{Song of the Chapter:- Hands to Myself - Selena Gomez}

The dim glow of the bedside lamp casts soft shadows across the walls, painting everything in warm hues, but I can't seem to settle. The weight of the day presses on me, and the familiar coziness of the beach house bedroom feels stifling instead of comforting tonight. Becca's sitting on the edge of her bed, brushing her hair in slow, rhythmic strokes, her hum soft enough to blend into the background. I pick at a loose thread on my sleeve, trying to focus on anything but the storm in my head, but it's useless.

I watch her for a minute, trying to figure out how to say it, how to bring it up without it sounding as complicated as it feels. Finally, I can't hold it in anymore.

"Beck," I start, my voice quieter than usual, but it's enough to get her attention.

"Hmm?" She glances at me in the mirror, pausing mid-brush. Her eyes catch mine, and I can already tell she knows something's up.

"I need to tell you something." I shift, sitting cross-legged on the bed, twisting the edge of my hoodie between my fingers. "Theo and I... we kissed."

The brush slips out of Becca's hand, clattering to the floor. She whips around, eyes wide. "Wait, what?! You and Theo kissed? When? How did I not know about this?!"

I bite my lip, a nervous laugh escaping. "The night I broke up with Jake."

"Shut up." Becca's jaw drops. She scrambles up onto the bed beside me, fully invested now. "Okay, you need to spill everything. When did this happen? How? What exactly—wait, what did he say?!"

I let out a sigh, staring down at my hands. "It was... a week ago. After everything with Jake, I just needed to get out of there. Theo took me to the park to clear my head, and we were talking. I was upset, and then... I don't know. One second he was comforting me, and the next, we were kissing."

Becca's eyes widen even more, if that's possible. "Oh my God, Isla. Why didn't you tell me sooner? What was the kiss like?"

I shrug, feeling my chest tighten as I remember the way his lips felt on mine. "It was... confusing. It felt good—better than I expected—but it also made everything so much more complicated. And after that, things just got weird."

She's watching me carefully, processing everything. "Okay, so what happened after? You two kissed, and then... what?"

"We talked a couple days later," I admit, my voice dropping slightly. "He said we should forget about it. You know, pretend like it didn't happen."

Becca's eyes nearly bug out of her head. "He said what?!"

I nod, feeling the weight of those words again. "Yeah, he said we should forget about it. That he didn't want to make things weird between us."

Becca looks at me like I've lost my mind. "So, what did you say? Did you agree with him?"

"I... I didn't know what else to say," I admit. "It felt like the safe thing to do, you know? Theo's my best friend, and I don't want to lose him. I thought maybe pretending it never happened would fix everything."

Becca lets out a long sigh, shaking her head. "Isla, you and Theo... you guys can't pretend this away. Trust me, I've seen the way you two look at each other. There's something there. You can't just shove it down and hope it disappears."

I hug my knees to my chest, feeling like I've been carrying a weight I didn't even realize was this heavy. The weight of Becca's words hangs in the air between us, thick and heavy, but I can't let them sink in. I won't. Not now.

"I'm going to bed," I manage, my voice sounding smaller than I intended. I slip off the bed, grabbing my phone from the nightstand as a lifeline, something to hold on to. Becca looks up, a slight crease of worry in her gaze, but she doesn't press.

"Alright. Night, Isla," she says, her tone soft, understanding.

I nod, offering her a weak smile before making my way out. The hallway feels cold, hollow, as I walk through it, each step echoing in the stillness, my pulse beating louder with every inch I put between us. I want to forget tonight, forget Theo, forget the kiss that's burned into my mind, but it's impossible. The more I push the thoughts away, the more they fight to come back.

I stop in the kitchen, the dim light casting shadows across the counters, and realize my throat is dry, parched. I make my way to the sink, filling a glass with water, the sound of the rushing liquid grounding me for a brief, fragile moment.

And then, I hear it—another sound, quiet but distinct, cutting through the silence like a knife. A splash. My breath hitches as I glance toward the sliding glass door that leads to the pool. And that's when I see him.

Theo. Emerging from the water, droplets clinging to his skin, his dark hair wet and tousled. The moonlight spills over him, illuminating every sharp line and angle, every ripple of muscle, his broad shoulders and chest glistening, toned and flawless. He reaches for a towel, dragging it over his head, water trailing down his neck, his chest, his abs, each movement slow, methodical, painfully hypnotic.

Holy. Fuck.

I can't look away. My cheeks burn, my breath catching in my throat as my gaze traces the path of water down his torso, to where his swim trunks ride low on his hips. He's breathtaking, so effortlessly stunning it leaves me dizzy. He's always been attractive, but like this, under the moon's quiet glow, he's on another level. A warmth builds low in my stomach, unfurling, intense, making my legs feel weak, my body thrumming with an unfamiliar energy.

Heat rushes between my legs, and I feel an overwhelming urge to bolt before I do something stupid. Like stare at him any longer. Like let my mind wander to places it shouldn't. Like admit to myself that I've never seen him like this before—not like this.

