Keifer had been poking at me the entire walk back.
Not literally — though honestly, I wouldn't put it past him — but with that smug, knowing tone he used whenever he thought he had the upper hand.
Which, apparently, was always.
"You know," he said, stepping in front of me so I had to slow down, "for someone who claims to be intimidating, you're very… bite‑sized."
I blinked. "Bite‑sized?"
He nodded solemnly. "Fun‑sized. Pocket‑sized. Snack‑sized."
"Snack‑sized?"
"Portable."
I stared at him. "You're digging your own grave."
He grinned. "You can't even lift a shovel."
"Oh, that's it."
Before he could react, I grabbed the sleeve of his hoodie, tugged him closer, and leaned in. His eyes widened just a little — that split second where he wasn't sure what I was about to do.
Perfect.
I pressed a quick, firm kiss to the side of his neck. Not lingering, not anything more — just enough pressure to leave a warm spot and a very faint mark.
Keifer froze.
Then—
"Jay."
His voice cracked in that way it did when he was trying very hard not to react.
I stepped back, smug. "What? You said I was bite‑sized."
"That's not— you—" He touched the spot on his neck, ears turning pink. "You can't just—"
"I just did."
He glared at me, but it was the kind of glare that had no real heat behind it. The kind that meant he was flustered and trying desperately not to show it.
"You're impossible," he muttered.
"And you love it."
He didn't answer.
He didn't have to — the way he kept touching the spot on his neck said enough.
We kept walking, and for once, he was the one avoiding eye contact. I bumped his shoulder lightly.
"Still think I'm snack‑sized?"
He exhaled sharply, half a laugh, half a surrender. "You're trouble."
"And you started it."
He shook his head, but I could see the smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
Yeah. He liked it.