The evening air was crisp as Kim approached Edward’s house, her sneakers scuffing against the uneven pavement. She tugged at the hem of her casual black sweater, a flicker of unease dancing in her chest. This was supposed to be a simple dinner with an old high school buddy—the only girl in their tight-knit group of misfits, she was used to holding her own. Still, something about Edward’s overly eager text invite earlier that day had her second-guessing. Shaking it off, she rang the bell, her breath visible in the cool night.
The door swung open almost too quickly, and there was Edward, his grin wide and a little too bright, like he’d been waiting right on the other side. His hazel eyes lingered on her just a beat longer than necessary, scanning her from head to toe before snapping back to her face. “Kim! Damn, you look good even in sweats. Get in here before you freeze.”
She rolled her eyes, brushing past him with a smirk. “Save the flattery, Ed. I’m here for the free food, not your charm.” Her tone was light, but her shoulders tensed as she caught the way his gaze followed her.
Inside, the cozy dining room stopped her short. Dimly lit by flickering candles, soft jazz humming from a speaker in the corner, and a table set with actual cloth napkins—Edward had gone all out. A home-cooked spread of pasta and garlic bread sat steaming, the aroma tempting but the vibe... off. This wasn’t the pizza-and-beer hangout she’d expected.
“Wow, Ed,” Kim said, arching a brow as she slid into a chair. “Candles and jazz? Are we friends or on a date I didn’t RSVP to?”
He chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck as he took the seat across from her. “Just thought I’d class it up for once. You’re worth the effort, y’know.” His voice dipped, suggestive, and Kim’s fingers tightened around her fork.
“Ease up, Romeo,” she shot back, spearing a piece of pasta with more force than necessary. “I’m here for carbs, not compliments. Let’s keep this PG, yeah?”
Dinner rolled on, but Edward’s conversation veered into flirty territory faster than Kim could deflect. “I mean, come on, Kim,” he said, leaning forward, elbows on the table, his grin sly. “You’ve always been the hottest in our group. Bet the guys never shut up about you back in the day.”
She snorted, sipping her soda to buy a second. “Oh, please. The only thing they talked about was my right hook after I decked Joey for stealing my fries. Flirt with someone who’s buying it, Ed.” Her words were sharp, but her smile was tight, a warning he didn’t seem to catch.
As they ate, she noticed him inching closer—first his chair scooting an inch, then his hand brushing hers as he reached to pour more soda into her glass. The contact lingered, his fingers warm against her knuckles, and Kim shifted in her seat, pulling her hand back. Her gut churned. Something was definitely off.
“So,” Edward said, wiping his mouth with a napkin, his tone too casual. “Wanna head upstairs? We can chill in my room, throw on a movie or something. I’ve got that old projector set up.”
Kim hesitated, her instincts screaming to say no, but politeness—or maybe habit—won out. “Sure, I guess. But if it’s another one of your terrible action flicks, I’m out.” She forced a laugh, hoping to keep things light as they climbed the stairs.
His bedroom was dimly lit, the projector casting a faint glow over a messy bed piled with blankets. The air felt heavier here, thick with an unspoken tension as Edward plopped down on the bed, patting the spot beside him. “C’mon, don’t be shy. Best seat in the house.”
She sat, keeping a deliberate gap between them, but Edward shifted closer almost instantly, his shoulder pressing against hers. The movie—a forgettable sci-fi mess—played ignored in the background as Kim tried to steer the conversation neutral. “Seriously, Ed, how do you even watch this crap? The CGI looks like it was made on a flip phone.”
He laughed, but his eyes weren’t on the screen. They were on her, intense and unblinking. “I’m not really watching the movie, Kim. I’m more... distracted.” His voice was low, loaded, and her stomach twisted.
“Focus, buddy,” she quipped, edging away slightly. “I’m not your personal entertainment.” But before she could say more, his hand landed on her thigh, warm and deliberate, and Kim froze. Her mind raced for an out—something to defuse this without turning it into a scene.
“Hey, hands to yourself, Casanova,” she said, pushing his hand off with a nervous chuckle. “I’m not on the menu tonight.”
Edward grinned, misreading her tone entirely. “C’mon, Kim, don’t play hard to get. I know you feel this vibe too.” He leaned in, his breath hot against her ear, and her protests caught in her throat, half-hearted as panic crept in.
“Ed, seriously, back off,” she said, her voice sharper now, but he didn’t stop. His hands moved with a confidence she hadn’t invited, sliding under the hem of her sweater, and Kim’s breath hitched, her body locking up as her mind scrambled. This wasn’t happening. Not like this.
The next moments blurred—her objections drowned out by his persistence, clothes shed in a haze she couldn’t quite process. Her treasured boundaries shattered in silence, the weight of his body over hers a suffocating reality she couldn’t escape. When it was over, Kim lay there, hollow and disconnected, staring at the ceiling as the projector flickered on, casting shadows over a night she’d never meant to happen.
Morning crept through the curtains, pale and unforgiving. Kim woke with a start, vulnerability crashing over her like a tidal wave. Edward was still asleep, sprawled beside her, and she couldn’t bear to look at him. Heart pounding, she scrambled to dress, pulling on her sweater with trembling hands. Every rustle of fabric felt too loud, every second a risk of him waking.
She slipped out of the room, then the house, without a word, the cool dawn air hitting her face as she hurried down the street. Confusion and regret churned in her chest, but one thing was clear—she’d bury this night, lock it away where it couldn’t touch her. At least, that’s what she told herself as she walked faster, desperate to get home.
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