24. Alex

ALEX

NOW – SOPHOMORE YEAR – MARCH

I t’s late, and somehow, Freddie’s sprawled across my bed like he belongs there, reading something on his laptop intently. His stupidly long limbs are everywhere, and the lamp light is doing unfair things to his jawline. A week ago, we were lost in that mine, and now he’s just... here, like nothing’s changed. Except everything has.

My heart’s still doing that stupid flutter thing it started doing in the dark when he held my hand and talked me through my panic attack. It hasn’t stopped doing it since.

Also, his workout shorts should be illegal. They’re too thin, and I’m trying really hard not to notice things I definitely shouldn’t be noticing about my project partner. My ex-friend. The guy who took my virginity. My... whatever the hell Freddie is.

His phone keeps blasting some awful country song – his guilty pleasure music that he pretends not to love. I can’t take another twangy guitar riff about trucks and beer.

“Can I change this?” I ask, reaching for his phone where it sits between us on the bed. “If I have to hear one more song about a man losing his dog and his wife and his truck, I might scream.”

Freddie clutches his chest in mock offense. “First of all, this is art. Second of all, how dare you?”

I grab for his phone, but it’s locked. “What’s your password?”

“092222,” he says without hesitation.

My fingers freeze over the keypad as the numbers hit me. September 22, 2022. The night of Troy’s party. The night we met.

Oh .

Heat floods my cheeks as I realize he’s been carrying that date with him this whole time, typing it into his phone every day, even when we weren’t speaking. Even when everything fell apart.

I punch in the numbers, trying to keep my hands steady, trying to act like my heart isn’t doing backflips in my chest. Like this small revelation hasn’t completely wrecked me.

“You okay?” Freddie asks, and I realize I’ve been staring at his now-unlocked phone without moving.

“Yeah,” I manage, my voice embarrassingly breathy. “Just... trying to decide what to play.”

“Why did you kiss me last year?” The words tumble out of my mouth before I can stop them, sounding more like an accusation than a question.

Freddie looks up from his laptop, doing that thing with his eyebrow that makes me want to commit crimes. He licks his lips – stop watching his lips, Alex – and says, “I kissed you because I wanted to.”

I groan, flopping down beside him. The mattress dips, and suddenly he’s too close, radiating heat like a human furnace. “Don’t bullshit me, Freddie. I’m so tired of... this.” Of wanting you. Of pretending I don’t. Of lying to myself.

“So am I!” His voice rises, matching my frustration.

“Then let’s stop.” I turn to face him – mistake number one million when it comes to Freddie Donovan. His hazel eyes are dark, intense, seeing too much. “No more bullshit.”

He gives me a pointed look. “I’m not the one picking fights here.”

I open my mouth to protest, but he’s not wrong. I’m the one bringing up the past, keeping my walls up. Before I can formulate a response, he sighs.

“But you’re right, that wasn’t the whole truth.” He sits up, running a hand through his hair. “The truth is, I kissed you that day to shut you up. And because I wanted to.”

I feel like I’ve been slapped. “What?—!”

His hand covers my mouth, warm and calloused, and my brain short-circuits. The gesture is so unexpected, so intimate, that I freeze. My heart pounds against my ribs like it’s trying to escape. When he pulls back, it’s slow, careful.

“You weren’t listening to me,” he explains, voice low. “You were being stubborn and righteous and so fucking passionate about everything, and I couldn’t think straight. The kiss was stupid, but I thought... maybe it would make you stop long enough to hear me.”

“So you kissed me to shut me up?” I try to sound angry, but it comes out breathless.

“Uh, yeah.”

“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.”

His laugh breaks through my defenses like always – deep and genuine and infectious. I feel my own lips betraying me with a smile.

“I know, that’s what I’m saying. It was stupid,” he says, eyes crinkling. “I’m sorry. I was trying to help, in my own fucked- up way. When I made that proposal, I thought I was finding middle ground. I had no idea they were going to shut it down completely. I was trying to help you make a difference, it just... didn’t go to plan.”

My anger deflates, leaving something warm and terrifying in its wake. Oh, god.

The memories hit differently now: Freddie trying to explain about sustainable development, about working within the system, about finding compromise. I’d been so sure he was simply helping the other side. But he’d been trying to find a middle ground, just in a way my stubborn brain couldn’t understand.

Had I been so wrapped up in being right that I’d completely misread everything?

“I’m sorry,” I whisper, and mean it.

