"I just needed to leave."
"Want company?" He nods toward the diner. "I could use a burger."
Yes. No. I don't know.
This is a terrible idea. After what happened at the Tree Lighting—after I basically threw myself at him in that alley and he had to be the one with self-control—the last thing I should do is spend more time alone with him.
But another part of me—a bigger part—doesn't want to sit in that diner booth alone, replaying River's kiss while pretending I have my life together.
At least with Grayson, I don't have to pretend.
"Sure," I hear myself say. "Company sounds good."
He nods, and his scent wraps around me more fully now—ink and leather with something darker underneath. Spice, maybe. It's completely different from River's warm cedar, but it does the same thing to my pulse.
The walk to Millie's is less than half a block, but I'm hyperaware of every step. The way he moves beside me—controlled, deliberate. How close his hand is to mine. The breadth of his shoulders under that dark coat.
Three days ago those hands were on my hips. That forehead pressed to mine. I was pinned against brick, gasping, begging him not to stop.
And he stopped anyway.
"So," he says, his voice lower than before. "Want to talk about it?"
I keep my eyes forward. "Talk about what?"
"Whatever happened." A pause. When I glance over, he's looking at my mouth. "You smell like cedar and sawdust."
My cheeks betray me. Of course he can smell River on me. Smell what we did.
"And you've touched your lips four times since I found you."
I immediately drop my hand. "You're very observant."
"Yeah." His jaw tightens. "I am."
We reach Millie's and he holds the door open. The warm air and smell of comfort food hits me, but all I can focus on is how his scent wraps around me as I pass him. How his hand hovers near my lower back without quite touching.
How much I want him to touch me.
How guilty I feel for wanting that after what just happened with River.
"Want to grab a booth?" His voice is rough.
I follow him to a corner booth, trying not to notice how he moves. Trying not to remember how that body felt pressed against mine, all controlled strength and leashed intensity.
I slide in across from him. He watches me with those dark eyes—the same look he gave me in the alley before his forehead dropped to mine.
The air feels thick. Heavy with everything unsaid.
This is the first time we've been alone since that night. Since he counted down and didn't kiss me and I wanted him to so badly I could barely breathe.
And now I'm here, fresh from making out with a different alpha, sitting across from the one who had enough self-control to stop when I couldn't.
"So." He leans back, but his eyes never leave my face. "The hardware guy."
It's not a question.
"River," I say, because pretending is pointless. "His name is River."
