Zion's room smelled the same—like warm sheets, old books, and something uniquely him. I stepped inside, already peeling off my jacket, already feeling that hunger rise in me.
I needed him.
I needed his mouth, his hands, his weight pressing me into the bed.
Because the world outside was too much.
Miriam and her warning. The judgmental looks from classmates. The whispers that followed me like a bad perfume.
And Stephen.
Stephen, who hovered. Stephen, who smiled too much. Stephen, who was the only boy not afraid to be seen with me.
So yes, I needed this.
I turned to face Zion, expecting him to already be watching me the way he always did—like he couldn't decide whether to push me away or pull me apart.
But tonight, his arms were folded. His face was tight.
I frowned. "What's wrong with you?"
He sighed, running a hand over his short curls. "Jade, we need to talk."
I paused, then snorted. "Talk?"
His eyes met mine. "Yeah."
I sighed dramatically, flopping onto his bed. "Talk about what?"
"Stephen."
My stomach tightened.
I sat up slowly. "Stephen?"
Zion leaned against his desk, watching me too closely. "Yeah. What do you even know about that guy?"
I scoffed. "This again?"
"This again?" he repeated. "So someone has warned you before?"
I groaned. "Zion, please, don't start. Stephen is just—"
"Just what?" His voice was sharp. "Just coincidentally always around you? Just happens to sit with you all the time? Just happens to agree with everything you say?"
"Maybe because he actually likes me?" I snapped.
Zion's jaw tightened. "Jade, you're not stupid."
I folded my arms. "Then why are you talking to me like I am?"
He exhaled like he was trying to be patient. "I'm saying that there's something off about him."
I laughed without humor. "Wow. So now I need your approval for my friends?"
His gaze darkened. "You really think that's what this is about?"
"What else is it about?" I shot back. "You don't like that Stephen actually acknowledges me in public while you pretend I don't exist."
Zion flinched.
Bullseye.
I stood up, stepping closer. "Let me guess. It annoys you that he isn't ashamed to sit with me, to talk to me, to let people know we're cool. Because if people knew about us, your whole reputation as 'Pastor Zion' would be ruined, right?"
Zion rubbed his temples. "Jade—"
I kept going. "Or maybe you just don't like that another guy is giving me attention. Maybe that bothers you."
His hands dropped to his sides. "Maybe it does."
I paused.
I hadn't expected him to admit it.
For a moment, neither of us spoke. The air between us was thick—too thick.
He took a step forward. Then another.
I knew this rhythm. I knew what came next.
His fingers brushed my jaw, tilting my face up. His thumb traced my bottom lip, slow and deliberate.
My breath hitched.
His touch burned me and he knew it.
I waited for him to say something. Something real.
But then his hands moved lower, cupping my breasts through my thin top, kneading like he had just remembered why he called me here.
Something snapped in me.
I shoved his hands away.
He blinked. "What?"
"You're so predictable," I said coldly.
His brows pulled together. "What are you talking about?"
I stepped back. "Every single time. Every time I try to get you to talk about what we are, you do this. You touch me, kiss me, and suddenly I forget what I was mad about."
Zion exhaled. "Jade—"
"But I see it now," I interrupted. My voice was shaking, but I didn't care. "I see it so clearly. You don't want me. You want the sex."
His face darkened. "That's not true."
I let out a bitter laugh. "Then why don't you ever prove otherwise?"
He didn't answer.
I swallowed hard. "You act like you love me in here, but out there? I don't even exist."
His hands curled into fists. "You think it's that simple?"
"It is," I said quietly. "You either love me, or you don't."
His mouth parted. His throat bobbed like he wanted to say something.
But instead of speaking, he grabbed my waist again.
I shoved him away harder this time.
"You can't keep doing this, Zion," I said, my voice breaking. "You can't just touch your way out of the truth."
His nostrils flared. "And Stephen can? He's got you thinking he's different, huh?" His voice was low, dangerous. "That he's better?"
"At least he sees me as a human being," I snapped.
Zion's eyes flashed. "And how well do you even know him, Jade? Huh?"
I swallowed.
"Do you know where he's from?" Zion pressed. "Do you know his friends? His past? Or are you just so desperate for someone to claim you in public that you don't care?"
I slapped him.
The sound rang through the room like a gunshot.
Zion's face snapped to the side.
My chest rose and fell, my fingers trembling.
I hadn't meant to.
I hadn't—
He turned back to me slowly. His eyes were burning.
"You should go," he said, his voice tight.
My throat ached.
I hesitated—just for a second.
Then I grabbed my bag and stormed to the door, yanking it open with so much force that it banged against the wall.
I left without looking back.