"Kaioh and I are seeing a movie." Anthony poked his head into my room. "You good?"

I looked over at him with a bored expression. "As if I hadn't lived here for over twenty years? I think I'll be fine."

He rolled his eyes, stretching his shoulders back. Though we didn't talk about relationships, I knew he was happy with Kaioh, and that made me happy. As long as I knew that, I was okay with the vague mentions.

"Just making sure," he grumbled before disappearing.

Since Dad was away on a week-long trip with friends to Vegas, I'd decided to come over for the weekend to spend time with my brother, but he'd told me tonight he was going out with Kaioh so I'd be by myself.

After the front door closed, I snuggled into the bed and let the familiar smell envelop me. At some point, I dozed off while watching the movie and was woken up by the sound of my phone ringing. When I lifted it to my face, Emmie's name appeared on the screen and just like that, the pacing of my heart soared sky-high as I was immediately flooded with mental images of Zachariah pressed up against me, sending my stomach into knots before eventually soothing me.

I'd successfully avoided her since that night, with only a few noncommittal texts sent back and forth between us, but I knew eventually I'd have to face her. Being able to successfully dodge her for this long was a fluke, and I was due for a visit soon.

Likely sooner than I was ready for if this call went the way I thought it would.

Taking a deep breath like I was ready to plunge myself into the furthest depths of the Pacific Ocean, I slid the answer button and lifted the phone to my ear.

"Hey, Ems."

She sounded too cheery at first, which was questionable. "Hey! Are you busy right now? Or later tonight."

"No," I answered cautiously. "What's up?"

"I know you probably don't want to hear about this anymore but...I finally cut things off with Jarrod. No friends. Nothing. And I kind of need to just chill somewhere and vent."

I pulled the phone away and sucked in a breath. There was no reason to be worried about this confession, but my mind went to a million different places it shouldn't have gone. Namely, the idea that Emmie had a habit of going back to old flames when she felt lonely. And if Jarrod was the one being cut off this time, that meant—

He wasn't mine. Never would be mine. But the idea of them together again left a sickly feeling in my gut.

"Of course," I quickly replied, snapping myself out of it. "I'm back at the house for a few days."

"Oh!" she remarked. "I'll come over there. I've been meaning to bring your dad something to help cheer him up. He still likes lau lau from that one place, right?"

"Yeah but he's not here right now. He went to Vegas for the week." I pulled the comforter higher as a cool breeze blew through the window. "You don't have to bring anything. We have food here. I'm sure with our two brain cells, we can manage to cook something."

Emmie quickly shooed me off. "Honestly, I have something to do for my dad anyway so I'll pick up a pizza or something."

"I won't argue with that then." Before we hung up, I asked "How long do you think you'll be?"

"Maybe a couple of hours. I'll text you when I'm on my way."

We ended the call with a quick goodbye. Knowing time would pass quickly if I kept busy, I decided to clean up around the house before she arrived. Anthony hated doing dishes, so I cleared the sink and had everything resting on the drying rack. If there was anything he'd notice and appreciate when he came back, it'd be a clean sink.

Since I still had time before Emmie would probably head over, I decided to jump in the shower. I debated taking a hot bath, but if I was being honest, I didn't trust myself to not fall asleep in it.

I walked out of the bathroom after I was done—freshly shaved, shampooed, and feeling like an entirely new person. Before I put my t-shirt on over my sports bra, there was a knock at the door. A quick flash of light from my phone alerted me to an incoming text, so I figured I missed her call to let me know she was close by. With the towel wrapped around my head, I opened the front door.

Life operated in cycles of events repeating itself, often in the most unsuspecting manner. So when I opened the door to see Zachariah leaning against the frame, much like he'd done the first time he came to the house, I found myself in the same flabbergasted state from that day.

"We have to stop meeting like this," he joked.

I did what any sane person would have done—I threw the towel on his face and quickly yanked my shirt on while he wrangled himself out of the mess I'd thrown him into.

"Nothing I haven't seen before," he said before stepping inside the house and closing the door behind him.

"What are you doing here?" I asked.

I wasn't complaining, but he had shit timing. Something compelled me to alert him of Emmie's plans to spend the night, but I couldn't get myself to bring it up.

