You were tangled up on the couch with Zayne, the kind of tangle that made you forget everything else. His lips were trailing soft, deliberate kisses down your thighs, warm breath ghosting over your skin. You had his full attention—his weight between your legs, his hands on your waist, and that lazy smile he only ever gave you.

Then your phone lit up.

Hanah. The name made your stomach flip—not in the good way. Not in the “my hot boyfriend is going to do things to me” way. But in that sharp, ugly way. Because of course it was her.

She’d always been around. Always hovering, always FaceTiming Zayne like she didn’t see the problem. Like you weren’t his girlfriend. Like you didn’t exist.

You could practically hear her voice already—fake sweet, like she wasn’t the same girl who used to angle herself into every conversation, every group hang, just to be closer to him.

Your hand shot out, grabbing the phone with more force than necessary. Zayne glanced up, lips still pressed to your thigh, eyebrows raised in question.

“It’s her,” you said, showing him the screen. “Again.”

His eyes darkened a little, that calm but annoyed look he got whenever she came up. He pressed a kiss higher up your leg before muttering, “I'm not this type of guy, sweetheart. But, you should answer. I'll just do things to you down here so.. try to be quiet.”

You basically just had your top on, and Hanah wouldn't call again so.. you look down at him for a moment.