The thought makes her smile.
She turns the corner and steps into the bathroom. Steam curls thick in the air, fogging the mirror, clouding the glass. But even through the haze, she sees him. The outline of him. The shadow of muscles moving beneath water.
Her throat tightens.
Then his voice cuts through the steam.
“Are you getting in or just enjoying the show?” Jaxon teases, his tone low, roughened by heat and soap and a trace of laughter.
“I’ve already had my shower for the night,” she replies, voice just a touch higher than normal. Not because she’s nervous.
Because she’s picturing stepping into that shower. Pressing her chest against his back. Feeling his hands slide along her soaked skin and turn her around.
“So what are you doing here then?” His voice is quieter now. Closer.
“I wanted to talk, Jax,” she says, forcing herself to focus. “I don’t like how we left things today.”
“We’re good, Sara.”
“No. We’re not. And I’m not going to pretend like we are.”
He doesn’t answer right away. She can hear the water rinse through his hair, the way his hand runs along the back of his neck.
“I need you to hear me,” she says, stepping closer. Her voice cracks, but she pushes through it. “Last night… I’m sorry. For walking away. For shutting you out without explaining why. You didn’t do anything wrong, Jax. I just—when you leaned in, all I could think about was Claire. And I panicked. But that doesn’t mean I didn’t want it.”
She exhales, slowly. Then keeps going.
“I loved everything about that night. Laying with you. Talking with you. The way your hand felt on my side... it wasn’t just comforting—it made me feel safe. It made me feel like someone actually saw me. Really saw me. And that hasn’t happened in a long time.”
She looks down, biting her lip. “The truth is... that night I ran into you in Atlanta? That sparked something in me. Something I hadn’t felt in years. I still think about it. About you. And I wasn’t leading you on last night, Jaxon. I swear to you—I wanted you to kiss me.”
His voice is soft when he answers. “I’ve thought about that night more timesthan I can count. Wondered what would’ve happened if I’d just walked up to you instead of taking my seat. If I’d stayed behind when the group left the restaurant. But the truth is... maybe the timing just wasn’t right.”
“And what about now?” she asks, voice barely above a whisper.
There’s a pause. The kind that hangs in the air and crackles.
“I think that’s up to you,” he finally says. “I’ve said everything I can say. I’ve done everything I can do—short of grabbing you so you can’t run again and kissing the hell out of you.”
The words slam into her. Her breath catches.
Grabbing. Kissing. The heat floods her all over again, this time from the inside out.
She looks at the glass again. His outline. The curve of his shoulder. The ripple of muscle under water.
One step forward.
Then another.
But her fingers curl around the doorknob instead.
“I’m glad we cleared that up,” she says, voice tight. “Goodnight, Jaxon. I’ll see you in the morning.”
And just like that, she leaves.
But the moment the door clicks shut behind her, she leans back against it, closes her eyes, and breathes like she just barely survived herself.
Because truth be told? She didn’t walk away because she didn’t want him.