Before he can spot me standing like an idiot in the kitchen, I spin around, almost knocking over the glass in my hand as I scramble to get out of there. My heart is pounding, my entire body buzzing with this ridiculous, stupid, undeniable attraction I refuse to acknowledge.

I barely make it to my room before I slam the door shut, my chest heaving as I press my back against it. My heart is racing, my hands trembling from the adrenaline rushing through me. What the hell just happened out there?

I shut the door behind me with a slam, my breath coming in short, rapid bursts as I lean against it. My heart's racing, pounding so hard I can feel it in my throat. The image of Theo—dripping wet, shirtless, and looking like he stepped straight out of one of my fantasies—is seared into my mind, and I can't unsee it.

I drag my hand over my face, willing myself to stop thinking about him. It's wrong. It's all wrong. He's my best friend. This shouldn't be happening. But my body's betraying me, my skin prickling with heat, every nerve alive with a hunger I've never felt before.

I throw myself onto the bed.

The memory of Theo's body, the way the moonlight glistened on his wet skin, his muscles taut as he toweled off, is all I can see. It's like I'm on fire, burning from the inside out, and no amount of telling myself to stop is working.

What the hell is wrong with me?

But it's useless. The memory of Theo is too vivid, too real. My fingers twitch, my body restless beneath the blankets. Before I can stop myself, my hand slips beneath the waistband of my shorts, my breath catching as my fingers brush against the heat between my legs.

A soft gasp escapes my lips, and I hate how good it feels. I should stop. I should really stop. But I can't. My body is humming, aching, every nerve alive with the thought of him. Of Theo. The way he looked at me earlier, like he could see right through me. The way his body moved, strong and effortless, like he was made to drive me crazy.

My fingers slide lower, finding my clit and rubbing against it, that sends a surge of pleasure through me. I bite my lip, trying to stay quiet, but the pressure, the heat, it's too much. My hips arch involuntarily as I press harder, the pleasure building, building, until it's almost unbearable.

I close my eyes, and suddenly it's not just my hand anymore. It's Theo's. His hands on my body, his fingers tracing the lines of my skin, his breath hot against my neck as he whispers my name. I can almost feel him. The warmth of his chest against my back, the weight of him pressing me down into the mattress.

A moan slips out, soft at first, but then louder as the pressure intensifies. "Theo..." I whisper, his name falling from my lips like a secret, like a confession. I can't help it. He's all I can think about.

The pleasure mounts, and I can feel myself teetering on the edge, my entire body trembling with the need for release. 

"Theo..." I moan again, louder this time, the sound raw, desperate.

Suddenly, the door creaks open just as I was about to climax.

I freeze, my heart lurching as my gaze snaps up. Theo stands in the doorway, his eyes widening, his chest bare, the towel draped over his shoulder, droplets still clinging to his skin. 

Panic surges through me, I yank my hand out of my shorts, scrambling to cover myself with the blanket, but it's too late. He's already seen me. He's already heard me.

His name. On my lips.

Oh my God.

Theo is standing there, framed in the doorway, his dark eyes locked on mine, droplets of water still glistening on his bare chest, his expression unreadable. For a heartbeat, neither of us moves. His gaze roams over me, lingering on the flush that paints my cheeks, the rapid rise and fall of my chest, the way I clutch the blanket as though it could somehow hide the truth from him. But it's useless. He's putting it all together, every unspoken feeling, every forbidden thought, laid bare before him.

His eyes darken, a spark of realization flickering, then catching, igniting into something intense, something raw that sends a shiver down my spine. He takes a step into the room, his gaze steady, unwavering, and I feel completely exposed, as though he can see through me, past every flimsy barrier I've tried to put up. My breath stumbles in my throat, each shallow gasp betraying me, making it painfully clear that there's no hiding from him now.

I watch as Theo's jaw tightens, his muscles flexing as if he's holding himself back, his hands curling into fists at his sides. His gaze dips to where the blanket clings to me, to the way my fingers tremble. His expression shifts, a battle playing out behind his eyes, an intensity that's almost too much to bear.

I don't move. I can't move. My whole body is still buzzing with the aftershocks of what I was just doing, what I was about to do. The heat between my legs hasn't faded, and I can feel my pulse throbbing in my core, even as I sit there frozen, unable to speak.

I swallow hard, my throat dry. "Theo... I... I didn't..." Words fail me. What could I possibly say? There's no explanation for this. No brushing it off like nothing happened. 

He knows. 

He heard.

He doesn't say anything at first. His eyes flicker down to the way I'm clutching the blanket to my chest, as if that could somehow hide the truth from him. But the way he's looking at me now, the heat in his gaze, it's like he knows exactly what I was thinking. And he doesn't look away. His jaw tightens, his hands curling into fists at his sides as if he's trying to hold himself back.

I can't breathe. The air between us is thick, heavy with tension, and I feel like I'm drowning in it. My heart is racing, my body still betraying me, the ache between my legs only intensifying with every second that passes.

Theo takes another step closer, his voice low, barely above a whisper.

"Did you... did you say my name?"