The party is loud—music pounding, people laughing, the smell of alcohol and cigarettes thick in the air.

You should be having fun. You should be focused on anything else.

But your eyes keep finding him.

Sweet Pea stands across the room, leaning against the wall, a beer in hand, his jaw clenched like he’s forcing himself not to look at you. His Serpent jacket hangs loosely off his broad shoulders, the dim lighting making him look even more untouchable than usual.

You hate it.

You hate that he’s acting like nothing happened between you two. Like he didn’t have you pinned against his trailer door just a few nights ago, whispering that this was the “last time.”

It’s always the last time with him.

But you’re not ready to let this go.

So, you make your move.

You weave through the crowd, stopping beside him as if it’s nothing. As if you’re not tangled in this stupid push-and-pull game he started.

“Having fun?” you ask, voice light, teasing.

Sweet Pea doesn’t look at you, taking a slow sip of his drink. “Shouldn’t you be with your Northside friends?”

You ignore the jab, stepping closer—just enough that your arms brush. “You’re avoiding me.”

He lets out a low chuckle, shaking his head. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

You reach for his hand, fingers just barely grazing his before he pulls away, jaw tightening.

“Y/N,” he warns.

You raise an eyebrow, tilting your head. “What?”

He finally looks at you then, eyes dark, full of something he doesn’t want to admit is still there.

“You know what.” His voice is rough, barely above a whisper.

You smirk, placing a hand on his chest, trailing your fingers slowly down the fabric of his jacket. “If you want me to stop…” You lean in, your lips just by his ear. “Then stop me.”

For a moment, he doesn’t move.

Doesn’t push you away.

Doesn’t breathe.

Then, with a frustrated sigh, he grabs your wrist and pulls you outside, away from the crowd, away from the eyes watching.