"I haven't been sleeping," he replied as he dropped down onto the couch. He listened for something or someone else in the house, but only silence echoed back. "Where's Anthony?"

"I told you he was going out with his boyfriend." I grabbed the towel and tossed it into the hallway.

Zachariah watched me try to keep busy. "You did, and then stopped replying to my messages."

I scoffed, "Since when did you get so needy?"

He didn't answer the question. "What did I interrupt?"

"I've been watching this super obscure movie." I lowered my voice to play up the dramatics. "You might not have heard of it. Very indie."

"Oh really? And what would that be?"

"Mulan."

He snickered. "You're so annoying."

"And yet you're the one coming over to hang out with me. What does that make you?"

Zachariah looked down at me and smiled. "Equally as annoying."

...

After the movie ended, Zachariah started another before returning to his spot on the bed. It'd been a couple of hours since I hung up the phone with Emmie, so I'd forgotten about her at that point, but Zachariah kept me company with his astute and hysterical commentary, something I didn't mind since the two movies we were watching weren't new.

"Why aren't you sleeping?" I asked once the opening credits started playing.

In the dim light of a moonlit night sky, I could easily see the dark shadows beneath his eyes, and the sight of it sent my heart spiking with worry. It always did, even though this wasn't the first time it happened.

"It's just me," he groaned. He dragged his hands down his face in frustration. "It's always me."

I pulled his hands away from his face. "You don't have to hide it. It only makes you feel worse when you feel like you're the only one going through it."

He released a shaky breath, tendrils of confusion unfurling inside his chest. Usually, all it took was one reminder that he didn't need to hide for him to remember to open up again.

"You're right," he said. "I think I'm gonna take a week off. Maybe that'll give me a good restart, hopefully not feel like pulling out my hair every single day of the week."

"That would be ideal," I concluded. "But honestly, I feel like sometimes doing nothing makes me feel worse. I get the appeal of just giving yourself a break and not having to think about anything, but I don't know, sometimes I feel like doing nothing almost reminds me too much of how shitty I feel. Like I'm just sitting there with my thoughts and it's so easy to drown under all of it."

"So what do you do when you want to drift away without getting lost at sea?" he inquired.

I had to think about it. "If I'm trying to not be a complete slob then I like to clean. But every once in a while I just chill with a good book." I glanced over at him and noticed the immediate recoil. "Sorry, I know you're allergic to books."

"I just get so bored," Zachariah laughed. He rested his hands over his stomach and crossed his fingers together.

I scoffed, "What do you do all day then? Besides drink and write songs you never let anyone else listen to."

He sucked in a breath and smiled. "Shots fired, eh?"

I shrugged.

"Well nowadays, that's pretty much it." He looked up at the ceiling. "And a lot of alone time, unfortunately."

Heat rose to my cheeks and I had to turn away. Not that I was shy, but talking about them with Zachariah felt incredibly taboo.

"I wasn't asking what you did when you had blue balls."

I could feel his eyes on me the entire time, but I stared at the ceiling because looking anywhere else would set my nerves ablaze.

"There's a lot of overlap, Alex."

Without turning, I tossed the corner of the blanket over his face and heard his muffle laugh make its way through the thick fabric.

"There are some things we don't need to tell our friends."

He nudged my side and the heat rose like the ghost of his touch. "Sorry, I don't mean to make you uncomfortable."

"Sure you didn't."

The words were defensive, but my tone was teasing. Because as much as I didn't want to admit it, there was a part of me that liked the game. Calum and I jokingly pushed each other's buttons all the time like a weird form of foreplay. I suppose if that was anything like what this conversation was going to turn into, it must not be that weird.

"Is it 'cause it's me?" he questioned. "Or because you don't like to talk about it."

"Obviously you're a factor," I admitted. If the fact that we hadn't talked about the kiss at Romi's house was any indication we'd spent too long avoiding discussing the elephant in the room, it was clear we were past the point of pretending it didn't happen. "But I don't have a problem talking about sex."

"Talking about sex is different than talking about masturbating, Alex."

"Literally why are we having this conversation?"

It was clear he enjoyed this conversation a little too much. "You asked me what I do when I'm alone."

