I pause at the door. “You don’t get it. She’s… different.”
The room goes quiet.
Milton studies me with something softer than his usual sarcasm. Korbin’s jaw tenses, like he’s deciding whether to punch a wall or just swallow whatever it is he’s feeling.
He settles on glaring instead. “That’s what they all say,” he mutters. “Right before it blows up in your face.”
“Yeah?” I ask. “Well, I’ll risk it.”
I start to leave, but Milton calls out, “Hey—Lincoln.”
I turn.
“Don’t rush her.”
His voice isn’t joking this time. It’s slow. Protective.
“I won’t,” I say quietly.
Korbin shifts beside him, arms still crossed but less… rigid.
“You sure you know what you’re doing?”
“No.” I smile. “But I know what I want.”
I’m halfway out the door when Milton snickers. “Hey, lover boy—if you kiss her goodnight, don’t forget to breathe through your nose.”
I flip him off again, because that seems to be my coping mechanism tonight, and head to my truck. I slide into the driver’s seat and shut the door. The silence hits me harder than expected. I sit there, hands on the wheel, letting my pulse settle.
She said yes.
She said yes.
I scroll back through her message again like a damn teenager:
Bayleigh: Yes.
Every time I read it, warm pressure blooms at the center of my chest. Not anxiety. Not lust.
Hope.
Something I haven’t felt in a long goddamn time.
26
Bayleigh
A disaster area.That’s what my bedroom is. My closet, once full of clothing, now stands basically bare.
Jeans, sweaters, and dresses are strewn across my bed in what can only be described as a silent meltdown. I’ve had each item on my body at least twice in some type of combination. None of them looked the way I wanted them to.
Why does this date have me so worked up? Even when I had my first date with Joseph, my scent match, I didn’t put this much effort into what I was going to wear.
But here I am, standing in the middle of the chaos, my hair curled, wearing nothing but my underwear. Why? Because I have no clue what to wear. It’s not just a date. It’sthedate. The first one I’ve agreed to since Joseph—the one that feels like it might actually matter.
I take a deep breath, needing to calm myself so I can actually think. Time is running out, and I need to make a decision.
I pull on a pair of fitted dark jeans and a green sweater. Moving over to the full-length mirror, I take a good look atmyself, tilting my head to the left, then right, as I turn to get a view from all angles.
