Savannah blinks. “Wow. No hello? Not even a hug?”
“You think this is cute?” I snap. “You think this is some kind of reunion special?”
“I think people love a comeback story,” she says coolly. “And we had a good one, didn’t we? The golden boy and the girl who?—”
“You lied to me.”
That gets her.
She goes quiet. Just for a beat.
“You know you did,” I continue without any details. She doesn’t need them, nor do the onlookers. “And now you walk in here like it’s some PR stunt?”
She flinches.
Good.
“This isn’t LA,” I growl. “And I’m not that guy anymore. So turn around, Savannah. Walk out that door. And don’t ever come back.”
But she doesn’t move.
Instead, she takes a slow step forward, the air between us turning cold despite the heat rolling off the line behind me. Her voice drops low, soft, almost seductive. Calculated.
“I made mistakes,” she says, “but we were good once, Knox. We could be again.”
She places a hand on my arm. Familiar. Too familiar.
I jerk back like she’s burned me.
Her eyes widen slightly, surprised I didn’t play along. That the old script isn’t working.
She tries again.
“I know you’ve got something new here,” she says, her tone feigning warmth. “But that girl? Come on. She’s temporary. You and me, though? We were the real thing.”
Then, as if proving her point, she leans in.
And I know it’s coming before it happens.
I see it in the shift of her body. The way her lashes lower like she’s in a perfume ad. The way she tilts her chin, soft and calculated. One manicured hand lifts, fingers brushing lightly against the fabric of my shirt, just over my heart, like she still knows exactly where to aim.
Her lips part slightly, glossy and pink, and she steps in close. Too close.
Like this is muscle memory. Like I’ll just fall back into it.
She rises up on her toes, breath hitching ever so slightly, her gaze flicking to my mouth, and for one second, one heartbeat, I know exactly what she’s about to do.
She tries to kiss me.
Slow. Smooth. Like she’s slipping back into an old rhythm, expecting me to meet her halfway.
But I don’t.
I pull back like she slapped me.
The air between us snaps taut with the recoil. Her hand falls from my chest, fingers curling into a fist like she can’t believe I moved.
Like I broke the script.
