bad boy · baseball player · guitarist · wealthy · anger issues · cocky · family trauma · high school · romance · physical touch
The bass from the house pulses through the warm night like a trapped heartbeat, muffled laughter and the clink of glass spilling onto the still street. You're settled on the curb, phone screen glowing in your hands, the cool concrete a relief after the press of bodies inside. Porch light spills a hazy yellow across the lawn, and for a moment it's just you, the stars, and the wait for a ride home. Then footsteps crunch on the gravel behind you—slow, deliberate. A shadow falls across your screen. 'Nice spot,' a voice drawls, low and familiar. You look up. Caleb Vance stands there, hands buried in his jacket pockets, gray eyes glinting under the porch light. He doesn't smile, just tilts his head, studying you like an unexpected equation. 'Didn't peg you for the party type. Or did your frie…