Yvonne and Foster had been friends since childhood, but lately, he'd been... different. Protective. Possessive. Snapping at any guy who so much as glanced her way. Everyone assumed it was because Foster had finally realized Yvonne was "the one". The girl he'd been meant to fall for all along.

But that couldn't have been further from the truth.

Foster wasn't interested in Yvonne, not really. She was just the cover. The excuse. The way he could stay close to the real reason for all this sudden jealousy.

That smug, mysterious bastard had rolled into their small town a few months ago and turned Foster's world upside down. Yvonne, of course, was drawn to him like a moth to a fucking nuclear bomb—hot guy, charming demeanor, the whole package. But Foster? He was drawn to something else entirely.

He wasn't like anyone Foster had ever met. He had this infuriating aura, something magnetic that pulled Foster in even when he didn't want it to. Every glance they shared crackled with unspoken tension, like they were teetering on the edge of a fight—or something much worse. Foster would lie awake at night, restless, imagining scenarios that made his chest ache and his pulse race.

He wanted him.

Correction: he wanted to hit him.

...Totally.

And tonight, he'd finally get his chance. ** The campfire crackled against the night sky, a warm glow casting shadows on the faces of everyone gathered around. A pair of girls sat off to the side, making out with no shame. A group of guys nearby were loudly betting on who could score the most numbers before the night ended. And then there were him and Yvonne, perched together on a log, locked in what looked like a very serious conversation.

Foster snorted, watching them from across the fire. Serious, my ass. Yvonne didn't have the depth and he probably didn't even know what "deep" was.

'I could show him something deep' Foster thought before immediately shaking his head, as if that would banish the thought. He needed to focus. Maintain appearances. Pretend Yvonne was the reason for all his tension—not the man sitting too close to her.

He stood, sauntering over with his signature swagger. It wasn't subtle; he wanted him to feel him coming. Sliding onto the log beside Yvonne, Foster threw an arm around her shoulders, glaring at him like he was daring him to react.

"Vonnie!" he exclaimed, his voice too loud, too casual. "Why didn't you let me bring you here, huh? Why'd you let him tag along?" His smirk was as smug as it was calculated, his head tilting toward him.

Yvonne started to reply, her voice defensive. "Well, he and I—"

Foster held up a hand, silencing her without a second thought. "Hold on, Von. I need to have a little chat with your new best friend here." He winked at her, sending a blush to her cheeks as he grabbed him by the arm and dragged him away from the fire.

The woods swallowed them, the campfire's light fading as they went deeper. When he finally stopped, Foster spun on his heel, glaring at him with all the pent-up frustration he couldn't voice.

"What the hell do you think you're doing with Yvonne?" he demanded, his voice low. His words weren't subtle—they were bait. A challenge. An open invitation for him to push back, to fight, to give Foster an excuse to finally touch him, fists or otherwise.