After they left, Dylan stayed on the patio by the pool, a tumbler of scotch loosely gripped in his hand. The twilight shimmered across the water, casting shifting reflections on the surface. But he barely saw it. His thoughts were tangled, knotted tightly around one name—Lana.
"What the hell am I doing?" he muttered, half to himself, half to the night.
He knew it was wrong—flirting with his son's friend, who was barely settling into college life. But every moment with her made him forget what should and shouldn't be. There was something about Lana that pulled him in. The way her eyes widened when she was nervous, the curve of her shy smile, the way she looked at him tonight. She wasn't just flustered—she looked affected.
And that was dangerous.
But still, he didn't regret it. Not one bit. For once, the weight of years and responsibility seemed to fall away when he was with her. In her gaze, he didn't feel like Dylan Orwell—the successful but guarded businessman. He felt… wanted. Alive.
But Mason.
Dylan exhaled a deep breath and took another sip of scotch. His jaw tightened.
He knew the risk. The betrayal Mason might feel if he ever found out. Even if nothing happened, even if it never went beyond subtle glances and tension-thick air—would Mason ever understand? Would he ever forgive him?
He ran a hand through his hair, groaning low under his breath.
And yet… if she feels the same way, could he really walk away from that?
He stared into the night, wondering what the hell he'd just started—and whether he could stop it.
⸻
Meanwhile, in the car…
The ride back to the dorm was wrapped in silence. The city lights blinked past the windows, their glow softening the tension that filled the space between Lana and Mason.
Lana sat stiffly, her fingers clasped in her lap. Her heart was still racing from earlier—from Dylan. Every time she closed her eyes, she could feel his gaze on her, remember the heat of his voice when he called her "trouble." It had shaken her more than she wanted to admit.
She bit her lip, eyes locked on the road ahead.
Mason finally glanced her way. "You okay?"
"I'm fine," she said quickly, too quickly.
Mason frowned. "You've been quiet since we left."
She hesitated. "Just tired. That lunch was… a lot."
He chuckled softly, then sighed. "I'm really sorry about my mom. She can be… intense."
"That's one word for it," Lana said, managing a small smile.
"I didn't know she'd be like that with you. I mean, she's usually not great with anyone, but—" He paused. "I think she was trying to size you up. Like some weird protective instinct. Or maybe just her usual control issues."
Lana didn't respond. Her thoughts were elsewhere—back in that moment when Dylan had looked at her, and everything else had disappeared.
Then Mason added, more curious now, "Hey, while I was on that call—did something happen? You seemed different when I came back."
Lana's breath caught. For a second, she thought about telling him. About the way Dylan's voice had dipped lower when he leaned in. About how close they'd stood, how the air between them had felt charged, like something was about to explode.
But instead, she shook her head. "No. Nothing happened."
Mason didn't look convinced, but he didn't push it. The rest of the ride was quiet again, only filled with the soft hum of tires on the road and the occasional distant honk from a cab.
Lana closed the dorm door behind her and leaned against it, exhaling shakily.
Her body still felt wired, like every nerve had been on high alert since that moment by the pool. She'd managed to keep her expression neutral the entire ride back with Mason, but now, in the quiet of her room, her hands trembled slightly as she unzipped her jacket.
Dylan had flirted with her.
There was no mistaking it now. No brushing it off as imagination or coincidence. The way his eyes had lingered, the way he lowered his voice like they shared a secret only they could hear. The warmth in his smile, laced with something that made her breath catch in her throat.
And the most dangerous part?
She'd liked it.
"Hey," Carlyle's voice broke through her thoughts.
Lana turned to find her roommate lounging on her bed, cross-legged with a textbook open on her lap. She had glasses on, hair up in a messy bun, and her face lit with subtle curiosity.
"You're late. Fancy lunch with Mason?"
Lana smiled faintly and walked over to her side of the room. "It got… complicated."
Carlyle raised an eyebrow but didn't pry. She tilted her head, noticing the way Lana moved slower than usual, like her thoughts were too heavy.
"You okay?"
Lana hesitated, then nodded. "Just a lot of people today."
"You're not used to it yet. It's New York. We're all emotionally exhausted by lunchtime," Carlyle said with a wry grin.
Lana laughed softly, grateful for the shift in energy.
Carlyle went back to scribbling notes into a notebook, something full of mathematical symbols Lana didn't understand. She caught the word "temporal distortion" scrawled near the top before Carlyle quickly covered it with her arm.
"Assignment," Carlyle said casually, not looking up.
Lana smirked. "Right. Just another normal science paper?"
"Totally," Carlyle replied, too quickly.
Lana narrowed her eyes but let it go. She didn't have the energy to think about time travel theories right now.
Not when her mind was still spinning in a loop of questions she couldn't answer.
Why did Dylan look at her like that?
Why did it feel like her heart had shifted just from the sound of his voice?
And what did it mean now?