Wrong Kind of Right

Chapter Twenty- Three

By midafternoon, the house buzzed with heat and laughter. Sway had dragged a couple of speakers onto the back patio, a playlist rolling between pop and old hip-hop while the others splashed in the pool. The smell of sunscreen and lemon soda hung in the air, and the sunlight turned the surface of the water into mirrors of blue fire.

Malachi sat at the pool's edge, feet in the water, watching the others toss a ball back and forth. His hair was damp from an earlier swim, dark curls sticking to his forehead. He wore only a pair of loose gray swim shorts, and the sun had bronzed his skin deeper since spring.

Freya was pretending not to look at him. She sat on a lounge chair under the umbrella, white floral sundress brushing her knees, an open book forgotten in her lap. Every few minutes she'd glance up—just long enough to catch the way the sunlight played over his shoulders when he laughed, or how the muscles in his arms flexed when he threw the ball back.

Sway noticed first. "You two gonna keep staring at each other or actually join the rest of us?" she called, grinning. Freya rolled her eyes, trying to sound casual. "I'm just fine right here, thanks." "Suit yourself." Malachi turned his head, one eyebrow lifting. "What, afraid to get your dress wet?" Her chin tilted up. "Maybe I just don't want to ruin it." He gave a small half-smile. "Pretty sure that's an excuse." "Pretty sure you talk too much," she shot back, but there was laughter under her words. He stood, water streaming down his legs, and walked over to her chair. When the sunlight hit his skin, it left tiny beads of light trailing across him like sparks. Freya swallowed hard, trying not to look impressed. "You'd look better in the pool," he said softly. She arched a brow. "You'd look better with manners." Sway snorted from across the patio. "She got you there." Malachi laughed, low and easy. "We'll see about that." Before she could answer, he reached down and plucked her sunglasses off, setting them on the table beside her. "You keep hiding," he said. "What are you scared of?" "Sunburn," she replied evenly, though her pulse had started to race. He leaned a little closer, close enough that she could smell the chlorine on his skin. "Liar." For a moment neither of them moved. The sound of the water, of the others shouting and splashing, faded until it was just them—his shadow falling over her knees, the breeze lifting the edge of her dress. Then a new voice called from inside the house. "Hey—Freya?" Her whole body went still. Ryan. Her mother's cheerful tone followed. "He's out back! Come say hi!" Panic shot through her chest. Malachi's brow furrowed. "What's wrong?" She didn't answer. She could already see Ryan's reflection in the glass door, moving closer, a familiar figure she didn't want anywhere near this moment. Instinct took over. "Sorry," she hissed—and shoved Malachi straight into the pool. He hit the water with a huge splash, sputtering back up just as Ryan slid open the door. "Freya?" Ryan stepped out onto the deck, wearing that same practiced smile that had once fooled everyone, even her. "Your mom said I'd find you out here." Freya smoothed her hair and forced a grin. "Hey! Yeah, um, we were just... hanging out." Malachi floated behind her, water dripping from his hair as he stared up at her in disbelief. She gave him a tiny warning glance. Don't you dare say anything. Ryan's gaze shifted to the pool. "Hey, man. Didn't mean to interrupt." Malachi tipped his head, voice neutral. "No interruption." "Cool," Ryan said, though the edge in his tone made the air heavy again. Her mom called from inside about something burning in the oven, and Ryan sighed. "I'll go help. Be right back." As soon as he disappeared, Freya exhaled hard, shoulders slumping. "That," Malachi said, still treading water, "was low." "You're welcome." "For what, nearly drowning me?" "For saving your life." He pushed wet hair off his forehead, his glare softened by amusement. "You think that was saving?" "Absolutely." "Wrong again." Before she could react, he reached up, grabbed her wrist, and yanked. She squealed as she tumbled into the pool, dress and all, the cold water stealing her breath. When she surfaced, hair plastered to her cheeks, he was grinning like he'd been waiting for this. "Now we're even," he said. "You're impossible!" "You love it." She splashed him, laughing, but he dodged easily and swam closer. The air between them changed—lighter, but charged. They drifted toward the far side of the pool, half-hidden by a cluster of floats and the overhanging branches of the maple tree. The noise of the others faded into a blur of summer sound. Freya pushed her wet hair back. "My mom's going to kill me," she muttered. "Worth it," he said. She glanced up, and for a heartbeat everything stilled. His eyes caught hers, dark and steady, and she realized he was close enough that she could see the drops of water clinging to his lashes. The corner of his mouth lifted. "You gonna run this time too?" "No," she said quietly. And then he kissed her. It wasn't slow, but it wasn't rushed either. It felt like something that had been building for weeks finally breaking loose—warm, certain, a little reckless. His hand came up to the side of her neck, steadying her as if the water might pull them apart. She leaned into the kiss, her hands finding his shoulders, feeling the muscles beneath his damp skin. His lips were soft but insistent, and she parted hers, letting him deepen the kiss. The world around them seemed to fade, and all she could feel was the press of his body against hers, the taste of chlorine and something sweet on his tongue. Her fingers traced the line of his jaw, feeling the roughness of stubble beneath her touch. His other hand slid down her back, pulling her closer, and she gasped into his mouth as their bodies aligned. The water lapped gently around them, and the world narrowed down to just the two of them, lost in the moment. As they kissed, his hand moved under the water, finding the hem of her dress. His fingers brushed against her skin, sending shivers through her. She arched into his touch, her hands exploring the firm planes of his chest and shoulders. His fingers traced the curve of her waist, then moved upward, caressing her through the wet fabric of her dress. She moaned softly, her body pressing against his. He kissed her neck, his lips hot against her cool skin, and she tilted her head back, giving him better access. His hand slid further under her dress, his fingers tracing along her thighs. She gasped, her hips moving against him, seeking more contact. He kissed her again, his tongue exploring her mouth, and she wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him closer. The water swirled around them, the coolness a stark contrast to the heat building between their bodies. His hand moved to her thigh, his thumb brushing against the sensitive skin just above her knee. She shivered, her body aching with need. He broke the kiss, his breath ragged. "Freya," he whispered, his voice low and husky. "I've needed this." She smiled, her fingers tangling in his hair. "Me too," she admitted. He kissed her again, his hands roaming over her body, exploring every curve and contour. She matched his movements, her own hands eager to touch and tease. The world around them faded into a blur of sensation, the sound of their breaths and the gentle lap of water the only things that existed. When they finally broke apart, the air between them hummed. They floated there, still hidden, still catching their breath, until a shout from Sway cut through the air. "Hey! What are you two doing over there?" Freya jerked back, cheeks burning. "Nothing!" she called. Malachi just smirked. "You sure about that?" She splashed him again, laughter spilling out before she could stop it. For a moment, it was just summer again—bright, loud, and dizzy with something new neither of them could name yet. Behind them, Ryan's voice drifted out of the house again, calling her name. The spell cracked, and they both froze. Freya looked at Malachi. "We're in so much trouble." "Yeah," he said, grinning. "And somehow, I don't care."