Chapter Twenty-Four

The next morning, I'm bleary-eyed and exhausted, standing at my sink with my toothbrush hanging out of my mouth, when my phone buzzes on the counter.

THREE:

You better have at least half your stuff done

I stare at my phone and then my reflection, wondering if I'm hallucinating from lack of sleep. I spent most of the night alternating between working on our story and embarrassingly flinging myself around my bed, thinking about our kiss.

ME:

Half of what done?

THREE:

Your STUFF

For the story

Come on, Evans

All my warm, fuzzy feelings die a swift death. It's amazing how he can kiss me until I lose sleep over him and then immediately inspire me to murder.

ME:

You better be joking

THREE:

Come let me in. I have coffee

You can't just show up without warning!

I drop my phone on the counter and rush to get dressed. By the time I'm done, hair clipped back into something at least presentable-adjacent and wearing a combination of clothes I can stand to be seen in, I have several missed texts.

THREE:

Hello? Are you seriously leaving me out here? We have work to do

Evans

Evans

Evans

Okay you did this to yourself

I swing open my door, choking out a shocked noise when I find him standing on the other side, hand poised to knock. He has two coffee cups in his free hand, one balanced atop the other.

"How'd you get in here?" I demand, sounding weirdly annoyed for someone who is exploding-glitter-and-butterflies happy to see him.

He passes me a coffee. "Someone was leaving. They let me in."

I frown. "They should know better than to do that. We used to have a drug dealer in this building."

He snorts. "So, do I have to stay out here all morning?"

I eye his backpack, then his face. He looks pale and exhausted, but he's smiling like he's happy to see me too.

"I guess not." I hold up my cup. "Since you brought coffee."

"Oh, only because of that?"

I shrug, moving aside so he can come in. As he crosses the threshold, he swoops in and presses a quick kiss to the spot just below my ear. I laugh, shying away, and end up leaning against the door as he kisses me again. Longer this time. Slower.

I nearly crush my coffee cup.

When he pulls back, it's with one last, small kiss. "Good morning."

"Good morning," I murmur, a little lightheaded. "Did you sleep at all?"

"How could I, when I had to pick up your slack?" He says it right in my ear, like whispered sweet nothings.

My warm feelings turn to ice. "Hey, I was up all night too, you know!"

He shoots me a grin that can only be described as cheeky, pulling me closer. "Thinking about me?"

I glower at him, turning my head away. "Yeah. A few more hours, and I'd know where to stash the murder weapon and how to dispose of the body. But you showed up early."

He laughs, leaning in to nip my jaw, but I'm distracted by the sound of the stairwell door banging shut. I nudge Three with my shoulder, trying to move so I can close my door, but I freeze when a familiar figure strolls by.

"Lincoln," I squeak in surprise when he does a double take at my open door. This time, I push Three away a little harder and move in front of him.

It's not that Lincoln and I had something. We were flirting at most, and it was the lightest, fluffiest version of it. I don't think I owe him anything, but I'm woefully inexperienced in this arena. I have no idea how to handle this.

"Hey," Lincoln says, backtracking. His gaze flicks past me briefly, and he nods at Three. "I'm Lincoln. I'm the RA upstairs."

Three recovers quickly, and even as I feel his gaze burning against the back of my neck, he says, all easy manners, "Hey, I'm Three."

"We're working on some stuff for the Torch," I explain.

Three doesn't say anything, but he clears his throat loudly. He's undeniably annoyed right now.

I hesitate. I don't know what to do here. It had to be clear when Lincoln walked by that Three and I were… not simply coworkers. And I don't want to be overly honest and hammer away at a point that's already been made.

But I get lucky, because Lincoln's gaze has turned understanding, though no less friendly. "Another Great Porn Ban?" he jokes, and it lacks any teasing flirtation there might once have been.

I relax, exhaling a laugh. "Hopefully something big enough that that isn't the first story people think of when they hear my name."

"Good luck. That one was pretty memorable." Lincoln grins, jerking his thumb toward the other end of the hall. "I've gotta pick up the duty phone from Chloe. I'll see you later."

I give him a wave as I shut my door, turning toward Three again. He's stalked to the middle of my room, whatever mask he put on for Lincoln replaced with a flat expression.

"So that's what you're into?" he asks abruptly.

I frown. "What are you talking about?"

"Rugged farmer types." He flicks his hand at the door, simultaneously indicating and dismissing Lincoln.

I blink at him. "Is this you being jealous?"

And why do I like it?

"Please. Of the Carhartt King?"

"You're really selling it." I try not to let it show how delighted I am by this.

