When The Poor Girl Suddenly Became Rich

The city lights blurred past the tinted windows of Alonzo's car.

Inside, parked in a dimly lit part of the campus parking lot, a dangerous, burning silence lingered between them.

Andi was straddling Alonzo's lap, her lips already swollen from the kisses they'd exchanged minutes earlier. His hands were on her waist—steady, but trembling.

"Andi," he murmured between breaths, "Babe. Wait—"

"Hmm?" She answered innocently, pressing her lips to the corner of his jaw, trailing soft kisses down his neck.

He cursed under his breath, gripping the steering wheel behind her like it could somehow anchor him, keep him from giving in to the storm inside his body.

"We're in my car," he said, almost desperate. "Campus parking lot. Someone might—shit—see us."

"It's tinted," Andi whispered, voice low and sinful. "Unless… you want someone to see us?"

Alonzo groaned. "Woman, you're gonna kill me."

Their mouths met again—messy, breathless, full of want. Clothes weren't coming off, but hands had started to wander. His seat was pushed all the way back, and the air inside the car was thick—humid with perfume, heat, and—

KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK.

They froze.

"Ate?"

No.

Alonzo looked over Andi's shoulder, horrified.

No.

Another knock—firmer now, closer to the driver's side.

"Alonzo, bro. Don't tell me this is you. Ate Andi, are you in there?"

Andi's eyes widened. Alonzo's soul left his body.

Gesly.

Why now? Why here?!

Andi ducked, practically diving into the passenger seat. "Oh my god. Oh my god. SHHH!"

Alonzo stared at the ceiling. "I'm going to combust."

"Open the window!" Andi hissed. "The more you stall, the more suspicious it looks!"

Alonzo rolled the window down halfway, summoning every remaining shred of dignity.

"Yo, Ges."

Gesly blinked. "What are you doing here?"

"Uh. Parking. AC. Me time."

Gesly frowned. "Alone?"

"Yup."

Andi accidentally bumped a lever on the seat, making it squeak.

Gesly narrowed his eyes.

Alonzo, sweating: "Mouse. There's a mouse. Place is messy."

Gesly slowly looked at the windshield.

Then the passenger seat. Then Alonzo's neck—where, unfortunately, a faint kiss mark had started to appear.

His mouth opened.

Closed.

Opened again.

Then, with the most disappointed big brother energy in the world, he muttered:

"Damn. Y'all nasty."

And walked away.

Andi popped up from the passenger seat, mortified and bright red.

Alonzo slumped in his chair, whispering: "I was two seconds away from glory… and then the child appeared."

Andi smacked his chest playfully. "You were enjoying that way too much."

He raised an eyebrow. "You were grinding on my lap, ma'am. Don't test me."

She bit her lip, still blushing. "I want… more."

Alonzo turned to her, dead serious. "Say that again, and I will explode."

She leaned in and whispered, "More."

- ; -

She couldn't breathe.

Literally—she couldn't breathe.

Gesly had just walked off, but that sentence still echoed in her head like poison in her ears:

"Damn. Y'all nasty."

She buried her face in her hands.

Lord, save me from the ghost of my lost two seconds.

Next to her, Alonzo wasn't speaking. As usual. But she could feel it—that same shame, that same heat, that same overwhelming frustration pulsing just beneath his skin.

She peeked at him.

Still gripping the steering wheel. Eyes shut. Breathing hard.

He was mad. Mad at himself. Mad at the interruption. Mad because he, too, was left hanging.

And her?

God, she was so left hanging. And the worst part?

She still wanted it. More.

She hadn't expected the night to escalate so quickly.

She thought it'd be simple—just cuddles, a few kisses, a little sweetness.

Not...

Straddling. Neck kisses. Grinding on his lap so hot she almost ripped her underwear.

And Alonzo?

He had been trying. God, he was trying so hard to be a gentleman.

But even without begging, even without saying a word—she knew.

He would've caved.

One more push, and he would've given in.

And then, the walking libido extinguisher arrived. Gesly. The child saint. The guardian angel no one asked for.

Andi groaned again, this time in quiet frustration, turning to stare out the window.

In the cold stillness of the parking lot, she realized—

What if he hadn't come?

What if no one had knocked?

What if she had let Alonzo go further?

Her knees trembled at the thought.

She looked at him again.

Alonzo opened his eyes, finally. Still unreadable. Still silent. But tension was carved deep into his jaw—between control and lust.

Damn. Why are you hot when you're mad?

"Coffee," she blurted.

He blinked. "Huh?"

"Coffee. Now. My treat. For the…" she hesitated, "…interrupted fantasy."

He scoffed—low, dark laughter. "So this is your version of aftercare?"

She grinned. "Yup. I want more."

"Don't." His voice dropped. "Say that again."

She leaned closer, smirking. "More."

"Fucking hell."

She laughed.

And despite everything—the knock, the interruption, the trauma— She was still giddy.

---

FLASHBACK

It was supposed to be just dinner.

Just a casual, low-stakes "wanna grab something to eat?" kind of dinner.

But why did it suddenly feel like… more?

After dinner, they just sat in the car.

In front of her house. Just meters from the gate. No music. No noise.

Alonzo's hands rested lightly on the wheel. Eyes on the windshield. Like he wanted to say something, but didn't want to push it.

Andi, on the other hand, was fidgeting with her bracelet.

"Alonzo…"

He turned to her.

That one look? God. It was like her chest caught fire.

"Hmm?" he answered—soft. Curious. Gentle.

"Thanks for dinner," she said, trying to keep it casual. "The food was great. And quiet. I liked it."

He smiled a little. Just a flicker. But it landed deep.

"You make silence feel… loud," he said softly.

She turned to him.

"Huh?"

"Nothing." He cleared his throat. "You heading in?"

She hesitated.

And that hesitation? That was the nail in the coffin.

Alonzo looked at her again. And this time—his gaze wasn't neutral.

It was searching.

Waiting.

Asking.

And she gave her answer—with a nod.

Slowly… carefully…

He leaned in.

No rush. No pressure. Just pure, unbearable tension.

Their faces were inches apart.

Her eyes flicked to his lips. Then to his eyes. Then back again.

She felt it—that short, shaky breath he took before he kissed her.

And when he finally did—

It wasn't heated.

It wasn't dirty.

It was tender.

Like he'd been thinking about it for a long time.

Like he was scared to get it wrong.

His lips brushed hers lightly, as if asking, "Can I?"

So she answered—with a soft hum, and leaned in closer.

Kiss.

Pause.

Kiss.

Longer this time.

Then a hand—his—on her cheek.

Andi sighed through her nose, tilting her head, letting herself fall into it.

And in that quiet, parked car, under the faint glow of a lamppost—

Two people, both too guarded for their own good, finally cracked.