The dining room fades into the background as Eddie leads Maya through the halls of his house.
She's been here before, but not like this. Not with the warmth of dinner still lingering on her tongue, not with the quiet awareness of his presence beside her.
His grip on her wrist is loose—just enough to guide her, not enough to trap. But somehow, it still burns.
He stops in front of a door and pushes it open, revealing a space that is so undeniably him. Dark wood shelves, expensive art, floor-to-ceiling windows that cast silver moonlight across the thick carpet.
She steps in, heartbeat steady but her stomach not quite as composed. "So, what exactly are we doing?"
Eddie smirks, shutting the door behind them. "Spending time together."
Maya's stomach flips. "Doing what?"
Leaning against his desk, arms crossed, he looks at her like she's already fallen into some kind of trap. "I have plans for us."
It's the way he says it—low, deliberate—that makes her brain stutter. Plans. That could mean anything.
And judging by the way his gaze flickers over her, she isn't sure if she's supposed to be nervous or excited.
Then, without warning, he walks over to a sleek black cabinet and opens it.
Maya braces herself.
And then—
He pulls out a chessboard.
She blinks.
He sets it down on the table, arranging the pieces with casual precision. Then he looks up, completely unfazed. "White or black?"
It takes her a second to process. "Wait. This is the plan?"
"You thought it was something else?" He raises a brow, amusement flickering in his eyes.
Maya sputters. "You made it sound like it was something else!"
"I said I had plans," he shrugs. "Never specified what kind."
Her jaw drops. "You—are actually unbearable."
Eddie just smirks. "Pick a side, Sinclair."
She snatches the white pieces out of pure spite. "Fine. But when I beat you, I get to pick our next plan."
His smirk deepens, like she just walked into another one of his traps. "Deal."
They sit across from each other, the chessboard between them, the weight of something else lingering just beneath the surface.
Maya moves her first piece, trying to focus, trying to ignore the fact that he's watching her like she's more interesting than the game itself.
"You're staring," she mutters.
Eddie moves his piece without looking down. "So?"
"So, it's distracting."
"Not my fault you're easy to distract."
She narrows her eyes at him, but her pulse betrays her.
Minutes pass. Pieces shift across the board. She actually starts to get into it—until Eddie pulls another surprise.
"This reminds me of the philosophy book I was reading last night," he says.
Maya freezes mid-move. "Oh my God. It's worse than I thought."
He leans back, looking way too entertained. "What?"
"You didn't just trick me into playing chess—you tricked me into intellectual bonding time." She groans. "I feel scammed."
Eddie laughs, low and warm. "You love it."
"I absolutely do not."
"You're still here."
Maya opens her mouth, then closes it. Damn him. He's right. She is still here, playing his stupid, stupid game, letting herself get caught in his orbit over and over again.
And the worst part?
She does love it.
Not the philosophy talk. Definitely not the way he smirks when he's winning. But the way he leans in every time she speaks? The way his fingers brush hers when he takes a piece? The way he makes her feel like the most fascinating thing in the room?
She used to read about men like this. The ones who made you feel like you were stepping into the pages of some grand, slow-burning love story. The kind who studied you like a riddle they wanted to solve, who pulled you closer without touching you at all.
She just never thought she'd actually meet one.
She pushes her knight forward. "Check."
Eddie tilts his head, eyes flicking across the board. Then, instead of moving a piece, he looks at her.
Really looks at her.
Her heart stumbles in her chest, her breath catching in her throat. She tries to ignore the way her skin feels a little too tight. The way her pulse thrums in her ears. The way she feels like she's falling, even though she's standing perfectly still.
His gaze drops to her lips.
Her stomach drops.
She can't breathe.
This is it. He's close—too close.
His presence, so warm and intoxicating, fills the space between them, and for a second, she wonders if he can hear her heart, loud and unsteady, or feel the heat rising in her cheeks. Her body is frozen, caught between anticipation and panic.
Maybe this is what it feels like to be the heroine in a book. The one who dreams of a man like him.
Then, so gently, Eddie reaches out. His fingers brush against her cheek, tucking a stray piece of hair behind her ear.
A spark runs through her, and she swears she can feel the electricity in the air. His warmth lingers on her skin.
He leans in just a fraction closer, his lips a mere breath away from hers.
Maya's breath hitches.
She doesn't move. She doesn't even blink.
She's not sure if she's holding her breath or if he is.
And then—
Damon's voice calls from down the hall. "Eddie, Mom wants you—"
The door swings open.
Maya almost falls out of her chair.
Eddie pulls back with the kind of speed that makes her feel like she's been slapped. The air, thick with tension just seconds before, shifts into awkward, brittle silence.
Damon takes one look at them, then the chessboard, then back at them. A slow, knowing smirk spreads across his face. "Well. This is interesting."
Maya scowls. "Go away, Damon."
Eddie glares at his brother. "What does Mom want?"
Damon shrugs. "No idea. I stopped listening halfway through." He leans against the doorframe, arms crossed, looking way too entertained. "So, this is what you do when you invite a girl to your room? Chess?"
Eddie sighs heavily, like he's resisting the urge to strangle him. "Damon."
"I mean, at least make it poker. Strip poker, preferably—"
"Out."
Damon throws his hands up. "Alright, alright. But this is just sad, man." He winks at Maya before strolling off. "Good luck with that romance arc, Sinclair."
Maya groans, dropping her head into her hands. "I hate him."
Eddie lets out a breath, rubbing the back of his neck. "Not as much as I do."
Silence.
Then, slowly, she peeks at him through her fingers. "So… are we going to pretend that almost didn't happen?"
His jaw tightens. "Do you want to pretend?"
She doesn't answer right away.
Because no, she doesn't.
But admitting that would be a dangerous thing.
So instead, she pushes her last piece forward and smirks. "Checkmate."
Eddie looks down. Then back at her.
Then, to her absolute delight—he curses under his breath.
She grins. "I win."
His gaze flickers back to her, dark and unreadable. "Not yet, you don't."
And with that, he stands up, heading toward the door.
Maya blinks. "Where are you going?"
He smirks over his shoulder. "To get started on your plan."
Her stomach flips.
Oh.
She might be in way over her head.