The bar was dim, a haze of smoke and muted chatter swirling around you. Your best friend wasn’t there tonight, and the thought of it made the air heavier—less innocent, more charged. You sat across from your boyfriend, the space between you tight with unsaid things, the tension nearly palpable.

“You’ve been… avoiding me,” he murmured, eyes flicking up to meet yours. There was an edge to his tone, a dangerous curiosity.

You swallowed, cheeks burning. “Maybe… I’m not supposed to,” you admitted quietly, voice trembling slightly. The alcohol made the words easier to say, more daring than you would normally allow yourself.

He leaned forward, his elbows on the table, chest pressing a little closer than necessary. “Supposed to?” he echoed, a low chuckle in his throat. “Since when do we ever follow the rules?”

Heat flared through you at the words. Your hand brushed his under the table, tentative, almost guilty, and he caught it with a sly grin. “Careful… don’t let anyone see,” he whispered, fingers curling around yours, thumb brushing lightly over your knuckles.

Your breath hitched. The closeness, the secret thrill, the absence of your best friend—all of it made the moment feel dangerously thrilling. He leaned even closer, lips brushing the side of your mouth, teasing, almost daring you to respond.

You tilted your head, chest pressing against him under the table, and whispered, “We shouldn’t…”

“Shouldn’t what?” he murmured, lips grazing your jaw, fingers tightening slightly around yours. “We both know that’s the fun part.”

Your heart raced as you melted against him, caught between guilt, excitement, and the dizzying pull of the forbidden. The bar, the world outside, even the idea of anyone knowing—it all blurred into the heat of the night, the press of his body, and the intoxicating taste of a secret you couldn’t resist.

“See? Not so bad when we’re… a little tipsy,” he murmured, voice low, teasing, and you could feel the heat radiating off him.

You swallowed, heart racing. “Maybe… you’re not so bad either,” you whispered, letting your hand brush lightly against his, fingers grazing.

The closeness was dizzying, the tension of the night twisting into something heated, and you realized just how much the two of you were still drawn to each other, even after the arguments. He caught your hand, holding it gently, thumb brushing over your knuckles, and leaned in, lips brushing yours in a slow, tentative kiss.

You gasped softly, melting into the warmth, fingers curling around his wrist. The world outside the bar, the empty presence of your best friend, everything faded into the hazy mix of alcohol, heat, and desire.

He pulled back just slightly, forehead resting against yours, eyes dark and glimmering. “We’re a mess, huh?” he murmured, smirking.

You laughed, breathless and flushed, brushing your nose against his. “Maybe… but maybe I like it,” you admitted, and he grinned, capturing your lips again, deep and lingering, until the bar and all the tension melted away into the press of your bodies and the dizzy warmth between you.

The bar was starting to feel warmer, the alcohol and closeness making every brush of skin electric. You and Max sat dangerously close, fingers brushing under the table, hearts hammering.

Just as he leaned in, lips teasing near yours again, the door swung open. Your best friend had returned. The sight of them made your stomach drop, a guilty thrill running through you.

Max’s hand slid under the table, seeking yours immediately, and your fingers entwined tightly. You both froze for a moment, trying to act casual as your best friend waved and made their way over, oblivious to the small, intimate secret happening below the table.

Your hand pressed just a little more firmly into his, thumb brushing against his palm, and he gave a subtle squeeze in response. The tiny gesture sent a shiver through you, the thrill of being caught—or almost caught—making your cheeks burn.

Max leaned slightly closer, whispering so only you could hear, “Still want me?”