“You’re what?” Freddie’s eyes go comically wide.

“I’m sorry,” I repeat, fighting a smile. “Don’t push it, Donovan.”

He stands up from the bed, cupping his hands around his mouth like a makeshift megaphone. “Attention, UMS! Breaking news! Alexandria Ford has just admitted she was wrong! Mark the date!”

I throw a cushion at him. “Shut up! You’ll wake Tara!” But I’m laughing, really laughing, for what feels like the first time in months.

He flops back down, his head landing near my legs. Without thinking – because thinking around Freddie is clearly not my strong suit – I reach out to touch his hair. It’s softer than I expected, and something in my chest tightens when he makes this contented little sound.

“Mmm, don’t stop,” he murmurs, his voice low and gravelly. Oh , that does things to my insides.

I continue raking my fingers through his hair, amazed at how such a simple act can feel so intimate. The air between us feels charged, like the moment before a thunderstorm.

Suddenly, the door flies open. Tara bursts in, wielding... a banana?

“What the hell is going on in here?” she shouts, then freezes. “Oh.” The banana drops to the floor with a soft thud.

Freddie sits up so fast I’m surprised he doesn’t hurt himself. We spring apart like guilty teenagers, even though we weren’t... I mean, we were just...

“ Hey , Freddie,” Tara’s voice drips with suggestion. “Wasn’t expecting you here.”

“What the hell did you expect?” I ask, my cheeks burning. “And what was the banana going to do?”

Tara looks down at her fallen weapon sheepishly. “I expected... I don’t know. I guess I thought you were having an argument with some strange man and I came to help.”

I throw another pillow at her, leaving my bed sadly bereft of projectiles. “You’re insane!”

“Solid plan,” Freddie comments, looking genuinely impressed.

I shoot him a betrayed look and fall back onto the bed, groaning. “I’m surrounded by lunatics.”

Tara cackles—there’s really no other word for it. “Yep! Happy to be one.”

“Nice to see you, Tara,” Freddie offers, ever the charmer.

“You too, Freds!” She grins that too-bright grin. “How’re the guys?” A pause that isn’t subtle at all. “And... Alfie?”

I barely resist the urge to roll my eyes. Tara’s crush on Alfie has been painfully obvious for months. He seems to like her back, but it’s hard to tell with him—the guy’s about as expressive as a brick wall. She won’t make a move, though—something about “sibling code” and that Troy would, in her words, “rip Alfie’s balls out and make him eat them.” Charming .

As I watch Tara and Freddie fall into easy conversation, I’m struck by how natural this feels. It’s like we’re back in time. Before protests and fights and kisses that weren’t just kisses. When everything was simpler. When we were all just friends without the complications of feelings.

“Anyway,” Tara says, her eyes darting between us. “I guess I’ll leave you two to get back to… whatever this is.”

“Studying!” I blurt, sitting up too fast. “We’re studying.”

Freddie gives me a ‘what the hell’ look until I elbow him. Hard.

“Ow—oh! Right. Yeah. Super important… studying stuff.”

“Okaaay,” Tara drawls, a knowing smile on her lips. “Have fun!” She backs out of the room. The door clicks shut, and suddenly the room feels too small, too warm, too Freddie .

Without Tara as a buffer, the air in the room feels charged, heavy. Something that makes my skin buzz and my thoughts scatter. He runs a hand through his hair—the hair I was just touching, oh god —and my eyes catch on his bicep before I can stop them.

“So,” his voice has gone low, rough. “Studying?”

I grab the nearest textbook like it’s a shield. “Yep. Very important environmental... things.”

He laughs, and it’s unfair how that sound travels straight to my core. “That what you call playing with my hair?”

“I wasn’t—” My voice catches. “That wasn’t...”

“No?” He shifts closer, and suddenly my bed feels like it’s shrinking. “Want me to remind you?”

His hand moves toward my face with deliberate slowness, giving me every chance to pull away. I should. I really should. Instead, I’m frozen, heart hammering against my ribs as his fingers brush my cheek.

“Alex,” he murmurs, and oh , the way he says my name should be illegal.

We’re close enough now that I can see the gold flecks in his eyes, count every eyelash. My textbook thumps to the floor, forgotten.

“Freddie,” I breathe, not sure if I’m begging him to stop or keep going.

He leans in, achingly slow, and I can feel his breath on my lips. My eyes flutter shut, every nerve ending alive with anticipation?—

BANG!

