Chapter 130
Summer's POV
My breath caught. "What do you mean? What kind of something?"
"Hold on." He set the tablet down, angling it awkwardly so the camera caught him from the waist up, and stood.
I watched as he moved across the small room, and suddenly I was very aware of the fact that he was shirtless, wearing only a pair of worn sweatpants that hung low on his hips. The camera caught the lean muscles of his shoulders, the defined lines of his abdomen, the way his body moved with that unconscious grace that always made something flutter in my stomach.
Heat flooded my cheeks. God, I wanted to touch him. Wanted to trace those lines with my fingertips, feel the warmth of his skin, the tension in his muscles under my palms. I wanted to press my hands against his chest and feel his heartbeat, wanted to run my fingers down his spine and see if it would make him shiver the way I shivered when he looked at me a certain way.
Stop it, Summer. Get a grip.
But I couldn't look away. My fingers curled against my knees, aching with the desire to reach through the screen and touch him, to close the distance that always seemed to exist between us.
He came back holding something small—I couldn't quite make it out in the dim lighting of his room. He sat down again, the tablet settling back into place, and turned the object over in his hands. It looked like a small box, wrapped in plain brown paper.
"It's not much," he said, not meeting my eyes. His fingers traced the edges of the wrapping almost nervously. "But... I'll give it to you next time I see you. When we're alone."
Warmth bloomed in my chest, spreading through my entire body. "I knew it," I said, unable to keep the smile out of my voice. "I knew you weren't as cold as you pretend to be."
His mouth tightened, but there was something softer in his expression now. "I don't want to be this warm either, Summer." He looked up at me, and the vulnerability in his eyes made my breath catch. "You're like your name sometimes. Like summer itself. Warm and bright, and when you get too close, it's almost too hot. I'm afraid if I let myself feel everything I want to feel, I'll get burned. Or worse—I'll burn you."
The words settled over me like a blanket, heavy and significant. "I'm not afraid of getting burned," I said softly.
"Maybe you should be." But there was no heat in the words, just a quiet resignation.
We looked at each other through the screen, and I could feel the shift between us—the way the anger and hurt from earlier had transformed into something else, something deeper and more complicated.
"I saw him today," Kieran said suddenly, his voice careful. "Evan. I was in the physics room during lunch, and I happened to look out the window."
My stomach dropped. "Oh."
"He put on quite a show." There was something in his voice I couldn't quite identify—not quite anger, but not indifference either. "The rose, the speech, the whole production."
"I told him no," I said quickly. "I wasn't—I didn't want—"
"I know." His jaw clenched. "I saw that too."
We stared at each other, and I watched as a muscle ticked in his jaw. His hand tightened around the small wrapped box, and suddenly I realized what that tone in his voice was.
He was jealous.
"Kieran," I said slowly, testing the waters. "Are you... upset about what happened with Evan?"
"No." The answer came too quickly, too defensively.
"Really?" I couldn't help the small smile that tugged at my lips. "Because you look kind of upset."
His eyes flashed. "I'm not upset. Why would I be upset?"
"I don't know. You tell me." I was teasing him now, and it felt good—felt normal in a way nothing between us had felt in weeks. "You seem pretty bothered by it."
"I'm not bothered." But the flush on his cheeks deepened, and he looked away from the camera. "I just—he's an asshole, okay? Standing there with his stupid rose and his stupid speech, like he has any right to—" He stopped abruptly, seeming to realize what he was saying.
"Any right to what?" I prompted, my smile growing.
"Nothing. Forget it."
"No, go ahead. Finish your thought." I was enjoying this far too much, watching him squirm. After weeks of him being so controlled, so careful, it was delicious to see him flustered. "What right doesn't Evan have?"
"Summer—"
"Come on, Kieran. Say it."
He glared at me through the screen, but there was no real heat in it. "Fine. He doesn't have any right to stand there and act like you're his, like he can just snap his fingers and you'll come running back. He treated you like shit, and now he wants to play the romantic hero? It's bullshit."
"So you are jealous." I couldn't keep the delight out of my voice.
"I didn't say that."
"You kind of did."
"I'm just stating facts." But the tips of his ears were red now, and he wouldn't meet my eyes. "It's objectively bullshit. Anyone would think so."
"Uh-huh." I bit my lip to keep from laughing. He was so cute when he was jealous, all flustered and defensive. It made him seem younger somehow, less guarded. "For the record, I don't want him. I never really did, I think. I just... I thought I was supposed to want someone like him."
Kieran's eyes flickered back to mine. "And now?"
"Now I know better." I held his gaze, trying to pour everything I couldn't say into that look. "Now I want someone real. Someone who sees me, not just the idea of me."
Something shifted in his expression—something raw and vulnerable that made my heart race. "Summer—"
"I know we can't—whatever this is, I know it's complicated." I rushed on before I could lose my nerve. "But I need you to know that when I turned Evan down today, it wasn't because of timing or because I'm not ready. It's because he's not who I want."
The silence that followed was charged with electricity. Kieran's grip on the tablet had tightened, his knuckles white.
"Who do you want?" His voice was barely above a whisper.
I took a breath, then decided to deflect—the moment felt too heavy, too intense for a complete confession. "I really like your abs," I blurted out instead, and immediately felt my face flame. "I mean—God, that sounded so stupid. But I do. And I was wondering if... if maybe next time we're alone, I could—could I touch them? Just to see if they're as firm as they look?"
For a moment, Kieran just stared at me, his expression completely stunned. Then, slowly, a smile spread across his face—a real smile, not the careful half-smirk he usually gave. It transformed his entire face, making him look younger and lighter and so beautiful it made my chest ache.
"Yeah," he said, his voice slightly strangled but warm. "When we're alone. Just the two of us. You can touch whatever you want."
The promise in those words sent heat flooding through my entire body. We looked at each other through the screen, and everything that had happened earlier—the fight, the hurt, the anger—felt distant now, replaced by this new understanding between us.
"I should let you sleep," I said finally, though I didn't want to end the call. "It's late."
"Yeah." But he didn't move to hang up. "Summer?"
"Yeah?"
"I'm sorry. For today, for the past few weeks, for—all of it. I know I've been an asshole."
"You have been," I agreed, but there was no bite in the words. "But I forgive you. As long as you promise to stop shutting me out."
"I'll try." He paused. "I can't promise it'll be perfect, but I'll try."
"That's all I'm asking." I smiled at him through the screen. "Goodnight, Kieran."
"Goodnight, Summer."
The screen went black, but I sat there for a long moment, staring at my reflection in the dark glass, my heart still racing. Whatever was happening between us—whatever this complicated, messy, beautiful thing was—it felt like we'd turned a corner tonight.
And for the first time in weeks, I went to sleep with a smile on my face.