“What about you? How’s work going?”
Bryce hesitated… just a beat, but I noticed it.
“It’s… work,” he simply replied, not meeting my eyes at first. “Same grind, different clock.”
I didn’t push. I should’ve known talking about his job was a touchy subject since it was the thing that swallowed our time, then our peace… and eventually, us. So I just nodded.
He got quiet again. Then, “Chesteria…”
I knew that tone, that hesitation, and that weight in the way he said my name.
“I think it’s time that we—”
But before he could finish, footsteps padded in, accompanied by a yawn that deserved a Grammy.
“Oh… there you are,” Isis cooed, rubbing her eyes like she’d just woken up from a princess nap. “I reached over, and you weren’t there. I was like, 'Where’s my teddy bear?'"
“Teddy bear? Isis, don’t call me that shit ever again,” he said, voice low and razor-clean. “Ain’t nothing ‘teddy’ about me, Isis. Wrong man, wrong nickname. And judging by how this trip going?” he added, tone clipped and cold, “You might be sleeping by yourself for the rest of it.”
Oops.
Isis’s mouth parted like she wanted to speak to the manager for his tone. When she spotted me, cozy in my blanket and coffee in hand, she quickly plastered her smirk back on like freshly applied foundation.
“Oh… I didn’t mean to interrupt your little midnight café.”
I smiled, calm and unbothered. “No worries. We were just wrapping up our conversation.”
Then I stood, slow and intentional, and brushed past her with a shoulder bump soft enough to pass as accidental but heavy enough to say everything she needed to hear.
“It was good catching up with you, Bryce. Goodnight,” I taunted, allowing a hint of mischief to dance in my voice.
He gave me a solemn look with something unsaid lingering in his eyes.
I didn’t need to hear it… I already knew.
Chapter sixteen
Bryce
“When the Storm Hits, So Does the Stupidity”
The cabin was damn near silent, except for the light wind brushing against the windows and my own breath getting heavier with each stroke. I laid across the wide bed, legs slightly apart, shirtless and eyes shut tight, as my right hand moved with a mission. The other pressed against the edge of the sheets as I conjured up the image of Chesteria in that white tank top she wore to bed last night.
No bra… just bounce and attitude.
“I swear she wore that shit on purpose,” I muttered, dragging my hand faster, jaw tightening.
I imagined her crawling across the bed toward me, sass still in her eyes but surrender written all over her hips. My hand moved faster, massaging the tip and moving down to the base. My actions were getting the job done, but Chesteria's hand combowas top tier, and I imagined her taking over. This visual had my toes curling.
“Shit,” I cursed low, the base of my throat vibrating with need.
The memory of Chesteria biting her lip and smiling at the kitchen table, had me gripping myself tighter. Then…
POP.
The room went dark—all the power went out.
“What the f—”
