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The way Tyler had managed to get his way—again and again—was humiliating in more ways than one, and Wednesday was not about to let it happen again.
Over the past few weeks, she had studied his modus operandi carefully. And while it followed one of the most basic rules of war—divide and conquer—the execution had been layered beneath sweet words, pleading looks, and disarming smiles that had successfully diverted her attention.
Not that she would ever admit it.
And while Wednesday did enjoy their weekly light torture sessions—and only for that reason allowed him to win occasionally—she refused to endure Tyler using his most dangerous weapon against her ever again: romantic comedies.
Her limit had been reached the previous weekend, when Enid had hosted a mani-pedi night in their room, and—unfortunately—Wednesday had understood half the references.
“Why are you so obsessed with me?”
“Bend & Snap.”
“Thirty, flirty, and thriving.”
…and many others she refused to recall because they gave her nightmares.
And not the good ones.
Tyler Galpin had ruined her life, and she would not continue wasting brain space retaining that kind of useless information—not to mention the idiotic pop songs that occasionally slipped into her thoughts, songs Tyler liked to hum while driving or cooking.
She hated him.
Friday movie night arrived, and he waited for her at the gates of Nevermore so they could walk to his house together.
The usual twenty-five-minute walk quickly stretched into an hour, thanks to several strategic stops to “check their lung function.”
It was necessary, she told herself.
The deadly cold of late November required such precautions. As did the body heat his hands provided when they slipped beneath her sweater.
Pure survival.
“Do you want some coffee?” Tyler asked when they arrived, pulling off his hoodie and adjusting the heating.
Wednesday narrowed her eyes.
That was always his opening move—to lower her guard.
But not today.
She nodded.
She didn’t want to seem suspicious.
Tyler went to the kitchen and returned with a thermal cup containing her quad espresso and a mug of hot chocolate with marshmallows for himself.
She wrinkled her nose in disapproval. Tyler smiled like a five-year-old.
“Are you planning to stand there all night?” he asked, sitting in his usual spot on the couch.
Wednesday cursed internally. She had to follow the established routine. She couldn’t let him suspect anything.
She hung her coat and sat beside him. Tyler had everything ready—the black blanket they always shared, plates for the food, and his father’s beer mug. Olives for her. Caramel popcorn for him.
“You seem tense.”
“I’m not,” Wednesday replied immediately.
Tyler looked at her—back rigid, hands resting on her knees—then at the space between them.
The disbelief was obvious.
Wednesday shifted closer.
Tyler raised an eyebrow.
“We could…”
Oh no.
There it was—that rough tone of voice, the one that made sound waves feel like heavy tides crashing against her stomach.
“…make use of the time.”
Tyler leaned in, fixing her with those wide, clear eyes.
Wednesday swallowed hard, clenching her hands.
She wouldn’t fall for it.
She was strong.
“…before my father gets here.”
And there it was—that damn smile.
Not even a full one. Just a slight curve, a subtle, sideways smirk that promised slow, exquisite torture.
Her lips tingled, her salivary glands reacting to the memory of their last stop—just a few meters from the house. Tyler’s lips on her neck. His body pressing her against the tree.
If it hadn’t been for the car horn reminding them they were in public…
On second thought, she should be grateful. Public indecency was not the charge she wanted to start her criminal record with.
Not even her parents had sunk that low.
Wednesday swallowed.
She was strong.
She opened her mouth to refuse—but Tyler reached out and brushed her arm.
She trembled.
Her skin prickled, the rigid line of her spine melting like candles on the Day of the Dead.
Oh no.
That was her last thought before Tyler closed the distance.
Their lips barely touched when the front door burst open.
A growl announced Donovan’s arrival.
“Half a meter!” he barked.
Tyler rolled his eyes.
“Jeez, Dad. She’s my girlfriend.”
“And this is my house. Half. A. Meter.”
Donovan dropped the pizzas on the table and stomped into the kitchen.
Tyler sighed and leaned back.
Wednesday exhaled slowly. She had been dangerously close to falling—but for once, Donovan’s interruption was welcome.
Tyler misinterpreted her sigh. He draped the blanket over them and, beneath it, slid his hand forward, pressing against her knee.
“Hands where I can see them,” Donovan growled as he returned.
“God, one can’t do anything in this house,” Tyler muttered, raising his hands like he’d been caught.
“I know their parents. The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.”
Wednesday shot him a sharp look.
“Are you referring to the Galpin family’s pathological attraction to the most dangerous Outcast within a hundred-mile radius?”
Donovan’s ears turned red. Tyler laughed.
“They have their charm,” Tyler said, flashing another smile—this one sweet and playful.
Wednesday didn’t fall for it.
She turned to the screen and took a sip of her coffee.
They served the pizza, and Tyler started scrolling through movies.
“Oh, this one’s good!”
“No,” Wednesday said immediately.
The cover showed a smiling girl, and the title read Smile. Wednesday was almost certain it involved singing.
“Okaaay.”
The next movie Donovan rejected instantly.
“The last thing I need is for you two to get ideas for more crimes.”
When Tyler stopped on another—featuring a red-haired girl in a huge dress surrounded by singing birds—both Wednesday and Donovan reacted at once.
“No!”
“So what do you want?” Tyler asked, exasperated.
“Mystery,” Wednesday said quickly. No romantic comedy ever had mystery.
“And action,” Donovan added.
“With monsters, preferably.”
“But not horror.”
Wednesday rolled her eyes but bit her tongue. That was where she and Donovan disagreed—but she was willing to compromise to avoid romance.
“Fine,” she said, almost against her will. “Not horror.”
Tyler and Donovan both stared at her, surprised.
She settled back, satisfied with herself.
“I know exactly what to pick.”
He scrolled through titles until he selected one that seemed promising.
The movie began.
A dense forest filled the screen, and a voice said:
“I never really thought about how I would die…”
Not bad.
A deer appeared, stalked by something unseen.
Wednesday took another sip of coffee, finally relaxing. She had successfully avoided two hours of bland romance.
Under the blanket, she took Tyler’s hand. He tightened his grip around hers.
“What’s it called?” Donovan asked, half-focused on the screen, half on his beer.
Tyler’s answer was clean and precise—like a guillotine blade.
“Twilight.”