The tension between them lingered like a trailing thread, one neither of them could bring themselves to cut. The video game session had ended over twenty minutes ago, but the electric remnants of their laughter and shoulder brushes still danced in the space between them. Erin sat on the far side of the couch, pretending to be occupied with her phone, her thumbs scrolling idly over the screen without truly reading anything.
She wasn't really looking at her messages. Her mind kept looping back to that moment—the way they had laughed, teased, leaned into each other. For a second there, she'd almost forgotten everything: her doubts, her mission, the letter on the bedside table. It had felt too easy to fall into something warm, something reckless.
Xander was restless. He didn't want this evening to end just yet. He wanted to say something, anything, just to keep her in this quiet bubble with him. But instead of words, he got to his feet and mumbled, "I'll get us something. A snack, maybe."
Erin glanced up, one brow arched. "Didn't know you knew how to use a kitchen."
He smirked, already heading toward the open-plan kitchen. "I didn't. Not until someone insisted on dragging me into one every other day."
In truth, Xander had never so much as boiled water himself before Erin came along. But ever since he started loitering around the kitchen during her shifts, he had begun to pick things up—little by little. Watching her had been fascinating in more ways than one, and somewhere along the way, he'd started to try things on his own. Mostly when no one was looking.
Now, in the quiet of the apartment, he opened the fridge and pulled out a few fruits—apples, strawberries, and seedless grapes. He washed them with a focus that surprised even him, then set about cutting them into clean slices. He fumbled at first, nearly cutting his finger twice, but he slowed down and concentrated. Precision. That was the trick.
He assembled them neatly on a platter, added a drizzle of honey over the apple slices, and threw in a handful of crackers and cubes of cheese. When he returned to the living room, Erin looked up from her phone with genuine surprise.
He set the tray on the coffee table with a smug smile. "No poisoning guaranteed."
Erin blinked, then grinned. "You did this?"
"Don't sound so shocked," he said, sitting back beside her but not too close. "You're not the only one with talent, you know."
She reached for an apple slice and bit into it. Her eyebrows lifted in approval. "Hmm. Not bad. Did you YouTube this?"
"No," he lied smoothly. "Watched you do it a hundred times."
They both ate for a while in companionable silence. It was only after Erin had nibbled her way through a grape and Xander had drained half his water that the mood subtly shifted.
He hesitated, fingers tapping the side of his glass. Then he glanced at her sideways. "About… that night."
She looked at him, expression unreadable.
He cleared his throat. "I mean—the moment. I don't know why I reacted that way. When I leaned in like that." He paused again, as if picking the right words from a minefield. "It just… happened. I wasn't thinking. And it won't happen again."
Erin gave a short laugh, but her eyes were sharp. "How can you be so sure?"
That caught him off guard. He turned to her slowly, the corners of his mouth twitching. "That almost sounds like you liked it."
She scoffed. "I didn't. Not even a little. In fact, I haven't thought about it once since it happened. So, if you're entertaining some fantasy in your head, you're definitely on your own."
His grin widened. "Oh, really?"
He leaned a little closer, testing the distance, watching the way her breath subtly hitched, though her face remained stubbornly calm.
"I think you have," he said lowly. "Thought about it."
"You're wrong," she shot back, but her voice had softened, the edges turning velvet.
He didn't respond this time. He just kept his gaze locked with hers as he leaned in, gradually, cautiously—his every movement testing a boundary she might push back on. But she didn't.
Her lips parted ever so slightly, and he felt it again—that same pull that had nearly driven him mad that night. Last time, he'd pulled back just before it could happen. A test. A game. But this time…
This time, he didn't stop.
Their lips met in a kiss that was softer than expected, but far more devastating. It wasn't rushed. It wasn't accidental. It was intentional. Slow. Warm.
His hand came up to cup the side of her face gently, his thumb brushing the edge of her jaw. And for a few breathless seconds, there was only them—no contracts, no secrets, no doubts.
When they finally parted, it was Erin who pulled back first, eyes wide as realization hit.
She stood abruptly, stepping away from the couch as if the distance would steady her heart.
