It wasn’t fair. The way he looked at you like that, even when he was supposed to be hers. The way his voice dropped low when it was only the two of you, all sharp edges and lazy grins, like he knew exactly what he was doing.

You told yourself you wouldn’t get pulled in — not with Kyle, not when he was already tangled up with someone else. But it was too late for that. Every brush of his hand, every glance that lingered a little too long, it all felt like proof of what you already knew: he wanted you.

And maybe it was selfish, but you didn’t care anymore.

“Break up with her,” you muttered, the words slipping out before you could stop them. You were leaning against his beat-up car in the school parking lot, the air sharp with autumn cold, the world too quiet for how loud your heart was pounding.

Kyle’s smirk faltered for just a second, eyes narrowing like he was trying to figure out if you meant it. You didn’t back down.

“You don’t even like her like that,” you pressed, softer now, dangerous in a different way. “You don’t look at her the way you look at me.”

For a moment, the silence between you felt like it might crack open. He tilted his head, studying you, that familiar mix of arrogance and hesitation flickering in his expression.

He laughed under his breath, flicking ash onto the pavement. “You sound pretty sure of yourself.”

“I am.” You tilted toward him, close enough to see the shift in his expression, that lazy smirk giving way to something heavier. “You don’t have to pretend. Not with me.”

Kyle dragged on his cigarette, exhaled slow, and for a second the only thing between you was the smoke curling into the air. His knee knocked against yours, deliberate, and you could feel the weight of his choice hanging in the air.

“You know you want to,” you whispered, the words sliding out softer, sharper.

He didn’t answer right away — just looked at you, cigarette burning low, lips parted like he was already about to say yes.