life-or-death task. “You might've actually made progress.”

Progress. Right. As if I were some charity project she and Kent had decided to push along.

The three of us moved around the kitchen in what should have been routine-Kent slicing warm loaves of bread, Kiana obsessing over the stirrers, me unloading supplies—but the air was anything but quiet. Every word, every sigh, every smirk seemed designed to corner me.

“Last night, I was already imagining something happening,” Kent added, a sly grin tugging at his mouth as he carefully plated the cinnamon roll.

“Same!” Kiana chimed in, smirking. “I mean, let's be honest-they've got chemistry. Real chemistry. I'm just saying.”

My hands froze around the box I was unpacking. My skin prickled, heat crawling up the back of my neck. Chemistry. If only they knew. If only they had the slightest idea how badly I wanted to crawl into the espresso machine and disappear.

I didn't answer. I seriously considered shoving my earbuds in and blasting white noise until my brain went numb. Anything to drown them out, anything to avoid hearing the word “chemistry” linked to me and Nicco ever again.

But before I could even reach for my phone, Beryl appeared in the doorway, a little breathless.

“Ma'am, Sir... there's a visitor. He's asking for you, Sir Troye.”

The teasing stopped. Dead silence.

I felt their gazes on me before I even looked up. Kent froze mid-slice, knife hovering over a loaf of bread. Kiana straightened with all the eagerness of a gossip columnist about to get the scoop of her career.

We moved together, the three of us, to the front counter.

And then I saw him.

Nicco.

Tall, composed, standing at my counter like he owned the morning. Like he hadn't kissed the breath out of me just hours ago.

My heart plummeted straight through the floor.

God. What the hell is he doing here?

I didn't have time to answer myself, because suddenly, pain shot through both sides of my arms-two sharp pinches, one from Kiana, one from Kent.

They knew.

They definitely knew.

“Good morning, Sir Nicco,” Kent greeted smoothly, his voice dripping with a fake customer-service politeness that only made it worse. “What can we do for you?”

“I'll have a Caramel Macchiato,” Nicco said casually, like this was nothing, “and a slice of Blueberry Cheesecake.”

“That's all, Sir Nicco?” Kiana asked, her tone so sugary it made my teeth ache.

Nicco's lips curved, slow and dangerous. “Oh, and one more thing... I'll have one piece of Troye—oh wait, sorry. I mean, can I speak with you, Mr. Mondejar?”

My ears burned so hot I thought they might burst into flame.

That wasn't a slip. Not a chance.

He was enjoying this. Every second of it.

And I... I was dying.