Chapter 7: Midnight Lake**

Chapter 7: Midnight Lake

The glowing words on my phone screen were a death sentence and a prayer answered. Meet me at the lake. Midnight. Don’t get caught.

Every rule we had established, the flimsy armor we’d built to protect ourselves, Nadia had just set it on fire. The time on my phone read 11:42 PM. Eighteen minutes. An eternity.

I lay motionless in the bed, the phone clutched in my hand, my body thrumming with a potent cocktail of terror and exhilaration. Rule Number Three—texts only—had been twisted into a tool for arranging a clandestine rendezvous right under her brother’s roof. Rule Number Two—no touching—was about to be annihilated. And Rule Number One—act normal—was a laughable ghost, a distant memory from another lifetime that ended the moment I saw her in that passenger seat.

The house had settled into a deep, slumbering quiet. The only sounds were the faint chirping of crickets outside and the frantic, riotous drumming of my own heart. The thin wall I had been so intensely aware of earlier now seemed like a cruel joke. She was right there, probably lying in her bed just as I was, the same anticipation coiling in her gut. Our secret war, the one I’d so arrogantly declared, was being waged in silent, agonizing suspense. This was her counter-offensive, and it was devastatingly effective.

At 11:58, I peeled back the sheets. The air in the room was cool, raising goosebumps on my bare skin. I pulled on a pair of shorts, my movements slow and deliberate, my ears straining to catch any sound from the hallway. I heard nothing. The house was asleep. Liam was a lump on the pull-out couch downstairs, and Marco… Marco was just down the hall, trusting me to be his guard dog. The irony was a bitter pill I was forced to swallow with every treacherous step I took.

My hand closed around the old brass doorknob. It was notoriously loud. I turned it with the painstaking slowness of a bomb disposal expert, wincing at the faint squeak of the inner mechanism. Holding my breath, I pulled the door open just enough to slip through.

The hallway was a river of shadows, broken by a single bar of moonlight from a high window. Her door was closed. Silent. I tiptoed past it, my bare feet cold against the wooden floorboards. I knew every creak in this house, and I avoided the fourth plank from the top of the stairs like it was a landmine.

Downstairs, the living room was bathed in the pale, ghostly light of the moon filtering through the large picture windows. Liam let out a soft snore from the couch, turning over in his sleep. I froze, my body rigid, my heart seizing in my chest. He didn't stir. I waited a full thirty seconds before continuing my ghost-like passage to the back door. The lock clicked open with a sound that seemed to reverberate through the entire cabin. I cringed, waited, listened. Nothing. I slipped outside, closing the door as gently as I could behind me.

The night air was crisp and smelled of damp earth and pine. The moon was a bright, silver disc hanging over the lake, turning the surface of the water into a sheet of rippling mercury. And there, at the edge of the dock, was a silhouette. A shadow against the shimmering water.

Nadia.

She had her back to me, looking out over the lake. She was wearing one of Marco’s oversized, threadbare t-shirts, the hem brushing the tops of her thighs. As I approached, the crunch of my feet on the gravel gave me away. She turned, and even in the darkness, I could see the glint in her eyes. It was the same look from the car—a mixture of challenge and desire.

“You came,” she whispered as I stopped in front of her. Her voice was a low murmur that barely disturbed the air.

“You told me to,” I replied, my own voice rough.

No more words were needed. The simmering tension that had been held in check all evening by the presence of our friends now boiled over. I stepped into her space, my hands finding her waist under the loose t-shirt, my fingers spreading against the warm skin of her back. She gasped softly, her hands coming up to grip my shoulders.

“The whole time at the party,” I breathed, lowering my head until my lips were inches from hers. “Sitting there, watching you laugh. I was going insane.”

“Good,” she whispered back, a wicked smile in her voice. “I was hoping you were.”

Then her mouth was on mine.

The kiss was nothing like the frantic, desperate collision in the car. This was slow, deep, and deliberate. It was a kiss that spoke of the agony of the wait, of the thrill of the risk. It was the taste of victory. Her body melted against mine, soft and pliant, and I pulled her flush against me.

Without breaking the kiss, she tugged at the hem of her t-shirt. I helped her pull it over her head, letting it fall to the weathered wood of the dock. She was wearing nothing underneath. The moonlight silvered the curves of her body, turning her into a mythical creature, a siren luring me to my doom. And I was going willingly.

She reached for the waistband of my shorts, pushing them down over my hips until they pooled around my ankles. We stood there for a moment, naked under the moon, wrapped in our own private world.

“The water,” she murmured against my lips.

She turned and slipped into the lake with a barely audible splash. The water was black as ink, swallowing the moonlight. She surfaced a few feet away, her hair slicked back, her eyes shining. “It’s perfect,” she called softly. “Come in.”

I followed without hesitation, the shock of the cold water making me gasp. It was a baptism, washing away the last of my guilt, leaving only a raw, piercing need. The water was silky against my skin as I swam to her.

In the middle of the dark, silent lake, away from any possibility of prying eyes, we found each other again. I wrapped my arms around her, her wet skin slick against mine. The water made her feel impossibly light as I lifted her, her legs locking around my waist in a familiar, intoxicating grip.

“This is better than the car,” she breathed into my ear, her voice tight with pleasure as I pushed into her.

She was right. The frantic, grimy urgency of the SUV had been replaced by something primal and vast. We moved together in the dark, silky water, our bodies a single, pulsing entity in the immense quiet of the night. The only sounds were our soft gasps, the gentle lapping of water against the dock, and the distant cry of a loon. It was reckless, it was dangerous, and it was the most intensely alive I had ever felt. We were breaking every rule, defying every consequence, and it was glorious.

I was lost in the rhythm of her body, in the feel of her nails lightly tracing patterns on my wet back, when a sudden yellow rectangle of light appeared on the shore.

A light had just switched on in the house. Second floor.

We both froze.

My heart hammered against my ribs, a wild animal trying to escape. I held Nadia tighter, my body shielding hers as we floated in the dark water. We were completely still, two statues in the middle of the lake, our breathing hitched.

The light was coming from a window on the end of the hall. Marco’s window.

We watched, paralyzed, as a silhouette passed in front of it. It lingered for a moment, seeming to look out over the lake. Was he looking for something? Did he hear us? My mind raced. We were just two dark shapes in a vast expanse of black water. He couldn't see us. He couldn't.

After an agonizing eternity that lasted no more than thirty seconds, the silhouette moved away from the window, and the light clicked off, plunging the house back into darkness.

The silence that returned was different. It was no longer peaceful; it was fraught with the adrenaline of a near-miss.

“We need to go,” I whispered, my voice hoarse.

Nadia nodded, her face pale in the moonlight. The magic of the moment was shattered, replaced by the cold, hard reality of the risk we were taking. Our encounters were growing bolder, and with each escalation, the fall would be that much harder if we got caught.

We swam back to the dock in silence, our bodies still tingling from a mixture of pleasure and fear. We dressed quickly, the wet fabric of our clothes clinging uncomfortably to our skin. The adrenaline rush from the near-miss was a drug more potent than any other, and as I looked at her, at the wildness still flickering in her eyes, I knew this wasn't the end. It was just another chapter in our secret war.

“Tomorrow,” she said, her voice a low, thrilling promise as she handed me my t-shirt. “We have to be more creative.”

She gave me one last, lingering look before turning and disappearing back toward the house like a phantom, leaving me alone on the dock, soaked, shivering, and more entangled with my best friend’s sister than ever before. This wasn't just a game anymore. It was an addiction. And I was already desperate for my next fix.