Xander didn't move. He just watched her, his breathing still slightly uneven, his lips tingling.
Erin turned her back to him, rubbing her arm. "I'm going to bed."
"Erin—"
"Goodnight, Xander."
Her voice was clipped but not cold. More like she was afraid of what else might tumble out.
He didn't stop her.
She walked to the bedroom silently, her steps careful. The door shut behind her with a soft click, leaving Xander sitting alone in the dimly lit living room.
He touched his lips, as if trying to piece together what had just happened.
Whatever this was… it was no longer something he could ignore.
Erin sat still, motionless sat in the same spot she'd been in since she came to the room. Her phone lay idly on her lap, the screen dimmed to black, long forgotten. She hadn't moved in minutes. Her heart still thudded far louder than it had any right to. Her lips felt warm, and she hated herself for remembering the way his breath had mingled with hers right before their lips met.
She had let it happen.
No—she'd wanted it.
The thought rolled in her head like a wave crashing against jagged rock. It wasn't supposed to happen. She was supposed to be in control. She was the one here for a mission. She was the one with the upper hand. But it didn't feel like that anymore—not when he looked at her like that, touched her like that. She clutched her own hands tightly as if punishing herself for how her body had leaned toward him instinctively, like a flower chasing sunlight.
The door creaked.
Her heart skipped.
Xander stood at the doorway, a shadow of composure cloaked in tension. He didn't speak at first. He just stood there, hands deep in his pockets, watching her. Trying to read her expression, trying to figure out what she was thinking. But she avoided his gaze, pretending to be entirely absorbed in the meaningless notifications on her phone.
He didn't apologize.
And he didn't move away.
The silence between them felt like a suspended breath, as if the room itself was too afraid to exhale.
Erin forced a nervous laugh to crack the air. "Well," she said, her voice shaky and way too high-pitched, "I think I'll go to bed now."
Xander raised an eyebrow slightly. He didn't try to stop her, nor did he say anything to keep her lingering. He just nodded, stepping aside for her to pass. She padded past him without another word, but she could feel his gaze burning into her back like sunlight through a magnifying glass.
They went through their night routine like sleepwalkers—brushing teeth, changing into sleepwear, avoiding looking at each other directly. Erin was acutely aware of every movement he made, every exhale, every time his sleeve brushed past hers as they moved around the bathroom. She couldn't stop replaying the kiss in her head—the feel of it, the weight of it.
The bed felt colder that night. Not because of distance, but because of everything left unsaid.
She lay on her side, facing away from him. And though her back was to him, she could hear the slight shift of his breathing, the subtle tension in it.
Xander lay on his back, eyes open, watching the ceiling that offered no answers.
He was angry with himself.
Not because he kissed her. No—he wasn't even sure if he regretted it.
But because he didn't understand her. Erin Lane—or whoever she really was—was a mystery he couldn't solve. At first, he'd thought she was working for him because of the paycheck. The way she acted—bitter, defiant, hostile—made it seem like she didn't even want the job. He had wondered, briefly, if it was desperation that kept her here.
But then there was that night at the event. The dance. That moment when their bodies moved as one, and she looked him dead in the eyes and said she wasn't here for money. The conviction in her voice had stuck with him like a splinter beneath the skin.
So what was it, then?
If it wasn't about the money… was it seduction? Was she trying to manipulate him?
But that didn't add up either.
Every time they got close—really close—she was the one who pulled away. Any other woman in her position would've used those moments to lure him further in. But Erin always retreated. Like the kiss wasn't part of a plan. Like it surprised her just as much as it did him.
That unsettled him.
She wasn't following a pattern he recognized. And that made her dangerous in ways he couldn't even articulate. He didn't like unpredictability. He didn't like not being in control.
But most of all—he didn't like the fact that he wanted to trust her.
He turned his head slowly, glancing at the silhouette beside him. Her back was to him, and her breaths were slow and even, though he could tell she wasn't really asleep.
He narrowed his eyes. He would figure her out—no matter how long it took.
Because Erin Lane wasn't just a girl with secrets.
She was a question begging for an answer.
And he was done waiting.