Friend turned foe

The cafeteria buzzed with the usual midday chaos—trays clattering, snippets of laughter rising above the hum of idle chatter, and the faint, rhythmic thud of sneakers against the linoleum floor. Taylor sat wedged between Gleed and Andrea, lazily stabbing at her salad, her face carved from stone—indifferent, unreadable.

But then she saw her.

Jackie.

Striding through the crowd like she belonged, like nothing had happened, her fake, too-bright smile plastered on as if it could erase the wreckage she'd left behind. For a split second, something flickered in Taylor's eyes—a ghost of surprise, maybe even nostalgia. But it vanished as quickly as it appeared, buried under a sharp, cold glare. Her fingers curled around her fork, knuckles whitening.

Jackie approached, her smile faltering slightly under the weight of Taylor's icy stare, but she pushed through with forced cheer. "Hey, Tay!"

Taylor's words sliced through the air before Jackie could say another syllable. "What do you want?" Her voice was low, razor-sharp, dripping with contempt.

Jackie's smile twitched, her confidence unraveling at the edges. She shifted from foot to foot, hands stuffed deep into her jacket pockets like she could bury her guilt in there, too. "I—I came to apologize, okay? I'm sorry."

Taylor leaned back, arms crossing over her chest, her laugh bitter and hollow. "You weren't in your right mind, huh?" The sarcasm bled through every word, sharp enough to cut skin.

"I wasn't," Jackie stammered, her eyes darting nervously between Gleed and Andrea, who sat frozen, caught between awkward curiosity and secondhand embarrassment.

Taylor's jaw clenched, her tongue pressing against the inside of her cheek as if she could hold back the venom brewing there. But it spilled out anyway. "Yeah? Yeah, how would you be—when you were busy sucking on my dad's dick?"

The words hit like a slap—loud, raw, unapologetic. A hush rippled through the nearby tables, heads turning, conversations dying mid-sentence. Jackie's face drained of color, her posture shrinking as if the very air around her had turned hostile.

Andrea's fork hovered mid-air, her face scrunching in discomfort before she set it down gently, as if afraid even that sound would shatter what little peace remained. "Woo… okay," she muttered under her breath, a weak attempt to slice through the tension, but it dissolved instantly.

Jackie swallowed hard, her throat bobbing visibly. She forced herself to stand straighter, masking her embarrassment with a brittle layer of defiance. "I'm sorry, again. For what it's worth—your stepdad initiated it." Her voice trembled slightly, betraying her forced bravado.

Taylor's chair screeched against the floor as she shot up, her body trembling—not with fear, but with rage so fierce it practically radiated off her in waves. She leaned over the table, her face inches from Jackie's, her words dripping with venom. "And you couldn't push him away? Yet you embraced his fucking dick in your fucking pussy?"

Jackie recoiled like the words had physically struck her. Her face flushed crimson, eyes darting wildly as if looking for an escape, for someone to rescue her from the moment—but no one did.

"Oh, come on," Jackie snapped back, her voice brittle, cracking under the weight of her guilt. "Don't be like that. Don't act like you're such a saint."

Taylor's laugh was sharp and bitter, like glass shattering on concrete. "Fuck you, Jackie!" Her fists clenched so tightly at her sides, her nails dug crescents into her palms, grounding her in her fury. But beneath the anger was something else—hurt, raw and festering.

Jackie's chest rose and fell rapidly, her face twisted in frustration. "This was just one day. I thought you needed space, but clearly, you're never going to forget about just one mistake."

Taylor's lips curled into a sneer. "Yeah, you're right. So go away. Fuck off. I want nothing to do with you." Her voice cracked slightly at the end, but the rage covered it, masking the fracture like armor.

Jackie's eyes shimmered with unshed tears, but she blinked them away, shaking her head in defeat. She turned and walked off, her steps quick and uneven, her retreat a silent admission of guilt.

The cafeteria slowly filled with noise again, but at their table, the silence was deafening.

Gleed let out a low whistle, trying to cut the tension with forced nonchalance. "Girl, that was brutal."

Taylor didn't even glance at him. "Shut up," she snapped, her voice flat and emotionless, but her fingers trembled slightly as she reached for her fork.

Andrea cleared her throat, forcing a weak smile. "Okay, okay… Let's not get all grumpy. Let's just have lunch in peace."

Taylor stabbed at her salad with mechanical precision, but she didn't eat. The taste of betrayal was still too fresh on her tongue.

Three months ago...

Jackie knew she was playing with fire. Every time she found herself alone with Mr. Jones, the air between them grew thicker, charged with something unspeakable. She wasn't sure when it started—maybe it was the way he looked at her sometimes, like he saw past the girl his daughter called her best friend. Maybe it was the way her heart beat just a little faster when she was near him, when she caught his scent—something rich, dark, and masculine that made her head spin.

And now, here she was, in his home, late at night, when she should have left hours ago.

"You keep looking at me like that," he said, voice low, rough, as he leaned against the kitchen counter.

Jackie swallowed, her fingers curling around the edge of the table. "Like what?"

His lips quirked into something dangerous. "Like you want me to do something about it."

Her breath hitched. They were alone. Taylor had gone to bed hours ago, and now it was just the two of them, standing too close, shadows flickering from the dim light above them. She should walk away. She *needed* to.

But she didn't.

"Maybe I do," she murmured, testing the weight of the words between them.

His eyes darkened. He pushed off the counter, closing the space between them. "You don't know what you're asking for, Jackie."

She tilted her head up, meeting his gaze. "Then show me."

A low curse escaped him before his hand was on her waist, pulling her flush against him. The heat of his body, the firm press of his chest, sent a shiver through her. His thumb brushed the side of her neck, his touch slow, deliberate.

"You shouldn't tempt a man like me," he whispered, his lips a breath away from hers.

"Then why haven't you stopped me?" she countered.

A muscle ticked in his jaw. For a moment, she thought he might step back. That he'd be the one to break the tension that had been building between them for weeks. But then, his mouth was on hers, claiming, hungry, filled with everything they had both been too afraid to say.

Jackie melted into him, her fingers gripping his shirt as he deepened the kiss, his hand sliding up her back, holding her there like he wasn't about to let her go. Heat curled low in her stomach, a slow, delicious ache that only intensified when his lips trailed down her jaw, lingering at the hollow of her throat.

"This is wrong," she whispered, though her body pressed into his, craving more.

His breath was hot against her skin. "And yet, you're still here."

She had no answer for that. No excuse. Only the undeniable truth of how much she wanted this, wanted him.

And when his hands slid lower, pulling her even closer, she knew—there was no turning back now.