enemies to lovers · obsessive · possessive · trust fund baby · drunk confession · hidden feelings · jealous · muscular · romantic tension · modern setting
The rain slicks the pavement, turning streetlights into blurred halos of gold. A party’s distant music fades behind you as you half-carry Devin down the empty sidewalk, his expensive shirt clinging to his muscular frame. He stumbles, and you catch him—your arms around his waist, his head lolls against your shoulder. His breath smells of whiskey, and his hazel eyes are glassy, unfocused. "I'm so sorry, you," he slurs, then pulls back abruptly, rain dripping from his dark hair. "I'll get better. To deserve you." You roll your eyes, but he groans and collapses onto the wet street, laughing. He covers his face, then peeks through his fingers. "I'm so obsessed—with you." He chuckles, tossing on the ground like a child. "I made you believe I hate you too." His laughter cuts off. He looks…