He looks away, his jaw tightening. He sets his backpack on my desk chair and removes his laptop. "I drafted an intro and compiled my interviews so we can easily pull quotes for the rest. I copied the messages—" He breaks off with a frustrated sound, turning to me. "If it'd turned out it was him, would you have wished it was me?"

I'm not sure which of us is more surprised when my answer comes without hesitation: "Yes."

His annoyance snuffs out instantly. "What?"

"Did you expect me to say no?" I set my coffee on my desk and cup his face, forcing him to meet my eyes. "The only thing that made me uncertain about how much I liked Hayes was how I felt about you."

He exhales, and it seems to shake from his throat. "Really?"

"Even though you were an asshole ninety percent of the time."

He cringes. "Okay, I don't love that—"

"But sometimes I liked it."

"Oh, so you're as messed up as I am," he says with a laugh, slipping his arms around my waist. Relief has flooded his face.

"Am I?"

He makes a thoughtful sound. "Maybe… slightly less than I am. But only because you liked me in spite of the fact that I was an asshole. And I liked you most when you were being an asshole back."

"Wow, you really are messed up."

"That doesn't even scratch the surface." He nuzzles into my hair, his mouth finding my ear. "Just wait until you hear all the other stuff I'm into."

I go fluttery at the thought. "Like what?"

"I don't know, Evans," he murmurs. "I feel like we should probably wait more than, you know, one day…"

"It doesn't feel like it's only been one day."

He pulls back to look at my face. "I thought it was just me. But I've had you in my mind for months." He brushes my hair back, tucking it behind my ear. "I'd understand if you aren't there yet. I spent all winter break trying to warm you up to the idea of me, but I knew it'd take a while once you found out. And that was if you found out on my terms, which… clearly didn't happen."

I hesitate, the truth locked at the back of my throat. But he's being honest with me, and rather than gathering all his truths for ammunition, I have a new feeling—I want to be honest too. Before, sharing anything felt like losing. Now there's no bigger win than knowing that when I offer my feelings to him, he'll give me the truth in response.

"I liked you right away," I say. "Before any of this. Before Hayes. Before you were an asshole to me."

His eyebrows arch up. "You did?"

I flush, embarrassed. "You didn't notice from the way I brought you coffee… every. Single. Day?" At his blank look, I groan. "I knew it. You barely even noticed me, didn't you?"

"That's not—That's—" He sighs, hanging his head for a moment. When he lifts it again, his expression is resolved. "I had a girlfriend. Not when we met—before that. She broke up with me over the summer."

I remember this—Hayes telling me his girlfriend broke up with him because he was "regressing." I'd forgotten, and I feel a flare of my own jealousy now. That this girl, whoever she is, got him first.

"I was still pretty hung up on her," Three continues, "so I wasn't focused on girls when I got to school. And then fall break, I found out she got a new boyfriend. Some granola guy majoring in nonprofit something-or-other. Someone out to do a lot of good in the world. And I realized, even if I got my shit together the way I wanted to, I was never going to be that guy. I felt like garbage. So I went on Buckonnect, hoping to find something easy. All the pledges were on it, lining up hookups, and I had a moment of weakness, thinking I could do that. Be worse than I already was." He puts his hands on my cheeks, turning my face up to his. "And then I matched with you. First try. Only try. Because I'm not good at flirting, and I said the one thing I could think of, and you just… went with it. And I liked that, right away. I didn't want to bother with anyone else."

I swallow. First try. That wasn't the case for me—Hayes wasn't first.

Now that I think of it, he was third. And he was best.

Three slides his hands down to my shoulders and squeezes. "So yeah, in the beginning, I thought you were bringing me coffee to be nice."

"I was. Because I liked you. I don't think I ever stopped. It was always there, covered by many, many, many—"

"Okay, we get it."

"—layers of rage." That makes him laugh, and I lean into him. "I got a crush on you as soon as I met you. Because you're cute and funny, and you talked to me like we'd already known each other for years. I'm the type of person who has trouble making friends, so I appreciated that a lot. And watching you work was fascinating. I'll probably regret telling you this"—I heave a dramatic sigh—"but I think you're brilliant. You'll probably end up being one of those reporters little kids look up to, which is so annoying."

He bites back a smile. "That might be the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me."

I shoot him a look. "Don't let it go to your head. I'm still planning to beat you."

"Trust me, I know. I wouldn't have gone so hard against you if I wasn't worried you'd win."

"Seriously? It hasn't felt that way."

