I huff out a laugh, still slightly flustered. “I can never sit right.” I pause, then mutter, “Or apparently act right, for that matter.”
His steady gaze pins me in place. I can’t for the life of me tell what he’s thinking, and unease coils in my chest.
I exhale, forcing myself to meet his eyes. “I want to apologize. My friend and I were… out of line at your bar last night.”
He tilts his head slightly. “You weren’t out of line.” He leans forward, voice dry. “The little one? Yes.”
I let out another breath, part relief, part amusement.
Then I hesitate. My fingers tighten slightly against my shin.
“About the messages,” I finally say.
Hex doesn’t react right away. He just watches me. Then, after a pause—
“What do you need me to do?”
My brain short-circuits for a second because that is not the response I expected.
“I—” I fumble, shaking my head. “Absolutely nothing.”
His brow lifts, a subtle nudge for me to keep going.
“It’s nothing more than a reckless, alcohol-fueled screw up,” I continue, my words tumbling out too fast. “I don’t drink. I mean, I did, obviously, but I usually don’t because of”—I wave a hand vaguely—“reasons. It was stupid. I’m a mom for God’s sake. I don’t”—I gesture wildly toward the counter as if there is a laptop in front of me —“do that.”
His mouth twitches, but he doesn’t smile. Instead, he tilts his head, studying me with that same quiet intensity that’s lingered since I walked in.
Then he leans in just a fraction. “Is it the blonde?”
I freeze. My stomach twists, and my hands pull my knee a fraction closer to my chest.
“The blonde,” I echo.
His gaze stays locked on me. “The one I took out the front. Is she the one bothering you?”
My pulse kicks up, my throat dry.
Yes.
And no.
And suddenly, it feels wrong to be having this conversation with someone who’s still a stranger in all the ways that matter.
But he’s watching me in a way that strips everything bare. The hesitation. The fear. He already knows the answer.
For the first time in a long time, I don’t know what to say.
Amom.
Why the fuck is that a complete turn-on?
I lean against the island, watching her curl into herself, one leg tucked close, trying hard to not take up space.
But she does.
She takes up space that’s impossible for me to ignore.
The way she moved through my apartment, straight to my grandfather’s buffet as if it called to something in her. I didn’t miss the way she kept herself facing forward without thinking about it. Whoever’s been fucking with her has her well-trained. But beyond that, the way her eyes lit up catches my attention. Full of awe you only see when someone stumbles onto something worth treasuring. I didn’t expect that. Hell, I didn’t expect her.
