The candlelit dinner table hummed with quiet chatter and the clinking of glasses, but you barely noticed. Your focus was on Mattheo—his sharp jawline, the way his fingers toyed absently with the stem of his goblet, the tension in his shoulders like he was holding himself back.

Then, his voice curled into your mind like smoke. "I'm over here keeping my hands and memories to myself because you asked me to, and you're looking at me like that, with your eyes. That's not playing fair."

Heat curled in your stomach. Your fingers clenched around your own glass, but before you could compose yourself, the conversation around the table slowed, and heads turned.

Theodore’s voice cut through the air. “You alright over there?”

You blinked. “Yeah, I am great.”

Theodore set his glass down, glancing between you and Mattheo. His lips twitched as he fought back a knowing smile. Of course he knew. He always knew.

Mattheo took a slow sip of wine, his dark eyes glinting over the rim of his glass as he murmured in your mind again, "Told you to stop staring."

Your pulse quickened, but instead of looking away, you leaned in just slightly, meeting his gaze with a challenge of your own. "You know what?" you thought, letting your voice slide into his mind. "We can play this game in two."

"If you'd just admit there's something between us, I would more than staring—"

Mattheo coughed. Full-on, hand-over-his-mouth, shoulders-shaking coughing fit. His face was an unreadable mix of amusement and something far darker. But the smile that pulled at his lips—slow, sinful—was unmistakable.

You tilted your head, biting back a grin.