Twelve (Mature)

Reya

"Where did you go?" Genevieve's groggy voice cut through the silence as I eased the front door shut, trying not to make a sound.

I winced. So much for sneaking in unnoticed.

"I just went for a drive," I said, keeping my voice even, though it trembled more than I would've liked. "Needed to clear my head."

It wasn't a total lie.

Genevieve yawned. "Mmm. Okay." She didn't sound convinced, but she was too tired to push. Not tonight, at least.

I stood there for a second, waiting to see if she'd say anything else. When she didn't, I slipped upstairs, past her room and into mine, shutting the door behind me.

The second I was alone, I let out a slow, shaky breath and leaned against the door.

My pulse was still racing.

My skin still buzzed.

My lips still tingled.

I kissed Zora.

Or she kissed me back.

Either way, I'd fucked up.

I collapsed onto my bed, staring at the ceiling as the night replayed in my head.

I don't know what came over me.

Maybe it was the way she looked at me. Like I was something steady, something safe. Maybe it was the way my pulse had been hammering since she got in the car. Or maybe, deep down, I'd wanted to kiss her for a lot longer than I was willing to admit.

Before I could stop myself, I leaned in.

It wasn't rushed. It wasn't desperate. It was slow, like testing the waters, like giving her a chance to pull away.

But she didn't.

Her breath caught, just barely, before she leaned in too, her lips meeting mine.

Soft. Warm. Careful.

A slow burn instead of a wildfire.

For a second, everything else faded. The disaster of her date, the tension between us, the doubts in my head. It was just us, breathing the same air, caught in something neither of us seemed to know how to stop.

But then she exhaled, a sharp breath against my skin, and it was like reality came crashing back in all at once.

I pulled away first.

And that was the problem.

Because the second I did, I saw it. The confusion in her eyes. The hesitation. The same storm of emotions that was wrecking me from the inside out.

I should've said something.

Instead, I let her go inside without saying a word.

And now I was lying here, staring at my ceiling, knowing sleep wasn't coming anytime soon.

Eventually, exhaustion took over, and my eyelids grew heavy.

✰✰✰✰✰

The rink was empty, bathed in the dim glow of the overhead lights. The ice stretched out endlessly, untouched except for the faint reflection of the two of us standing at center ice. The air was cold, but I wasn't shivering, not from the temperature, anyway.

Zora stood before me, her skates steady, her breath visible in the chilled air. Her eyes held that unreadable intensity, the one that made my stomach tighten, and made my pulse hammer in my throat. She had just scored a goal in the friendly scrimmage between her and me.

"I shouldn't want this," I murmured, but my voice was barely there, lost between us.

Zora smirked. A smirk that drove me insane. "Then don't," she whispered, skating closer.

But I didn't step back. I couldn't. I wanted this more than anything else right now and she and I both knew it.

Her hands, cold from the ice but warm against my skin, trailed up my arms, fingertips brushing the bare skin of my neck. A shiver ran through me—not from the cold, but from the way she was looking at me like she had me figured out before I even knew what I wanted.

Her lips hovered close to mine, close enough that I could feel her breath, sharp and slow. She wasn't teasing... no, this wasn't like the way we challenged each other on the ice, pushing, testing, daring. This was something else. Something heavier.

Her fingers slipped beneath the hem of my jersey, skating over the bare skin of my waist. I sucked in a breath. The ice beneath us was solid, but I felt like I was slipping. Losing control. Falling.

"Tell me to stop," she whispered.

I didn't. I didn't want her to stop.

I leaned in, my lips finally meeting hers, and everything around us faded. The cold, the empty stands, the rules I had set for myself. For us.

It was just her. Just us.

The kiss was slow and unhurried, but it stole the breath from my lungs. Her hands were firm on my hips, pulling me closer, and I let her. I wanted her to.

I kissed her deeper, any remnants of restraint slipping away like ice melting beneath a flame. My hands moved instinctively, gliding beneath her jersey, fingers brushing against the warmth of her skin. When I reached her breasts, already firm beneath my touch, she let out a sharp gasp—a sound that sent a shiver down my spine, urging me forward.

Leaning in, my lips hovered just by her ear as I whispered, my voice low and deliberate, "Tell me what you want, Zora."

She exhaled shakily, her breath ghosting over my skin. "You."

"Not good enough," I murmured against her throat, letting my lips find the sensitive spot just below her jaw. I pressed slow, deliberate kisses there, feeling the way her pulse quickened beneath my mouth.

We were out in the open, exposed, to the possibility of being seen, but I didn't care. I wasn't rushing this. I wanted to hear her say it, wanted to feel her come undone with words before I let my hands follow.

"You're so damn pretty, Zora," I mumbled against her neck, tasting the warmth of her skin.

She didn't answer with words. Instead, she guided me, fingers wrapping around my wrist, moving my hand down, lower, until my palm rested at the waistline of her pants. A silent plea.

I obeyed.

A sharp inhale left her lips as my fingers dipped beneath the fabric, tracing slow, deliberate patterns that had her gasping into my mouth.

"Is this what you wanted?" I asked, my voice thick with something unrecognizable, something dangerous.

"Yes," she breathed, her body arching into my touch. "Reya... please."

The way she said my name, soft and pleading, sent a fresh wave of heat through me.

And I knew I was lost. Completely, utterly lost.

But then—

The sound of a buzzer echoed through the rink, loud and jarring, and suddenly I wasn't on the ice anymore.