He blinks at me. "Wyn, I think you're an incredible reporter. I always knew you were good, but this stuff you've been doing lately…" He trails off, color tingeing his cheeks. "Every story I've done, I've just been trying to outdo you. You know how to write about people in a way that does not come naturally to me. I'm good at a callout, maybe. But I'm not always good at protecting people while I do it. If I were, you wouldn't have had to deal with the blowback from my story about Ellie. And I wouldn't have had to deal with the fallout from writing about her the way I did in the first place. I'm learning there are ways to hold the people in power accountable while doing a lot less harm to the people affected. I should've been trying to learn from you rather than best you, but I had to get past the Wellborn brainwashing first."

I tilt my head, rubbing his back lightly. "Do you want to tell me about it?"

He huffs out a humorless laugh. "About my traumatic upbringing?"

"Yes."

He meets my gaze, his throat working as he swallows, and I get the feeling this is costing him. But maybe it's worth the price to get it off his chest. "My grandpa—Pop—was really hard on his kids, but I think harder on my dad than anyone. So I get why my dad is the way he is. I spent a lot of time with Pop too. He loved pitting my cousins against each other—Wells and me more than the others, because we're the oldest and the same age. My dad expected me to win at all costs, and I came in second place every fucking time." He blows out a breath, looking suddenly sad. "Until I didn't. Do you know how it feels to win when you know someone else is throwing the game?"

"I imagine… not great?"

"It's worse than losing. Knowing everyone is looking at you, thinking… if Wells would just try…" He sighs, glancing away. "But it was like one day, Wells just decided he didn't want it anymore. I think the worst part was that my dad was happy. He didn't care how I was winning, only that I was. And I played right into it, even at school. House prefect, swim captain, editor-in-chief. I collected first place, thinking if I won enough, then I'd be enough."

He rolls his eyes, shaking his head. "I didn't get it until last year, when Meredith—my sister—was in eighth grade, and I saw what my dad was willing to do to make her the best too. It was never just about me, and he'd never be satisfied. It's been a long, back-and-forth fight with myself undoing everything they drilled into me, especially in my relationship with Wells. We're still figuring out all the bullshit from what Pop put us through. But we can do that together. The other stuff, I have to do on my own, and it's harder. I've messed up a lot, and almost given up a few times. But working for what I want is as much for Mer as it is for me. So she knows that when the time comes, I'm on her side."

I reach up to brush his hair back. "That's a big burden to carry."

He shakes his head but leans into my touch. "I grew up with a lot. Anything I wanted that money could buy, and more. I shouldn't complain; I had it pretty good most of the time, especially once I went away to school. So you don't have to feel sorry for me—"

"I don't feel sorry for you." I put my arms around him, pulling him close. "I'm proud of you."

He relaxes against me, looser now than he's maybe ever been. Like all the tension has bled out of him at those words.

"You don't have to bottle everything up just because some people have it worse than you do," I say. "It is a big burden to carry, being that person for your sister."

"I think the worst part is that I still like coming in first. I don't know if I'll ever be able to not like that feeling."

"Three, most people like that feeling. I think the majority of people would call themselves competitive." I slide my hand down his arm, tickling my fingers against his palm. "You might be a little more diabolical than most, but with the right opponent, that's not necessarily a bad thing."

He smiles, nudging his knee against mine. "Good point. You're pretty diabolical too. I mean, you did steal my nudes."

"Oh my god!" I shove him away. "You will never let that go. I didn't steal your nudes."

"Ah, right." He nods, his expression thoughtful. "Just my story. And my glasses." He levels me with a devilish look.

"And you pretended you were going to kiss me. Which I think is—"

"I wasn't pretending."

"You said ‘I win.'?"

He raises his eyebrows at me. "Evans, I wasn't pretending. I was going to kiss you. It was thanks to a bare minimum of self-control that I didn't."

I glare at him. "You're lying."

"You really couldn't tell? Halloween, that time you tried to maim me at the pool, the day you stole my glasses"—he ticks each one off on his fingers—"should I keep going? You were so embarrassed when I found out you had a dream about me, but you have no idea how much I've thought about you. Fully awake. Honestly, you probably owe me at least one slap across the face for some of the things I've thought about."

I gape at him.

"You had a crush on me from the beginning," he says, twisting a lock of my hair around his finger. "And I've wanted to kiss you since before I knew you were Pomerene. Long before. The curse of my fatal flaw."

"How so?"

He sighs, a loose smile on his lips. "Because I'm really good at making girls hate me. And I guess girls who hate me is my kink."

"Is that going to be a problem for me?" I fist my hands in the front of his shirt and tug lightly. "Because I don't hate you?"

He stares at me, his gaze intense as he dips his head closer. "That's the opposite of a problem."

