Forbidden Cravings-Chapter 31: What The Fuck?

The food arrived, clinking plates and wafting steam, the waiter setting down dishes with a practiced flourish—spicy shrimp pasta for me and Aeri, some fancy steak for Daniel, and a towering salad Sara insisted on picking apart loudly.

We dug in together, the table alive with the noise of forks and the hum of chatter, the hotel restaurant's upscale vibe clashing with Sara's occasional outbursts.

"This dressing's too tangy!" she'd said, while Daniel just chewed his steak slow and quiet, the complete opposite—calm, steady, like he was used to tuning her out.

He glanced my way between bites, wiping his mouth with a napkin before leaning in a bit. "So, Ezra, how's work going for you?" he asked, his tone genuine.

I twirled some pasta on my fork, shrugging easy. "Designing's good—keeps me busy. Clients are coming in steady, so the pay's good , so no complaints there," I said, popping the bite in my mouth. The shrimp had a kick, just like Aeri'd wanted, and I shot her a quick grin as I chewed.

Sara perked up, of course, never one to miss a chance to poke. "Oh, really? Earning *enough*, though? Gotta keep up with Aeri's tastes—she's fancy now," she said, smirking over her salad.

I ignored her, focusing on my plate, spearing another shrimp like it was the only thing that mattered. Her jabs were background noise by now—white noise I could filter out.

Aeri giggled beside me, her laugh soft and warm as she watched us spar. "You two never stop," she said under her breath.

Daniel cleared his throat, steering the talk elsewhere. "So, about the wedding..." he started, setting his knife down, his voice cutting through Sara's next quip. "Sara's been going on about the speeches—says she wants Aeri to give the big one, you know, as her best friend."

Sara clapped her hands, lettuce forgotten, her eyes lighting up. "Yes! Aeri, you have to do it—I mean, who else knows me like you do? It's gotta be epic, tear-jerking, the works!" She leaned across the table, nearly knocking over her wine, her enthusiasm spilling everywhere.

Aeri froze mid-bite, her fork hovering, her cheeks flushing as she shook her head quick. "No, no, I can't—I'm not good at that stuff," she said, her voice shy, shrinking back a little. "I'd mess it up, Sara—someone else should do it." She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, her white necklace glinting as she ducked her head.

"Oh, come on, please?" Sara pressed, clasping her hands like she was begging, her voice pitching up. "You're my girl—it's gotta be you. Daniel agrees, right?" She nudged him, and he nodded, his smile small but encouraging.

Aeri let out a long *sighhh*, her shoulders slumping as she poked at her pasta. "Fine... I'll do it," she said finally, her tone reluctant but softening, a tiny smile tugging at her lips. "But if I cry up there, it's on you."

Sara squealed, lunging over the table to wrap Aeri in a sloppy hug, her arms squeezing tight. "Yes! You're the best—I knew you'd say yes!" she said, her voice muffled against Aeri's shoulder, the two of them laughing as Aeri patted her back, half-trapped.

I leaned back in my chair. "Guess I'll have to hear you practice that speech all week," I muttered to Aeri, teasing, and she shot me a playful glare, her blush creeping back.

The plates emptied out eventually—Sara picking at the last of her salad, Daniel polishing off his steak, Aeri and I scraping up the last of the pasta sauce. The waiter swooped in to clear the table, and Daniel stretched, glancing at his watch.

"Well, that's us—time to head out," he said, standing and offering Sara a hand. "Good seeing you both."

"Yeah, you too," I said, pushing my chair back, nodding at him. Sara wobbled up, still buzzing from the wine, and threw us a dramatic wave. "Bye, Aeri—bye, *baby*," she said, smirking my way, and I looked at her emotionally, letting it slide.

"Night, guys—see you at the wedding," Aeri said, her voice warm as she stood, smoothing her dress.

We headed for the glass doors, the cool night air hitting us as we stepped outside. The taxi's headlights glowed down the street, and I took Aeri's hand, her fingers lacing with mine, the dinner fading behind us as we left for home.

