It wasn't her idea to go.
Angela had zero interest in loud music, red cups, and midnight sweat. But Tamara? Tamara was turning 21 — and a girl had to show up for her best friend.
"I don't want drama," Angela warned.
"Then don't create one," Tamara winked. "Just come and slay."
And oh, did she slay.
Black silk dress. Slit on the side. Chest subtle, but suggestive. A touch of shimmer on her collarbone. Anklet back in rotation. Hair in a sleek ponytail with edge control that deserved an award.
She didn't dress for Peter.
But she didn't dress like he wouldn't be there either.
---
The party was loud.
Heat, laughter, and red lighting.
Angela stuck to her Solo cup of chapman and stayed near the food table.
Until she saw him.
Peter.
Grey shirt. Jeans that fit in ways they shouldn't. Sleeves rolled to his elbows. Beard fresh.
And right behind him?
Sonia.
Looking cute. Too cute.
Angela's heart sank for a beat.
But she breathed in and reminded herself: You are peace. You are healing. You are...
"Guy, that your ex is glowing," someone whispered behind Peter. Loud enough for her to hear.
Peter looked over.
Saw her.
And it was like time stopped.
Angela's dress shimmered in the moving light. Her eyes caught his and refused to drop. He took a step forward. She didn't blink.
Then Tems started playing.
🎶 "You don't need no other body…"
Bad idea.
Suddenly, she was outside.
Breathing.
Heart in her throat.
Then he followed her.
---
"You look…" he began, stepping into the moonlight.
Angela didn't let him finish.
"Don't say anything."
He stepped closer. "Okay."
Silence.
"I saw you with Sonia," she said.
"I saw you with your thigh out," he replied, dry.
Angela turned to him, eyebrow raised. "So you were watching?"
Peter chuckled low. "Always."
Another silence. This one heavy.
Then, suddenly — Angela laughed. Not out of joy. Out of disbelief. "We're idiots."
Peter nodded. "Certified."
Angela shook her head. "We said we'd stay away."
"We lied."
Another beat.
Their eyes locked.
That damn tension again.
Peter stepped closer. "Why do we keep doing this?"
Angela's lips quivered. "Because I still want you."
Then he was in front of her.
Closer.
His hand on her cheek.
She didn't stop him.
The kiss came hard. Unplanned. Like breath they were choking on.
He pinned her against the wall. His lips moved like he forgot how to be gentle.
Her hands in his shirt again.
Her leg hooked around his.
The heat. The hunger. The war.
But this time… it wasn't holy.
It was reckless.
His fingers slid up her thigh —
And she didn't stop him.
---
Then someone opened the door to the balcony.
They froze.
Angela pulled back, panting. "We're not okay."
Peter whispered, "I know."
She fixed her dress.
Fixed her soul.
And walked away — again.
This time, her heart wasn't broken.
It was confused.
Because desire feels like love… until it doesn't.