The office air conditioning was on full blast, but Olivia Harper still felt too warm. It wasn’t the summer heat outside or the broken espresso machine spewing steam—it was the man sitting across from her.

Daniel Carter. Her co-worker. Tall, sharp-jawed, with just enough charm to be dangerous. He had a way of looking at her over his laptop screen like he knew exactly what she was thinking. She hated that he was usually right.

“You’re staring,” he said playfully without looking up.

Olivia bristled. “I am not.” He was right again.

“You are,” he countered, glancing up with a smirk. “But I don’t mind.”

She rolled her eyes and refocused on the financial report in front of her, but the numbers blurred. Their little game had been going on for months—exchanges laced with double meanings, stolen glances in meeting rooms, the occasional brush of fingertips when passing each other files.

It was the kind of tension that could snap at any moment.

The office was nearly empty that evening, most of their team having cleared out early. Olivia had stayed behind to finish a report, and Daniel—well, she wasn’t sure why he was still here, but she had a feeling it had more to do with her than his workload.

“Still here?” he asked, leaning against the edge of her desk. His cologne—something dark and clean—wrapped around her like a second skin. She liked this scent.

“So are you,” she pointed out.

He shrugged. “Maybe I like the company.”

She met his gaze, her pulse kicking up a notch. “Maybe?”

His lips twitched. “Fine. Definitely.”

Olivia exhaled slowly, pushing back in her chair. “We have a strict HR policy, you know.”

“Do we?” he mused, crossing his arms. “Funny, I don’t remember reading anything about… unresolved tension.”

She let out a laugh, shaking her head. “Oh, there’s nothing unresolved.”

He leaned down, just enough to make her breath hitch. “You sure about that?”

The air between them thickened. The logical part of her brain warned her to get up, to create space, but she didn’t move. She liked the way his eyes darkened when she held his stare, the way his confidence faltered just a fraction when she licked her lips.

He tilted his head, voice lower now. “Tell me to leave, and I will.”

The problem was, she didn’t want to.

Instead, she tapped her pen against the desk, pretending to consider it. “You’re awfully sure of yourself, Carter,” she said.

He grinned. “Only when it comes to you.”

A silence stretched between them, charged and humming.

Finally, Olivia stood, sliding her laptop shut. “Come on,” she said, grabbing her coat and purse.

His brows lifted. “Where to?” He asked.

She looked over her shoulder, the corner of her mouth lifting. “Let’s see if you can keep up.”

And just like that, the game took on a whole new set of rules.

The apartment was too quiet.

Ryan sat on the couch, flipping through channels, but he wasn’t paying attention. His mind was somewhere else—specifically, in the next room, where his roommate, Jordan, had just finished showering.

Ryan could hear the sound of the bathroom door opening, followed by the soft padding of bare feet against the hardwood floor. A second later, Jordan appeared in his periphery, a towel slung low on his hips, his damp hair dripping onto his bare shoulders.

Ryan swallowed hard. Don’t look.

“TV sucks this late,” Jordan commented, plopping down on the opposite end of the couch.

Ryan glanced at him—big mistake. Water clung to Jordan’s skin, glistening under the dim light of the living room. His collarbone, the defined lines of his chest, the faintest trail of hair disappearing beneath that dangerously low towel—yeah, Ryan needed to look away.

“Yeah,” he muttered, forcing his eyes back to the screen.

Jordan stretched, arms going up over his head, his abs tightening in the process. “You good?”

Ryan tensed. “Fine.”

Jordan smirked. “You sure? You look… uncomfortable.”

Ryan’s jaw clenched. This was the problem with Jordan—he knew exactly what he was doing. It had been like this for months now, ever since Ryan had admitted (after too many drinks) that he wasn’t exactly straight. Jordan, of course, had taken that as an invitation to flirt.

At first, Ryan thought it was just a joke, but lately…

Lately, it felt like something else.

Jordan leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. “You’ve been weird all week.”

Ryan exhaled sharply. “I haven’t.”

Jordan hummed, unconvinced. “You barely talk to me anymore. You come home late. You avoid eye contact. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were—” He paused, a slow smile tugging at his lips.

Ryan glared. “Don’t.”

Jordan tilted his head. “Nervous?”

Ryan stood abruptly. “I’m going to bed.”