I tried to flick the blanket back over him but he caught it before it stuck the landing. "We can go back to talking about how you don't like to show anyone your music anymore."

"Tell me to stop if you want, but do you not talk about it to anyone?" he asked, turning on his side to face me. With his elbow perched against the mattress, he rested his head in the palm of his hand. "Do you not talk about it at all?"

"Not so casually, no."

He was silent as he studied me, trying to figure out what I was thinking. I'd never been more thankful for his inability to not read my mind.

"There's nothing to be afraid of," he added. "You shouldn't feel embarrassed about it."

I scoffed. "Who said I'm embarrassed to talk about it?"

"The fact that you can't look at me makes it kind of obvious."

Mustering as much courage as I could, I finally looked him in the eyes. A delicate balance of intrigue and concern danced between us as if he were reading something between lines that even I couldn't decipher.

"Do you...do you not masturbate?"

I covered my face with my hands, hoping he couldn't see the blush forming over my entire body. "I don't know how we got here. We were just watching Disney movies."

He waited for me to answer his question. I squirmed under his watchful eye.

"It's okay," he said quietly. "We don't have to talk about it if you don't want to. But you know you can talk to me about anything. I'm not here to judge."

Zachariah turned back to the screen and pretended like he'd been watching the movie all along, leaving me to boil in the heat he'd ignited within me.

In that split second before I responded, I asked myself why it bothered me, or even what bothered me. Before the kiss, no topic was off-limits between us. There were few people in life I ever felt like I could talk about anything with and Zachariah was one of them. And even though our recent actions blurred the lines, I knew before they happened I would have opened up to him.

"Is it weird?" I asked, my voice coming out small. "You'd think someone like me would be fine with it, right?"

Even though he shifted his focus back to me, he didn't lower the volume of the movie or change the position of his body, appearing as if just having a brief exchange while still being fully committed to watching the movie to which I knew neither of us was paying attention.

"What do you mean by someone like you?"

I glanced down at the blanket. "You know....someone that has a lot of casual sex."

"Why would that mean anything?" His question was genuine, even though my brain thought the answer was obvious. "You think having sex means you have to be comfortable with masturbating?" He paused. "Not that I'm saying you aren't comfortable, but if I'm just picking up the signs. Correct me if I'm wrong."

It was painfully obvious how uncomfortable I was, but I appreciated the effort to pretend otherwise.

"I don't know," I mumbled. "I guess I just never had anyone else talk to me about so I never felt comfortable doing it."

"Have you tried watching porn? Or, I don't know, I'm sure books have stuff like that, right?"

"Well, no because I take issue with the exploitation in the porn industry," I answered, "And yeah there are books with smut or whatever but I don't read a lot of them. Even if I did, I don't think watching a video or reading something makes it easier. It just....feels weird. And when you start after you've already been having sex for years, it kind of feels like you're this inexperienced teenager starting over again."

"I don't blame you. A lot of people don't feel comfortable talking about it, which makes it hard to get your head in the right place to do it. And it's half a mental thing, right?" He closed his eyes tight. "Not that you need me to mansplain that to you."

I tugged on the sleeve of my sweatshirt so I could fidget with that instead of the blanket. "No, I don't. But you're probably right. I just don't think about it enough to figure it out."

The air stilled as the realization of what we were discussing settled over us like a warm blanket. Suddenly, the space between us—admittedly more minimal than I would have appreciated—became glaringly obvious.

"Are we not gonna talk about the other night?" I asked, my fortitude on full display. "You said you didn't want to regret it but it kind of feels otherwise."

"I don't regret any of it."

"Then why haven't you—"

It was scary how quickly his lips became familiar with mine. Or how easily we fit together that I didn't hesitate to return the kiss, reaching across with my hands to touch him the way I'd been thinking about for the past couple of hours. In a quick flash, we battled to pull ourselves on top of each other, but my efforts were weak and I settled back into the mattress under the weight of his body.

He pulled away for a moment, resting his forehead against mine. "I just want to try something, okay? Stop me at any time."

I nodded.

It was like no time had passed since we were stuck together in that bathroom. Where we left off was right where we picked up again, and the gentle hum of his chest pulled him tighter against me until not a single breath could break our connection.

