Lucas's POV
I laughed, the sound sharp and mocking, anger pulsing through me. "Suit yourself. Do what you want."
Anne huffed, her eyes flashing, and whipped around, flinging the door open so hard it rattled the frame. "I will! I'm going to find Sasha. Enjoy your boring night!" She stormed out, her perfume lingering in the air and the echo of her footsteps fading into silence.
For a moment, I stood there, fists clenched at my sides, the silence pressing in on me like a heavy blanket. The apartment felt emptier than ever, the chaos of Anne's clothes scattered everywhere a stark reminder of the mess we'd become. But tonight, I didn't care. I just wanted peace-anything to escape the storm of our relationship.
With a deep, resigned sigh, I started picking up her things, my movements slow and heavy. Each shirt I folded felt like a small surrender, the unresolved tension between us hanging in the air, thick and electric, like a storm waiting to break.
Amy's POV
After a long day of job hunting, I trudged through the city, my legs aching and my mind swirling with exhaustion and guilt. I'd filled out applications at every café I could find, even a little bookstore, desperate for something-anything-to distract me from the ache in my chest. But with every form I filled out, the weight of my feelings for Lucas pressed heavier on my heart.
As I wandered the supermarket aisles, a wave of sadness washed over me. I thought of Lucas-his easy smile, the warmth in his eyes when he looked at me. If he ever found out how deeply I loved him, he would hate me. He loved Anne. That truth was both a comfort and a prison, a wall I couldn't scale no matter how much I wanted to.
I tried to focus on the task at hand: gathering ingredients for his favorite dish, creamy garlic chicken with sautéed vegetables. Cooking for him and Anne was my way of apologizing, of showing I cared-even if it meant reinforcing the distance between us. I clung to the hope that, just for one evening, we could all sit together and I could pretend things were simple.
As I picked up a plump chicken breast, I pictured Lucas's boyish grin as he tasted my cooking. Would he ever see what was simmering beneath my careful actions? Would he notice the love I tried so hard to hide?
I reached for fresh garlic, my heart aching. By cooking for them, I was both caring for him and keeping myself at arm's length. I saw how happy he was with Anne, and the thought of stepping into that sunshine-only to cast a shadow-hurt more than I could admit.
Still, I wanted to be close to him, even if it was just through a meal. As I gathered the last ingredients, I tucked away the hope that tonight, maybe, I could ease my guilt and bring us together.
When I got back to the apartment, the sight that greeted me made my pulse quicken. Lucas stood in the living room, wearing only a snug sleeveless shirt that clung to his sculpted biceps. Sweat glistened on his skin as he moved the vacuum, his muscles flexing with every motion. He was completely oblivious to my presence, and for a moment, I just watched, breathless.
Desire curled low in my stomach. I swallowed hard, trying to steady myself, but it was useless. The way his arms moved, the way his shirt hugged every line of his body-it was magnetic, and I couldn't look away.
"Lucas! You're being so productive," I called out, my voice softer than I intended as I stepped into the room, arms full of groceries.
He jumped, startled, then broke into a slow, genuine smile that melted away the last traces of his earlier sulk. Seeing me always seemed to lift his mood. "Hmmm. I've always been hardworking," he replied, trying to sound casual, but the way his eyes lingered on me sent a thrill through my body.
When he noticed me struggling with the bags, he quickly turned off the vacuum and strode over, his movements confident and easy. As he reached for the groceries, our fingers brushed-just a fleeting touch, but it sent a jolt of electricity through me, making my heart race.
"Thanks," I murmured, my gaze lingering on his arms as he took the bags from me. Every flex and shift of his muscles drew my eyes, and I had to force myself to look away, cheeks burning.
He carried the groceries to the kitchen, his shirt clinging to his back, and I couldn't help but admire the way his body moved-strong, capable, and so achingly close.
As he set the bags down, he turned to face me, our eyes locking in a moment that felt loaded with everything we couldn't say. The air between us thickened, the playful banter from earlier giving way to a deeper, unspoken tension.
"Are you going to stand there and gawk, or are you going to help me with this?" Lucas teased, his voice lower than usual, an edge of something dangerous in his tone.
"Oh, I'm helping-I'm just… admiring the view," I shot back, stepping closer, my heart pounding in my chest.
He chuckled, a slow, alluring smile spreading across his face as he closed the distance between us, our bodies nearly touching. "Well, I hope the view comes with some dessert," he said, his voice dropping, eyes glinting with mischief.
The space between us crackled with possibility, my breath coming faster as I fought the urge to reach out and trace the line of his arm, to feel the heat of his skin beneath my fingers. Instead, I shook my head, a playful grin masking the longing in my eyes.
"Don't flatter yourself, Lucas," I teased, glancing around the apartment for Anne. "By the way, where's your Juliet?"
He busied himself with the groceries, his back to me. "Hmmm, she's out with Sasha," he replied, his voice tight, a forced smile on his lips.
I caught the flicker of frustration in his eyes and decided to change the subject. "Well, I want to cook your favorite food today," I declared, poking his cheek to lighten the mood.
His grin returned, brighter this time. "Oh yeah? You mean creamy garlic chicken?" he asked, leaning in, excitement sparking in his eyes.
"Absolutely!" I replied, feeling my spirits lift as I moved to the kitchen counter. "And I'm sorry if I made you feel down today. As an apology, I'm going all out with dinner, okay?"
He watched me, his gaze softening. "Amy, you could never hurt me," he said, voice earnest. "Your attention means everything to me. And cooking for me? That's already the perfect apology."
The words lingered between us, thick with meaning neither of us dared to name. I smiled, my heart full and aching all at once, as I set to work-hoping he'd taste the truth in every bite.