We spring apart, breathing heavily, the moment shattered.

“Sorry!” Tara yells through the door. “Dropped my boot!”

Freddie laughs, breaking the tension. “Tara has impeccable timing, remind me to thank her later.”

But then his expression shifts, turns serious. “Alex, about last year… that kiss during the fight. I’m sorry. It was stupid and impulsive and?—”

“Freddie—”

“Let me finish.” His eyes lock with mine. “I’m sorry for how I did it. But I’m not sorry I did it. And honestly? I really want to do it again.”

My mind spins with a thousand reasons why this is a terrible idea. He broke my heart once. We’ve only just found our way back to friendship. One wrong move and we could lose it all.

But then Freddie looks at me like that , and all my carefully constructed reasons crumble. My eyes drop to his lips, remembering the feel of them all over me, the way his body fit against mine. The attraction I’ve been fighting roars to life, drowning out every sensible thought in my head.

“I don’t know what this is,” he says, his voice rough with something that makes my stomach flip. “It’s probably the dumbest thing we could do...” His thumb brushes my cheek. “But god, Alex, I can’t stop wanting to kiss you.”

That’s all it takes. I surge forward, pressing my lips to his. For one heart-stopping moment, he’s completely still. Then his hand slides into my hair, and oh. This isn’t like any of my awkward dates since. This is Freddie kissing me like he’s been starving for it, like he’s trying to tell me something without words.

It’s soft but urgent, tentative but sure. I pour everything into it—all the frustration, the longing, the confusion of the past year. His other hand finds my waist, pulling me closer, and I feel him doing the same.

When we break apart, we’re both breathing hard. His forehead rests against mine, thumb tracing patterns on my skin that make me shiver.

“Wow,” he whispers, and I can feel his smile.

“Yeah,” is all I can manage. Words feel inadequate.

The funny thing is, I’ve dated since Freddie. After we stopped being attached at the hip, guys actually started noticing me. I’d wondered if Freddie’s constant presence had been some sort of unintentional warning away. But those dates, that sex—it was like black-and-white sketches compared to this technicolor moment.

Being near Freddie feels like standing too close to a live wire, like every cell in my body is suddenly, vividly awake. No one else has ever made me feel this... alive.

We stay like that for a moment, savoring the closeness. But as the heat of the moment fades, reality starts to creep back in. What does this mean for us? For the project? For everything?

As if reading my thoughts, Freddie pulls back slightly, his eyes searching mine. “So… what now?”

I bite my lip. “I don’t know. This is complicated.”

He nods, running a hand through his hair. “Yeah, it is. But maybe that’s okay. We don’t have to figure everything out right now.”

I consider his words, feeling a glimmer of hope. Maybe he’s right. Maybe we can take this one step at a time.

“Okay,” I say, offering him a small smile. “So for now, we’re…?”

“Two people who like kissing each other,” he whispers. His hand traces down my stomach, making me shiver.

“Freddie,” I breathe, unable to hold back anymore. “I can’t stop thinking about that night. About how much I want…”

“Lexie,” his voice is low, warning. “Wait. I need to say something first.”

He pulls back slightly, running a hand through his hair. “You deserve someone who can give you everything. The romance, the commitment, all of it. And that’s not me. Not right now.” His eyes meet mine, serious. “I care about you too much to let you build this up into something it can’t be. If we do this... it’s just this. Just us, wanting each other.”

My chest aches at his words, but I understand. And right now, with his body so close to mine, I don’t care about the future. I just want him.

“I know all that,” I say, reaching for him. “And I don’t care. I want you anyway.”

Something in his expression shifts, and suddenly he’s over me, his weight pressing me into the mattress. The friction of his hips against mine pulls a moan from my throat.

“You sure about this?” he asks, voice rough with restraint. “Because once I start touching you, Lexie, I don’t think I’ll be able to stop.”

My answer is to pull him down for a kiss, desperate and deep. His hands slide under my shirt, and this time, I let myself forget about everything but how good this feels.

His eyes darken in one swift movement as he positions his body above mine. His hips grind against me, and the friction makes me moan.

“Can I touch you?” he asks, voice rough.

I nod, unable to form words as his fingers slip lower. The first touch is gentle, his palm flat as he rubs my swollen clit.

“Like this?” he murmurs against my neck, circling slowly.

“Yes,” I breathe, digging my hands into his shoulders. “More, Freddie. Please,” I plead.