Aeri and I stumbled into the house together, the taxi's rumble fading down the street as the door clicked shut behind us. The night had worn us out—Sara's loudmouth antics, the fancy hotel food, all of it—and I could feel the weight of it in my bones.

We split off to freshen up, the hum of running water and rustling clothes filling the quiet. I swapped my black shirt and jeans for a loose track pant and t-shirt and Aeri slipped into her one-piece—simple, comfy, the kind she always wore at home.

I caught myself thinking about crashing in her room tonight, curling up close.

But as I stepped toward her bedroom door, she turned sharp, her hand planting firm on my chest, stopping me cold. "Ezra..." she said, her voice low, hesitant, her eyes dropping to the floor, avoiding mine. "Please... let's sleep separately, okay?"

I stared at her, my throat tightening, a quick gulp swallowing the sting that hit me. It hurt—more than I wanted to admit—her pulling back like that. I wasn't gonna push her, not when she looked like that.

"Okay... no worries," I said, forcing a small smile, my voice steady despite the ache. "Goodnight." I turned and walked off, my steps heavy.

She watched me go—I could feel her eyes on my back, a flicker of guilt in the air, but she didn't call me back.

The door clicked shut behind her, she flopped onto the bed. Inside, Aeri muttered to herself, her voice muffled through the soft bed, barely audible.

"What should I do...?" she said, the words trailing off into the dark, laced with confusion.

---

The next day dragged slow, the sun dipping into evening by 7 p.m. as I sat on the train, the clatter of the tracks rattling my thoughts. I was headed to Heaven's Feel brothel—another night, another client.

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Aeri and I hadn't talked much all day, just a few clipped words over coffee that morning, her eyes dodging mine. I'd been replaying it in my head—her hand on my chest, that quiet "please"—and it hit me hard. I'd pushed too much, too fast, and she needed space to breathe. So I'd kept my distance.

The train swayed as it cut through the city, the windows flashing with neon lights and shadowed buildings, my reflection staring back at me—tired eyes, messy hair under a cap. I'd been dwelling on Aeri all day, the way she'd shut me out last night still gnawing at me. I realized I'd overstepped, gotten too clingy, and figured I'd give her room to sort herself out. So I hadn't bothered her today—no knocking on her door—just let the quiet stretch between us. Now I was here, headed to work, my bag slung over my shoulder.

I pushed through the heavy doors, the party already in full swing—bodies swaying on the dance floor, laughter and clinking glasses spilling from the bar. The air was thick with perfume and booze, lights strobing red and blue across the crowd. I weaved through, dropping my bag in the locker room with a quick shove, then headed for the cellar, the quieter back area where the real business went down.

Jonathan was there, sprawled in his usual spot on a leather couch, a cigarette dangling from his lips. A girl sat across from him, legs crossed, her face turned away as I walked up.

I didn't bother looking at her yet—kept my eyes on Jonathan, giving him a quick nod.

"Hey, man," I said, my voice low, shaking his hand as he grinned up at me.

"Good to see you, Ezra," he said, leaning back, his tone easy but businesslike. "She's your client tonight—paid in advance, full rate, so treat her right." He jerked his head toward the girl.

"Got it," I said, turning left to finally check her out.

The woman who seemed like an adult is wearing a long black boots and black stockings that reached her thighs, a denim mini skirt riding high on her thighs, and an open bralet that barely held her in, her cleavage spilling out under a loose jacket slung off her shoulders.

Her hair fell in dark waves, framing her face, and as I zeroed in, my eyes locked on hers—and holy shit, I froze.

It was Sara.

Her beer glass slipped from her hand, crashing to the floor with a sharp *shatter*, amber liquid splashing across the tiles.

Her eyes went wide, mirroring mine, her mouth dropping open as the recognition hit us both like a truck.

"WHAT THE FUCK???" we said at the same time, our voices overlapping, loud and raw, cutting through the cellar's hum.