Sienna

"Drop that box, Jaxon, and I swear to God I’m locking you out," I warned, bracing the front door with my foot. He was hauling a heavy crate up the porch steps.

"Relax, Blake," Jaxon grunted. His biceps strained against his hoodie as he hoisted the weight. "Just my dumbbells. If I drop them, your dad's fancy tiles are the only casualties."

"Exactly. And I’ll be the one listening to him complain," I snapped, stepping back. As he brushed past, that infuriating scent of rain and laundry hit me, making my heart kick my ribs.

Two weeks had passed since the dinner from hell. Two weeks of moving trucks taking over my life. We were practically strangers at school, but inside these walls? The war was raging.

Jaxon carried the crate upstairs, his boots thudding against the hardwood. I trailed right behind him, ready to yell if he scratched the drywall. He kicked his bedroom door open and dumped the load with a bone-rattling crash.

The room opposite mine was unrecognizable. His jersey hung on the closet knob. Sneakers piled in the corner. The bed was completely bare—just a naked mattress waiting for sheets.

"What?" Jaxon asked, catching my stare. He leaned against the doorframe, swiping sweat from his forehead. That signature smirk tipped his lips. "Like the view, Blake?"

"In your dreams, Carter," I scoffed, crossing my arms. "Just making sure your germs stay on your side of the hall. Where are your sheets? It’s pushing eight."

Jaxon’s smirk slipped. He rubbed the back of his neck, looking weirdly sheepish. "My mom buried the bedding box somewhere in the truck. I can't dig it out."

I blinked. "So what's the plan? Sleep on springs like a caveman?"

"I figured I'd use my jacket," he muttered, avoiding my eyes.

A laugh bubbled up before I could stop it. "Are you joking? It’s freezing. The radiator in this wing is useless."

"I'll survive," he grunted, his ego flaring. "I've slept in worse places. Don't stress your head about it."

"I'm not stressing," I snapped. But looking at him—exhausted, and genuinely looking lost in this foreign house—the ice in my chest thawed. I let out a dramatic sigh. "Fine. Wait here."

I marched into my room, opened the closet, and yanked down a fluffy blanket from the top shelf. It was bright pink, and the softest thing I owned.

I crossed the hall and hurled it at his chest. "Catch."

Jaxon caught it on reflex. He stared at the neon fleece in his hands, then looked up at me, his dark eyes wide with disbelief. "Pink, Blake? Really?"

"Take it or freeze, Carter," I challenged, feeling heat creep up my neck. "It's clean. And it works."

Jaxon stared at the fabric for a second. Then, a genuine laugh broke across his face. It was a deep chuckle that carved sharp dimples into his cheeks, making him look suddenly, dangerously boyish. It was… gorgeous.

"What?" I snapped, crossing my arms again. "Shut up!"

"Nothing," Jaxon smiled, stepping closer to the threshold. The mocking edge vanished, replaced by a smooth warmth that made my stomach flip. "I just didn't peg the vicious Sienna Blake for a softie."

"I'm not," I mumbled, dropping my gaze to his sneakers to hide the flush creeping up my neck. A loose strand of hair slipped down, shielding my face. "It's a truce. For tonight. Because if you catch pneumonia and miss practice, my dad will mope, and I refuse to deal with that."

"Right. For Victor," Jaxon murmured. The floorboards creaked as he bridged the gap, stepping entirely into my space.

I kept my eyes glued to his laces, my heart kicking against my ribs.

He reached out. It looked almost involuntary. His knuckles grazed my cheek as he caught that loose strand, gently tucking it behind my ear.

I froze. The touch was feather-light, but liquid heat shot straight down my spine. His hand didn't leave. Instead, his calloused thumb slid down, hooking under my chin to slowly tilt my face up until my gaze slammed into his.

"You missed a spot," he whispered. His voice was a low rumble, entirely stripped of its usual bite.

"What?" I breathed, my voice cracking.

"Dinner. You didn't wipe your mouth." He dropped his gaze to my lips. His thumb brushed my lower lip, swiping across the sensitive skin with a slow pressure.

Panic spiked in my chest. I hadn't eaten anything since dinner. But I had swiped on some lipstick the second I heard his truck pull up.

I jerked backward, ripping my chin out of his grasp. My cheeks were officially burning. "I—I need to sleep," I stammered, backing quickly toward my bedroom. "Don't forget the history project."

Jaxon let out a soft chuckle. He backed into his room, throwing the neon blanket over his shoulder. "Night, Blake."

"Goodnight," I muttered, practically diving into my room.

Just as I started to push my door shut, his deep voice drifted across the hall. It dripped with lazy, arrogant amusement.

"That cherry lipstick suits you, honestly."

Click. I slammed the door shut.

I leaned against the wood, a ridiculous smile stretching across my face. My heart hammered against my ribs.

He was sleeping ten feet away. And as I crawled under my sheets, listening to the floorboards creak in his room, I realized the turf war was over. This was something completely different. And infinitely more dangerous.

Over the next four weeks, the massive house suddenly felt incredibly small.

The light teasing mutated into a ticking time bomb. A casual smirk in the hallway bled into heavy, tracking stares across the dinner table. Even accidentally grazing his knuckles by the coffee maker felt like striking a match in a room full of gasoline.

Every night, knowing he lay just across the hall drove me insane. The slow burn twisted in my gut—an agonizing ache that neither of us knew how to stop.

We were drowning in it.

Until tonight. While our parents were out late celebrating, the air in the house finally choked me. I needed space. I bolted down to the freezing garage just to clear my head, desperate to escape his orbit.

But I couldn't outrun him.

The heavy click of the deadbolt echoed through the concrete space. A broad shadow blocked the doorway, bringing the sharp scent of motor oil and cologne.

My breath caught as he stepped inside, his eyes locking onto mine with a dark, primal hunger that shattered every rule I had left.