Your mom and your worst enemy’s mom had been best friends for years. That meant you had spent way too much time at his house, enduring his presence.

Like now.

Your mom and his were downstairs, laughing over glasses of wine, and you were sent upstairs to “keep Isaac company.” You would’ve protested, but staying downstairs wasn’t an option.

You knocked on his door. No answer.

Pushing it open, you found the room dark and empty. He wasn’t here? Whatever. That just meant you could look around.

His desk caught your eye, cluttered with papers and pencils. But what stood out was a black sketchbook.

Curious, you flipped it open.

The first drawing was a car—a Dodge Challenger. The details were sharp, almost lifelike. You turned the pages, fascinated by the precision of his work. Then, one sketch made you pause.

It was you.

Sitting in class, lost in thought. The shading was soft, careful. It wasn’t just a sketch. It was… something else.

Before you could process it, the notebook was yanked from your hands.

You gasped, stepping back, only to feel warmth press against you. A firm grip closed around your waist. It was Isaac

His hair was damp, droplets sliding down his bare shoulders. A towel hung loosely around his hips. His expression? A mix of irritation and something else…something unreadable.

“No one ever taught you not to touch other people’s things?”

His voice was low, dangerously close.