He kisses me slowly, leaning me back against my bed frame. I should be alarmed at how easy it is to lose myself in him—how quickly I forget why he's here, and what we should be doing. It all turns to dandelion fluff, drifting off on the smallest breeze.

I pull away briefly, my lips still so close they brush his when I whisper, "Should we…?" I tilt my head, indicating my bed behind me.

His gaze slides past me, and I'm gratified to see something like hunger in his eyes. He wants this as badly as I do—and has for a long time.

I pull him to follow as I climb up onto my bed, and he stretches out beside me, his mouth finding mine again. His fingers sift through my hair as he settles, one arm propped beside my head, our legs twined together lazily. We find a rhythm, taking our cues from each other, and I'm starting to think maybe I haven't been kissed before. Because kissing Three feels nothing like those awkward kisses I had in high school. It blots them out completely, incomparable.

"Is this okay?" he whispers, his thumb brushing a millimeter of skin at the waist of my jeans. He pulls back to check my face.

I swallow against my labored breath. "Do you… want to?"

He smiles. "I'm asking if you want to."

"I do if you do. You… I mean, you know what I look like, but I don't want you to be surprised by how it feels under here." I take his wrist, sliding his hand beneath my shirt.

He meets my gaze, his own heavy-lidded and intense. "Wyn, I've thought about this a thousand times. The only thing surprising me so far is how my imagination didn't do you justice."

I flush and cover my face with my hands. "How do you say stuff like that?"

He laughs, tugging at my wrists. "I'm hoping if I'm honest enough, you'll tell me about that dream you had."

I let him pull my hands from my face, but I know I've gone nuclear. Three smiles, sitting back, and slides my hands just barely beneath his shirt.

He raises his eyebrows. "Same time?"

As he leans back down, mouth brushing mine, my hands glide up his torso, bunching his shirt against my forearms. At the same time, he slides his hand under my shirt again, squeezing my waist. His skin is feverishly hot, but I know I'm burning just as bright right now.

Even though I know he was up all night—he has the dark circles to prove it—there is nothing slow or lazy in the way he kisses me. His weight settles on me, the heat between us intensifying.

Then he slides his leg up between mine, and I make a noise I've only ever made alone before.

He freezes, pulling back to look at my face. There are two spots of pink high on his cheeks, and he's breathing hard.

"What?" When he doesn't answer right away, embarrassment burns through me. "Stop looking at me like that." I grab his collar, dragging him back in.

He lets me kiss him for a minute, but I can tell his mind has wandered, and a wave of nerves washes over me.

I push him away. "What?" I peer at his face. "Did I just kill the mood or something?"

Three blinks, his gaze hazy. "No."

I start to retreat, extracting my limbs from our tangle. "I totally did."

He catches my hands, holding them against his chest. He exhales a soft laugh. "Wyn, you didn't kill anything. Just give me a minute. Otherwise we're gonna be done here a lot faster than you probably expected."

His meaning dawns on me, and I drop my gaze.

"Okay, well, you don't have to make direct eye contact with it," he says, laughing as he pushes my face away.

"I wasn't!" I protest, but the strength leaves my voice when he kisses my neck and I feel his tongue against my skin. When he shifts and his thigh presses against me again, I gasp.

Three grins, his mouth finding my ear. "Yeah, don't ever apologize for that," he whispers. "That's incredible."

For a long time, we forget about our story, the Dirty Four, and any impending deadlines. When we do speak, it's whispers: is this okay and do you like this and yes. A lot of yes.

Later, when we've determined that we won't be needing the condom he has in his backpack but have still unzipped and unclasped and gone further than I have before—though not further than Three has gone, as we establish during the should-be-awkward-but-isn't conversation where he learns that I'm a virgin and I learn that he isn't, and I try not to rocket straight into space fueled by some very unreasonable jealousy of his ex-girlfriend—we lie side by side in my narrow bed for a while, quiet.

"We should probably work in the library from now on," I whisper.

Three laughs, tightening his arm around me. He's shirtless but somehow still warm, unaffected by the draft in my room. "You think I'll be more likely to keep my hands to myself just because we're in public?"

"Oh, is that one of your things? You like being watched?"

"I'm more worried about you, to be honest."

I jerk back in surprise. "Me?"

He dips his head to give me a look. "Evans. You pretended to choke me in the middle of the Torch office."

I gape at him. "That wasn't—I wasn't—"

"It's okay," he murmurs, leaning in to kiss me again. "I liked it."

It occurs to me now that calling him "nightmare fuel" might have been fitting.

He is a nightmare.

One I want to have every.

Single.

Night.