I probably should have seen it coming. The glint in his eyes was too strong, too determined to prove something. As much as I wanted to run because I knew the guilt would only continue to grow with each kiss we succumbed to, I let him lead my hand exactly where he guided me.

It should've been awkward. It should've felt weird. That's what I told myself over the years whenever I felt the shame crawl over me at the idea, but the confidence in which he led me made all of those thoughts evaporate into the air. The way he massaged any doubt out of me, allowing me to breathe and realize how much I wanted this.

He whispered encouragement into my ear, his face buried into the side of my neck. While his words untied every knot inside my body, his hand led mine down between my legs. "Just relax. Let your body guide you."

"I can't," I whined.

Still, even though the pessimism laced over my skin as thick as the sweat building from the two of us getting lost in one another, he tried his best. Every tantalizing promise slithered across my skin, every move made to build up the anticipation until I felt like it was ready to burst out of me.

"Just like that."

I couldn't focus. As much as he thought he was teaching me a lesson—absurd, the more I thought about it—while it might have been my hand leading the charge, he was the captain directing me where to go.

As a woman, I'd always been afraid to explore too much of myself—mind, body, and soul. That if I got too comfortable with any of it, the world would judge me for it. So I denied myself so many things because I thought what other people might think about it, even things that happened behind closed doors, mattered to me.

Even when his hand slipped away and left me on my own, I kept going, determined to own this for the first time in my life. I was sure I could've kept going if I wanted to, I genuinely did.

But Zachariah occupied too much of my mind. Guided me in the right direction, only to send me spiraling to find the road that led right back to him.

As if he hadn't already destroyed any sense of self-control I might have had when he first walked in here, he whispered every little dirty thing he knew I wanted to hear. Nothing tasted sweeter than the bitter poison of our attraction to each other.

"Zach," I begged. "Please."

The war raged on and I felt how engaged his entire body was in the efforts. After a few moments where the only sound that passed our ears was my heavy breathing and the long-forgotten movie playing in the background, he released a deep-seated groan. Right now wasn't the time for a lesson on self-pleasure. The only thing I needed was the very thing I knew I shouldn't be doing.

His fingers replaced mine and I was free to roam whatever part of him I wanted to. Not that my conscious was capable of focusing on anything else, so the only thing I managed was tangling my fingers inside his hair. But I pulled his face back down to mine and rode out the high.

Fast or slow—neither registered in my vocabulary when it came to jumping into bed with someone. My last "relationship" was evidence of that, however, I couldn't help but feel like, somehow, both of those were relevant here. How could something feel like it was moving too fast after we'd known each other for as long as we have? How could something that felt so good leave me feeling bad all over?

There wasn't enough air in my lungs. With each rise of my chest, it brushed against his. Every slow, sensitive touch of his finger traveling up my body washed another wave of euphoria over me as I tried to catch myself. But it was useless. I was freefalling into Zachariah's open arms and no amount of effort could stop him from catching me over and over again.

"I want you so bad," I breathed.

Nobody could convince me this wasn't one of the hardest decisions he'd made in a long time. Making out in the bathroom at a party was one thing. Playing a dangerous game of foreplay was something else. I saw it in his eyes, the way that if he had just one second longer, he would've given in. But the blaring sound of an incoming phone call was a siren warning us this wasn't the time nor the place to give in.

I scrambled off the bed in search of my phone. When Emmie's name appeared on the screen, my heart nearly palpitated right out of my chest.

"Shit," I exhaled. When I answered the call, I tried my best to not act like her ex-boyfriend had just given me an orgasm. "Hey, Ems."

"I should be there in fifteen minutes," she said in a breathy tone. "Sorry, I got held up. If you're too tired, you can just leave the key under the mat and I'll let myself in."

Shaking my hands in the air, I gestured for him to leave before even turning around. When I finally did, afraid that I would somehow give myself away, I nervously eyed Zachariah as he held a finger over his lips and made his way over to the door. He mimed giving me a call before slipping away as quickly into the night as he'd arrived.

"No, that's fine. I was still up." I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, making sure to angle the phone away before I released it. "Just give me another call when you're outside."

"Okay, sounds good! See you in a bit."