“…you’re going have to learn something new.”
“Yeah?” I managed. “What’s that?”
She stepped back one slow pace—just enough distance to take her warmth with her, but not the look in her eyes.
“How to take it slow.”
A breath punched outta me. “Slow,” I repeated, like it was a damn foreign word.
“Mm-hmm.” Her smile deepened. “Think you can handle that?”
“I can try.”
“Good,” she said, turnin’ away, hips swayin’ like a dare she knew I felt everywhere.
I couldn’t move. Couldn’t find my breath. Just stood there in the middle of the floor, heat rollin’ under my skin while she walked toward the hallway, soft light catchin’ the curve of her shoulder, her hair, the wildness she finally let herself own.
She didn’t look back.
Didn’t need to.
Somewhere between wantin’ her and lettin’ her walk away, I lost the upper hand all over again.
And hell if I didn’t want to follow her anyway.
***
I DRAGGED Ahand down my face, tryin’ to get my damn pulse under control before I walked back toward the table. The room came back in pieces—bass rolling through the floorboards, smoke curling under the lights, brothers hollerin’ over card games and pool shots, but none of it hit right. Not after her. Not after the way she’d looked at me and walked away like she owned every inch of my self-control.
Truth was, she kinda did.
Devil, Bolt, and Mystic were exactly where I expected—back table, good sightlines, a couple of bottles scattered between ’em. They watched the room the way seasoned men watch a storm. Quiet. Unmoving. Ready.
Devil clocked me the second I sat down. One brow lifted slow, the kind of look that said he already knew the whole damn story and didn’t need to hear a thing.
“You look like someone brained you with a two-by-four,” he said.
I grunted, reaching for a cold bottle. “I’m fine.”
Bolt snorted, boots kicked up on the empty chair beside him. “Yeah? And I’m the Easter Bunny’s accountant.”
Mystic didn’t laugh, but the corner of his mouth twitched. “Brother, you’re damn near steaming. Feels like the walls are pickin’ up your frequency.”
“Go to hell,” I muttered, though there wasn’t much bite to it.
The beer tasted bitter, cold, useless. Didn’t put out a damn thing inside me.
Devil leaned back, arms folding slow. “She good?”
I nodded once. “She’s good.”
“You ain’t,” Bolt said.
“Did I say I wasn’t.”
Mystic tapped a knuckle on the table. “Didn’t need to. You’re sittin’ like a man outta his body.”
I stared down at the bottle, thumb draggin’ over the label. “She told me to take it slow.”
