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RAINE'S POV

I was trying—really trying—not to completely lose it.

Kai sat across from me, all loose limbs and quiet confidence, like he belonged here, in my living room, wearing my ex's clothes. The absurdity of it wasn't lost on me, but that wasn't what had me fidgeting with the edge of my blanket.

It was him.

The way his damp hair curled at the edges, the faint scent of my shampoo clinging to him, and those sharp blue eyes watching me like he could see straight through my defenses. Every nerve in my body was tuned to him, to the way he leaned back in the chair like this storm was nothing and neither was I.

I wanted to be nothing.

But then I wanted to grab his stupid, perfect face and kiss him into oblivion.

I dug my nails into the blanket instead, forcing my gaze to stay anywhere but on him. My heart was a traitor, pounding like it didn't care how much of a mess this was. This wasn't supposed to happen. I didn't get flustered, not for anyone, and certainly not for someone like Kai.

"You okay over there?" His voice cut through the thick silence, low and smooth, with a hint of amusement that only made it worse.

I snapped my eyes up, meeting his gaze. Mistake.

"Fine," I said too quickly, too sharply.

His lips twitched, a smirk threatening to break free, and God help me, I wanted to wipe it off his face in the most reckless way possible.

"You seem tense," he said, leaning forward just enough to close some of the space between us. "Storm bothering you?"

"No," I muttered, shifting under his gaze.

I hated how he could do this—how he could get under my skin without even trying.

"Good," he said, leaning back again like he'd won something.

The blanket was suffocating. I shoved it aside and stood, needing space, needing air—needing to not be here, staring at him and imagining things I shouldn't be.

"I'm getting some water," I said, my voice clipped. "Want anything?"

"I'm good," he replied, his tone neutral, but his eyes followed me all the way to the kitchen.

The second I was out of sight, I gripped the edge of the counter, my breathing uneven. This was ridiculous. I didn't get worked up over guys. Ever.

But Kai wasn't just some guy. He was a storm all his own, and I was standing in the middle of it, fighting not to be swept away.

I poured a glass of water and downed it in one go, hoping it would cool the heat rising in my chest. It didn't.

When I finally went back to the living room, I kept my distance, sitting on the far end of the couch this time.

"Long day," I said, more to myself than to him, trying to fill the silence.

He didn't respond right away, just watched me with that quiet intensity that made my pulse stutter.

"Yeah," he said finally, his voice soft, almost thoughtful. "It's been a day."

The storm outside raged on, but inside, the air between us was heavy with something I didn't want to name.

I crossed my arms, hugging myself. "You should probably get some rest. You'll need it for tomorrow."

He tilted his head, studying me in that maddening way of his. "What about you?"

"I'm fine."

"Sure you are."

My resolve cracked, just a little. I glanced at him, and for a moment, everything else faded—the storm, the awkwardness, the world.

It would be so easy to close the distance between us. So easy to forget everything else and just let myself feel.

But I couldn't.

I wouldn't.

Instead, I curled back into myself, forcing my thoughts elsewhere.

Because if I let this happen—if I let him in—I wasn't sure I'd survive it.

But what if I did? I asked myself. A little taste wouldn't hurt, right?

It wasn't like I'd be committing to anything. Just... one moment, one reckless slip. That wouldn't destroy me.

Would it?

My gaze drifted, entirely against my will, to the sweatpants he was wearing. My sweatpants. Well, not mine, but close enough. They hung low on his hips, and the sight sparked a fresh wave of heat that surged through me like wildfire.

"Fuck," I muttered under my breath, too quiet for him to hear. At least, I hoped it was.

"Did you say something?"

My head snapped up. He was looking at me now, his brows slightly raised, the faintest smirk playing at his lips.

"Nothing," I said quickly, too quickly, my voice pitching higher than I wanted.

His smirk widened just enough to be infuriating, and I hated how good it looked on him. How good everything looked on him.

I turned away, desperate to compose myself, but the damage was done. The heat in my cheeks betrayed me, and when I glanced at him again, he was watching me with that insufferable, knowing look.

"What?" I snapped, more defensive than I meant to be.

"Nothing," he said, echoing my earlier denial.

But his voice had that teasing edge, the kind that told me he'd caught every slip, every unspoken thought I'd tried to bury.

I should've been angry. Embarrassed. Anything but this—this magnetic pull that made me want to lean into whatever this was and let it ruin me.

"You're impossible," I muttered, pulling the blanket back over my lap as if it could shield me from him.

Kai shrugged, still smirking. "So I've been told."

And damn him, he made it sound like a challenge.

His smirk faltered for the briefest second, his gaze dipping before snapping back to my face like he hadn't just been caught.

My heart plummeted as I realized where he'd been looking. Heat rushed to my cheeks in an instant, the kind that burned all the way down to my chest.

My stupid, thin, silk nightshirt.

The storm outside suddenly felt like a distant hum compared to the roaring pulse in my ears. I shifted the blanket higher, clutching it tighter to my chest, as if that could erase what just happened.

"Kai," I said sharply, my voice cutting through the tension.

He blinked, his expression carefully neutral now, but the slight flush creeping up his neck gave him away. "What?"

"What are you staring at?"

"Nothing," he said too quickly, dragging a hand through his hair. "I wasn't—"

I raised a brow, cutting him off. "You weren't?"

He hesitated, his jaw tightening. For a split second, I thought he might actually apologize, but instead, he leaned back against the couch, his lips curving into something cocky.

"It's hard not to notice when you're, you know... making things obvious."

My mouth dropped open, a mix of embarrassment and indignation flooding me. "Excuse me?"

He gestured vaguely toward me, his smirk firmly back in place. "I'm just saying—silk's not exactly subtle."

"You're unbelievable," I muttered, clutching the blanket tighter as I tried to bury my mortification.

"And you're flustered," he said, his tone irritatingly smug.

I glared at him, my pulse hammering in my chest. The worst part was, he wasn't wrong. I was flustered, and not just because of the stupid nightshirt.

Because of him. The way his voice dipped when he teased me, the way he filled out those sweatpants, the way his presence felt too big for my small living room.

This was bad. Very, very bad.

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