Outside her kitchen window, the street was quieter than usual, though still alive with the occasional car passing by. Susan found herself staring out at it absently, a half-empty glass of water in her hand. The kiss still lingered in her mind, leaving her lips hot, swollen, and impossibly soft. It had been almost an hour since she'd fled the club, but her body still betrayed her.
When his thumb had grazed her nipple, she'd been ready to let him take her right there. The thought terrified her, and yet, she ached for it. With a sharp sigh, she drank the rest of the water before heading to her bedroom. She locked the door, climbed into bed, and tried to silence the chaos in her mind.
But the bed only made it worse. The moment she lay down, she imagined him there beside her, his body against hers. The wanting was so sharp that she had to cross her legs, clenching against the heat building inside her. Frustrated, she grabbed her pillow and blanket and moved to the couch. Curling into the small sofa, she stared at the wall and told herself over and over: "I need to avoid him. I swore off men. I have to stay away.
The next day, Susan walked into The Beast with her nerves frayed. Vanilla met her with endless chatter, bubbling over with questions about Chris and excitement Susan couldn't understand. Why was Vanilla so obsessed with him? She planned to ask later, but for now, she kept her head down.
She prayed he wouldn't show up. But of course, he did. And of course, he chose the seat directly in front of her. Every time their eyes met, he smirked, smirked! like he owned the air she breathed. It irritated her, made her feel cheap. The more disappointed she grew with herself, the angrier she became.
Chris, meanwhile, was enjoying himself far too much. Watching her squirm, seeing her fluster and steal glances, it was intoxicating. Yesterday replayed in his head: her melting into him, her moan against his lips. He found himself smiling at the memory. She was perfect for every curve, every sound. He knew she wanted him, even if she pretended otherwise. And he would play the game until she begged.
By morning, Susan returned to the café, wearing her practised fake smile. But the stares unnerved her. People seemed to recognize her. She ignored it until a phone was shoved into her face.
"Oh my God, is this you?" A woman squealed.
The world tilted as Susan read the headline above her picture:
An Odd Fling, Who Is She?
Her hands trembled as she snatched the phone. The words blurred, but the implication was clear. The article painted her as nothing more than another notch in Chris's bedpost cheap, forgettable. Heat rushed to her cheeks, a mixture of shame and rage. She wasn't one of his broken-hearted girls. She wasn't anything like that.
Her chest tightened. Now she understood why everyone was staring.
Panicked, Susan called in sick to The Beast. The thought of facing the whispers, the judgment, was unbearable. She even considered quitting. Maybe running away again. It was always easier to leave.
A sharp knock interrupted her spiralling thoughts.
"That's new," she muttered. She never had visitors. No friends, no family.
"Who is it?" she called. Silence answered. Then another knock.
"If you won't talk, I'm not opening the door!"
"Chris." His voice, thick and unmistakable, froze her in place.
Her heart stuttered. Questions swirled: How did he know where she lived? Did he see the article? Did he come to make sure she was okay? Or was this something else?
Another knock snapped her out of it. She opened the door, and he pushed past her without hesitation. She quickly shut and locked it, pressing her back against the wood. They stared at each other; the silence thick, uncomfortable.
"Don't speak to anyone about me," he said suddenly, his tone sharp, commanding.
Her anger flared. "You make it sound like I was the one following you around, threatening to get you fired!"
"You make it sound like I'm begging for your attention," he shot back.
A smirk tugged at her lips. So that's what this is? she thought. Realization stung, but it also gave her power. Her gaze met his, steady.
"Then you don't have any reason to be here." She opened the door wide, her voice cool. "Don't worry about me talking to anyone. I don't know you, and I don't intend to. I'm not interested in you."
He hesitated as if about to speak, but she shut the door in his face.
For once, the satisfaction was hers. He didn't get to treat her like trash when he was the one who kissed her first.