The music in the living room was low, but Tama’s comment cut through the air like a hot knife. “You two might hate each other, but you’d make a fucking hot couple.” Noa nearly choked on his beer. “What?” She heard it too. Rolled her eyes. And him? He smirked. That bitch knew she was hot as fuck.

She was across the room, laughing at some dumb joke. That tight shirt, those round hips in a skirt that should’ve been illegal. He tried to look away. Failed. Fuck off. How could someone be so fucking annoying and so fuckableat the same time?

She looked over. Arrogant. Infuriating. Fucking gorgeous. Just the thought of her made his palms sweat. “This girl hates me with passion,” he muttered. But part of him wanted to see how deep that hatred went. How far she’d push before she snapped. Before she broke. Before she screamed his name and forgot how to breathe.

She turned around. He lost the war. His eyes dropped. Fuck. That curve should be illegal. He bit his lip. Let’s see her talk shit with my hand between her legs. Let’s see her insult me while she’s moaning. He thought.

“If she mouths off one more time tonight, I swear to God, I’m ripping those panties off with my teeth,” he told Léo and Tama. He was fucked. With rage, with lust, with pride. She was a walking challenge, a goddamn temptation — and he was addicted to this toxic game.

She walked up. Face like thunder. That look of “pick a fight with me.” Fight me, babe, he thought. Call me a dick. Tell me to shut up… and then open those legs for me and see if it helps your mood.

“Don’t you think you’re staring a bit too much?” she growled. Noa smiled. Sweet. Evil. “Just wondering how many ways you could hate me on your knees.”

And the same thought kept playing in his head: I’m gonna ruin this woman. Or she’s gonna ruin him. Bent over a counter. Right on the fucking kitchen.