Before he could escape, Jordan’s hand shot out, catching his wrist. The touch was firm but gentle, and it sent a shiver up Ryan’s spine.

“Hey,” Jordan said, softer now. “Talk to me.”

Ryan hesitated, his pulse hammering. He knew he could pull away—could keep pretending none of this was happening—but something in Jordan’s gaze made him pause.

“Why do you do that?” Ryan finally asked.

Jordan’s brow furrowed. “Do what?”

Ryan pulled his hand free, rubbing the back of his neck. “Act like this. Like it’s a game.”

Jordan’s expression shifted—something unreadable flickering in his eyes. “Who says it’s a game?”

Ryan’s breath caught. The room felt smaller, the space between them nonexistent. He could feel the heat radiating off Jordan’s skin and see the way his throat bobbed when he swallowed.

For the first time, Jordan looked unsure.

And that was all Ryan needed.

He took a step forward, testing the line between them. Jordan didn’t move away. If anything, he leaned in.

Ryan let out a shaky breath. “If it’s not a game… then what is it?”

Jordan’s lips parted, his gaze flickering down to Ryan’s mouth. Then, finally, he whispered,

“Why don’t you find out?”

The tension snapped.

And just like that, the line they’d been dancing around for months—maybe years—vanished entirely.

“You know, you’re a terrible host,” Maya teased, stretching out on Lily’s bed. “I’ve been here for two hours, and you haven’t even offered me snacks.”

Lily scoffed from where she stood by her dresser, tying her hair into a loose bun. “Excuse me, but I distinctly remember offering popcorn, and you said no.”

“I didn’t say no,” Maya smirked. “I said I wasn’t hungry. Big difference.”

Lily turned, narrowing her eyes. “You’re impossible.”

Maya grinned, sinking deeper into the blankets.

They’d had dozens of sleepovers over the years, but tonight felt… different. Maybe it was the way Lily kept avoiding eye contact. Or how Maya’s stomach flipped every time their hands brushed.

Or maybe it was the fact that there was only one bed.

Maya had crashed at Lily’s place a million times before, always with the same arrangement: Lily’s bed and Maya’s sleeping bag on the floor. But earlier, when Maya had jokingly flopped onto the bed and declared she wasn’t moving, Lily had hesitated.

And then, instead of arguing, she’d just… let it happen.

Now, Maya was sprawled across the pillows like she owned the place, and Lily was standing there, biting her lip, like she was debating something.

“Are you just gonna stand there?” Maya quirked a brow.

Lily exhaled, shaking her head. “You take up too much space.”

Maya patted the spot beside her. “Plenty of room.”

Lily hesitated again—just for a second—before climbing in.

Maya should’ve been used to this. They’d shared beds before. But tonight, everything felt amplified. The warmth of Lily’s body was so close. The fresh scent of her shampoo. The way their knees brushed under the covers.

Maya turned her head, watching Lily stare up at the ceiling. “You’re all tense. You okay?”

Lily let out a soft laugh. “I’m fine.”

Maya studied her for a moment. “Liar.”

Lily’s eyes flickered toward her, something unreadable in them. “And if I am?”

Maya’s breath hitched. This was new. This was dangerous.

Her voice dropped. “Then tell me why.”

Lily hesitated, fingers gripping the edge of the blanket. The silence stretched, heavy with something unspoken. And then—so quietly Maya almost missed it—Lily whispered,

“You make it hard to think.”

Maya’s heart pounded. “What do you mean?”

Lily finally turned, meeting her gaze. “I mean… this. You. Us.”

Maya swallowed hard. “Since when?”

Lily’s lips parted, her breath shaky. “Since always, I think.”

Maya’s pulse thrummed in her ears. There was no mistaking it now—the way Lily’s gaze kept dropping to her lips, the way she wasn’t pulling away.

Maya could make a joke. She could laugh it off, change the subject.

Or… she could close the space between them.

So she did.

Slowly, deliberately, she lifted a hand, tucking a stray strand of hair behind Lily’s ear. Their faces were close—too close.

“Maya…” Lily whispered, but there was no protest in her voice.

Maya smiled, her fingers grazing Lily’s cheek. “You sure you want to pretend this isn’t happening?”

Lily inhaled sharply. And then, in a voice barely above a whisper, she said,

“No.”

The air between them crackled, something shifting. And just like that, the line between friendship and something more blurred completely.