Chapter 2 LATE NIGHT TROUBLES

The door clicked shut behind the girl and the apartment went quiet except for the low hum of the fridge and the blood rushing in my ears. My suitcase lay tipped on its side, one wheel still spinning slowly like it hadn’t decided whether to give up. I couldn’t make my legs move.

Carter didn’t rush to pull his shorts up. He just stood there, chest still rising and falling, the new tattoos catching the faint light from the TV. The coiled snake on his left bicep looked ready to strike any second. Black script ran across the top of his chest, disappearing under his collarbone. A crown of thorns circled his right wrist like it had been burned into his skin. He looked nothing like the Carter I remembered from last year. Everything about him was sharper, heavier, like the gym and the games had carved away whatever softness used to be there.

He finally tugged his shorts up, slow and deliberate, eyes never leaving mine.

“Damn, Bubbles,” he said, voice low and rough. “You always did have perfect timing.”

Heat flooded my face. “Don’t call me that.”

A slow smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Why not? You used to beg me to call you that when we were kids. Powerpuff Girls every Saturday, remember? You’d run around the house in that pink dress screaming you were Bubbles.”

“That was ten years ago,” I snapped. “I was six.”

“Still fits.” His gaze slid down my body, lazy and unhurried, then back up. “All sweet and innocent on the outside. But the way you’re looking at me right now? I’m starting to wonder.”

I crossed my arms tight over my chest. “You could’ve locked the door if you wanted privacy.”

“Could’ve,” he agreed, shrugging. The snake on his arm flexed with the movement. “But then I would’ve missed that pretty little shocked face of yours. Worth it.”

“You’re disgusting.”

“Am I?” He took one step closer. The scent of him—sweat, cedar, and smoke—hit me. “Or are you just mad I wasn’t waiting here with flowers and a welcome sign?”

“Luke said I could stay,” I said, ignoring the way my pulse was hammering. “He’s not even here?”

Carter’s smirk widened. “Road trip with the team. Won’t be back for a few days. So it’s just you and me, Bubbles. Think you can handle sharing a bathroom with a guy who leaves his towels on the floor?”

“I know he’s not here,” I muttered. “He told me on the phone. I don’t have a choice right now.”

He laughed under his breath, low and satisfied. “Too late for that. You already walked in on the show. Might as well make yourself comfortable.”

I didn’t answer. I grabbed the handle of my suitcase and dragged it down the hall, feeling his eyes on my back the entire way. The spare room was small and plain — nothing like the cute apartment with the porch swing and flower boxes I had pictured with Kelly and Claudia. The betrayal from the car still stung sharp in my chest. I wished I didn’t have to be anywhere near whoever Carter had turned into these days. But here I was, with no other options.

I dropped the suitcase on the bed and started unpacking just to keep my hands busy. Clothes into the dresser. Toiletries in the tiny bathroom. At the bottom of one box was my old rolled-up Powerpuff Girls poster. I unrolled it slowly. Bubbles floated in the middle with her big blue eyes and bright smile. A small, flustered smile tugged at my lips. He still remembered. Of all the things he could tease me about, he picked the one nickname that made my stomach do that weird flip. I quickly tucked the poster behind the dresser, cheeks warm.

Exhaustion pulled at me. I sat on the edge of the bed, eyes drifting shut for a moment. I was almost dozing off when Carter’s voice came from the doorway.

“Heading out for a late workout with the team,” he said. “Door locks from the inside if you’re scared I’ll come back and finish what you interrupted.”

I didn’t open my eyes. “Good. Stay out there.”

His low chuckle was the last thing I heard before sleep took me.

When I woke up, the sky outside the window was almost dark and the parking lot lights had come on. My stomach growled loudly, angry and empty. I checked my phone — it was past nine. I hadn’t eaten since lunch and the whole day had left me drained.

I padded out to the kitchen in my socks. The fridge light spilled cold across the floor when I opened it. Protein shakes, a couple energy drinks, questionable leftover Thai. That was it. No real food.

“Typical boys,” I muttered, closing the door a little harder than necessary. I made a mental note to do groceries first thing tomorrow morning — milk, bread, cereal, actual vegetables, something normal so I wouldn’t have to survive on whatever Carter and Luke called “fuel.”

I stood there staring at the empty fridge, still trying to wake up fully, when I felt it.

The cookie.

The one I’d eaten earlier when I first got to the room. It had tasted so good, salty-sweet and a little spicy. Now my skin felt too hot. My pulse was everywhere — throat, wrists, and especially between my legs. A deep, throbbing ache had settled there and it was getting worse with every second.

I kept seeing flashes of Carter. The new tattoos moving on his skin. The way his hips had snapped forward into that girl. The way he’d looked at me afterward, dark and knowing.

My hand moved before I could think. Slid under the waistband of my shorts, under my panties. I was already soaked. The first slow circle over my clit pulled a soft, desperate sound from my throat.

I backed up until my legs hit the bed and sat down, legs parting. My fingers moved faster, chasing the pressure that was building so quickly it almost scared me. In my head, Carter’s voice was right there — low and teasing.

Don’t stop, Bubbles.

I bit my lip hard, eyes squeezed shut, breathing coming in short pants. The ache was turning into something sharper, hotter. My hips rolled against my hand on their own.

I didn’t hear the front door open.

I didn’t hear the footsteps in the hallway.

I only heard his voice — rough, commanding, right from the doorway.

“Don’t stop.”

My eyes flew open.

Carter stood leaning against the doorframe, gym bag dropped at his feet. His jaw was clenched tight, eyes dark and locked between my legs where my hand was still moving. The front of his shorts was visibly strained.

“Bubbles,” he said, voice like gravel, low and dangerous. “I told you not to stop.”

My fingers froze for half a second.

Then, like my body had completely betrayed me, they started moving again — slower, but

still moving.

Carter’s eyes narrowed. A muscle jumped in his jaw.

“Good girl.”

Disclaimer: Bubbles is 18years