My next words land like impact.
“Last night changed everything.”
She inhales sharply.
Then…
She grabs the doorknob.
Not running.
Not slamming.
Just escaping.
“Bryce…” she whispers, voice breaking.
“I need time.”
She leaves.
Door clicks shut.
Silence drops hard.
I rub a hand over my jaw, pulse still pounding.
She thinks time will make her forget what we are.
But she’s wrong.
Because now?
She’s had my hands.
My mouth.
My bed.
And that means one thing.
Time won’t save her. Time will only break her denial.
And I’ll be waiting.
Chapter thirteen
Annabelle
“Stop staring at your phone like it’s a shirtless firefighter calendar.”
I freeze with my phone halfway to my face like a raccoon caught stealing pizza.
“I was not,” I say, which is a lie so offensively obvious it should come with a laugh track.
Karen from accounting raises a brow. “Uh-huh. And I don’t have three cats named after members of One Direction.”
She walks off.