His other hand reaches up to grab my breast, and the hand in my pants continues circling. I need more. I need to feel him inside me. The dual sensation makes me arch into his touch, wanting more. “Freddie,” I moan, asking. Hoping he understands. When he slides a finger inside me, my breath catches and my jaw goes slack.

He works me slowly, deliberately, his thumb still making those maddening circles while his finger curls perfectly inside me.

Both of his hands leave me at once, and I whimper at the loss of contact. He quickly removes his shirt and trousers before helping me with mine. I take a second to admire him in the dim light, and my god, I forgot how impressive Freddie Donovan is.

He spreads my legs open with his hands and lies next to me, sucking and humming against my nipple while his hand massages my hot, wet core. The pressure builds within me, the tension between us reaching its peak. His hand picks up the pace, and I throw my head back into the bed, unable to think straight. He turns his attention to my other nipple, licking and sucking it.

“Oh God, Freddie—” My knees try to close together, but he uses his leg to force them open. My whole body shakes, and I come while his hand still works inside me. Pleasure rolls through me, and I curl into him as I come down to earth.

“Fuck, Lexie. I love feeling you come over my hand,” he murmurs, then does the sexiest thing I have ever seen in my entire life.

He puts the fingers that were inside me—now slick with my wetness—into his mouth and closes his eyes, moaning. His dark eyelashes rest on his cheek as he sucks his fingers like they’re the most delicious taste in the world.

I feel my core tighten again. Is it possible to come without being touched?

“I need you,” I demand, pulling him closer. “All of you.” His eyebrows shoot up in surprise.

“Oh, you’re calling the shots now?” His voice is low, teasing.

“Yes,” I say, with more confidence than I feel.

“Really?” He traces a finger down my stomach, making me shiver. “Okay, Miss Ford, and what exactly do you want?” His eyes glance at his rock-hard cock and then back up at me, dark with challenge and lust.

“I—Uh—” I stammer, lost for words.

He chuckles, the sound sending heat roiling through me. “Lost for words, Lexie?” His hands slide up my arms, gathering my wrists and pinning them gently above my head. “Maybe I should take control?”

The position leaves me completely exposed beneath him, vulnerable in a way that should be scary but somehow isn’t. Not with him.

“Yes,” I breathe, relaxing into his hold.

He takes a moment just to look at me, his eyes traveling over my body with such intensity that I can almost feel it. “God, Lexie,” he murmurs. “You’re perfect. Every inch of you.”

His free hand traces patterns on my skin, making me arch toward him. “So responsive,” he says softly. “So beautiful like this.”

He leans down to kiss my neck, my collarbone, working his way lower, all while keeping my hands pinned, reminding me who’s in control.

“Tell me what you want,” he whispers against my skin. “I want to hear you say it.”

“I want you, Freddie Donovan. I want you so freakin’ bad it hurts.” He positions himself between my thighs, and his eyes lock into mine. In one swift motion, he’s inside me, and my eyes roll to the back of my head as I feel his size. He moves slowly, letting me adjust.

“Please, Freddie. Harder,” I plead. I’d imagined us having sex again, wondered what it would be like, but this feels better than I could’ve ever imagined. I need to feel all of it.

“Fuck, Lex,” his voice is strained. “You feel incredible. If I go faster?—”

“I don’t care,” I cut him off, arching into him. “I need to feel all of you.”

He groans, burying his face in my neck as his pace quickens. I hold onto his shoulders, breathing in his familiar scent—vanilla and leather and Freddie . Each thrust sends sparks of delicious pleasure through me.

“God, Lexie,” he pants against my skin. “Your pussy is so wet and tight.”

I can tell he’s close by the way his rhythm falters, the way his muscles tense under my fingers. His hand slides between us, finding that sensitive spot, and suddenly I’m climbing higher again.

“Come with me,” he murmurs, his voice rough with need. “Please, Lex.”

His voice and his words push me over the edge of the orgasm I didn’t realize was building. I cry out as pleasure crashes through me. He follows immediately after, his mouth finding mine in a desperate kiss as his body shudders above me.

For a long moment, we just lie there, his weight on top of me, catching our breath. His weight on me feels comforting, right. When he finally rolls to the side, he pulls me with him, tucking me against his chest.

“So,” he says after a while, trying for lightness, but his voice is still rough. “Two friends who like kissing each other?”

I laugh against his chest, but there’s an ache beneath it.