My alarm blared beside me, but it barely registered over the pounding of my heart. My breath was ragged and uneven, and my body overheated despite the cool night air. The sheets were tangled around my legs, damp with sweat, my skin still buzzing with something electric, something I couldn't shake.

It was just a dream.

Just a dream.

But it didn't feel like one.

The ghost of her touch still lingered, hot and searing against my skin. My lips tingled, remembering the way she'd gasped into my mouth, the way my name had spilled from her lips, needy, breathless. My fingers twitched at my sides, desperate to recreate the sensation, to confirm that it had only existed in my subconscious.

I let out a groan, rolling onto my side and burying my face into my pillow, willing the images away. But they clung to me, playing on repeat behind my closed eyelids—the way she had looked at me, the way she had moved against me, the way she had wanted me.

This was bad.

Really, really bad.

I had no right to be dreaming about Zora like this. Not when everything between us was already on unsteady ground. Not when I didn't even know what the kiss meant, let alone what this meant.

And yet, I couldn't deny the truth settling in my bones.

I wanted her.

Not just in the hazy blur of a dream, not just in the secrecy of my own mind. I wanted her in a way that terrified me, in a way that made my stomach twist and my pulse race, in a way that felt impossible to ignore.

I wanted her.

But I couldn't have her.

Right?

I swallowed hard, forcing myself to sit up, to shake off the lingering heat crawling under my skin. But no amount of deep breaths could erase the way my body still burned for something I had no business wanting.

I needed to get over this. I needed to push it down, bury it so deep it never saw the light of day.

But as I swung my legs over the side of the bed, running a shaky hand through my hair, I knew the truth.

It was too late for that.

Because no matter how much I tried to deny it...

I was already in too deep.

I dragged myself out of bed, still feeling the weight of the dream lingering like a fog in my mind. Every movement felt sluggish like my body was working against me as I prepared for practice. The thought of seeing Zora again—of facing her after what had happened—made my stomach churn. My lips still burned from the kiss, my thoughts tangled with the heat of her skin and the echo of her breath.

By the time I pulled into the rink parking lot, the frigid air should've been enough to snap me out of the daze, but it didn't. It only intensified the ache, the tension that was winding tighter and tighter in my chest. As I laced up my skates and stepped onto the ice, the cold only seemed to heighten the heat of last night's kiss, the soft press of her lips, and the way she had responded to me as if she were just as lost in it as I was.

I could still feel her in the back of my mind, and the thought of facing her now—of how everything had changed between us—made the air feel thick. The last time I was on this ice with her alone, I kissed her. And last night...

I swallowed hard, pushing the memory away, but it refused to stay buried. Just as I made my way to the bench, Genevieve appeared in front of me, her gaze sharp.

"You're acting weird," she said, her tone blunt as always.

I exhaled sharply, a little more forcefully than intended. "Good morning to you, too."

Her eyes narrowed, studying me like she could see through every shield I tried to put up. "No, seriously. You look like you saw a ghost or something. What's up with you?"

I adjusted my gloves, avoiding her eyes, hoping I could get away with playing it off. "Nothing."

Genevieve snorted, unconvinced. "Right."

I rolled my eyes as Genevieve opened her mouth again. Of course she wasn't going to let it go.

"This wouldn't have anything to do with Zora, would it?" she pressed, her voice lower, more curious now.

My entire body tensed, the name slicing through me like a hot blade.

She saw my reaction and grinned slyly. "Oh, so it is about Zora."

I clenched my jaw, gripping my stick so tight my knuckles were white. "Jesus, Gen, drop it."

But Genevieve wasn't the type to drop anything, not without a fight. She plopped down on the bench beside me with a loud sigh, clearly unbothered by my tension. "Look, I don't know what's going on between you two, but it's painfully obvious something is up." Her gaze flicked over to where Zora was stretching with a few of the other players, her movements slow and deliberate.

I tried to focus on my stick, to pull my mind away from the way she was so casually picking apart everything, but it wasn't working. I exhaled sharply, not trusting my voice. "It's nothing."

Genevieve didn't buy it. "Doesn't look like nothing."

I wanted to scream, to tell her everything. About the kiss, about the way it felt, about how it made me question every damn thing I thought I knew about myself, but I couldn't. Not now, not here. Instead, I turned my gaze to the ice, hoping it would calm me, but as soon as I locked eyes with Zora, everything came crashing back.

Her face was slightly flushed, her posture straight but tense. I couldn't look away, even though every inch of me screamed to pull back, to forget. The memory of her lips on mine, the warmth of her body against mine, the way she'd kissed me back—it all rushed forward, overwhelming me.

My pulse spiked, my heart hammering in my chest. I clenched my jaw, desperately trying to ignore the way my body responded to her presence. I skated onto the ice before Genevieve could press me any further, trying to focus on the drills, but it was impossible.

The tension between Zora and me hung in the air like a storm cloud, unspoken but undeniable.

Zora didn't look at me again.

And I couldn't bring myself to look at her either.

The rest of practice passed in a haze. Every drill felt strained. It was uncomfortable, more than I had ever imagined it would be. Even when we skated beside each other, there was a gap, an invisible barrier that neither of us dared to cross.

Zora was distant, and I was no better. Every time our eyes met, I quickly looked away. Every brush of our hands, every accidental bump, made my heart race in ways I couldn't explain.

This wasn't just awkward. It was heavy. And I couldn't tell if it was her or if it was me, or if it was both of us.

I pushed through the rest of practice, but my mind was everywhere except where it should have been.