Then, still holding my gaze, he pushes his pants lower. Just far enough that I can see the flex of his hand, the tightness in his jaw as he gets closer to the edge.
He doesn’t rush. He keeps his pace steady, eyes locked on me like I’m the only thing keeping him grounded. Or maybe the thing that’s driving him to fall apart.
His mouth parts, chest heaving now, and when he finally tips his head back, I know he’s close. And he still doesn’t look away. Not until the very last moment when his body tenses, hand tight, breath catching. And even then he looks for me again. Like he needs to know I watched it all.
And I did. Every single second.
My skin feels too tight.
My breath comes in short, uneven bursts as I step back from the window, glass of water trembling in my hand. I set it down on the counter with a quiet clink, then brace my hands on theedge of the sink, trying to still my racing heart. But there’s no stilling it. Not after that.
I close my eyes, but the image is burned behind my lids. Will, sprawled out, hand wrapped around himself, looking at me like he could come undone from just a glance. Because he did. And I watched. And he let me.
I grab my phone. My thumb hovers. I shouldn’t. But I do. I open our thread. My heart pounds so hard it hurts. And then I type.
Will Flowers
That was a bold move.
I stare at the screen, thumb over the send button. Then I press it. It delivers instantly. Three dots appear. Then stop. Then appear again. My heart’s in my throat, my lungs not working right.
Wasn’t trying to be subtle.
The room tilts slightly. Everything feels charged, dangerous, deliciously on the edge.
I type again.
You wanted me to see?
His reply comes faster this time.
What do you think?
I think this whole thing is confusing, if I’m being honest.
Did you like what you saw?
Did you?
This time, his silence is louder. The three dots don’t come. No typing. No reply. Just a dead thread and the quiet hum of the apartment pressing in like a weight.
I let out a bitter laugh, sharp and humorless.
Because of course.
That’s how he always plays it. Daring just enough to get me close, to make me feel, only to pull back the second it stops being a game. He wants to be wanted but not kept. And I’m so damn tired of chasing smoke.
I set my phone down like it might burn me and walk to the kitchen, grabbing that forgotten glass of water and downing it like it might wash him out of my system. It doesn’t. Because he’s still under my skin. Even now. Especially now.
Which means it’s time to get the hell out of Dodge. Or, in this case, Broken Heart Creek. So, I get to work making arrangements and by five am I have my flight booked for the next day.
9
“Why in the hell are you going to Texas?” Liam asks, already halfway through his first cup of coffee like he’s been waiting to start this interrogation since sunrise.
I snort into my mug, not even trying to hide the smirk. “There’s an extreme bronc riding event in Fort Worth I want to check out. I reached out to the Cowboy Channel, and they’re helping me set up some interviews.”
He narrows his eyes like I just told him I’m entering a cage fight.
