“How else was I supposed to save you in my contacts?”
“By my name, like a normal human? It’s Kyle, by the way.”
“What is?”
“My name is Kyle.” He tilts his head. “But keep Elevator Boy; it makes me feel special. I don’t feel so bad for how I saved you in mine.”
“What did you save my number as?”
I stop walking, realizing I’ve wandered to the driver’s side of my car without even noticing. The key fob is in my hand, but I don’t unlock the door. My heart kicks a little harder as he leans against the car beside me, that teasing smile still in place.
He doesn’t answer my question; instead, he motions toward the parking lot exit with his hand. “Lead the way, sweetheart.”
I nod, forcing a smile I don’t feel, because he’s already straightening and stepping back toward the row of parked cars. He turns, lifting two fingers in a lazy half wave, and something in my chest dips.
He might change his mind. He could hop into his car and drive away, never to be heard from again. The thought lands harder than it should. I tell myself it’s because this—whateverthisis—wasn’t supposed to matter. He’s supposed to be a complication I’m managing, not someone who makes me feel seen in ways I can’t explain. But watching him walk away now feels like losing something I don’t have words for yet.
“Just in case,” I call after him, holding up my phone. “You have my address.”
He stops mid-step and turns slowly. Instead of continuing toward his car, he walks back to me like he never planned to leave in the first place. He steps close enough that I can see the rain clinging to his lashes, his voice dropping to something soft and dangerous. “I’ll find you either way.”
And then he leans in and presses a light, almost casual kiss to my cheek. “See you soon, sweetheart.”
The words curl through me long after he’s gone, lingering in the air like the scent of rain and espresso. I watch him walk toward the other end of the parking lot with his head tipped slightly toward the ground. My heart does the stupidest thing: It waits for him to look back, and he does.
And I’m not sure what scares me more. That I wanted him to look at me one last time, or that I knew what Maria said earlier was right. I’m in so much trouble.
Chapter Six
Kyle
The ride takes fifteen minutes, long enough for the drizzle to soak through my jacket and short enough that I almost turn around halfway there. I hadn’t planned to show up on the bike, but it was that or risk sitting in traffic and overthinking everything.
I bought the bike with part of my signing bonus. Walked into a dealership, pointed at a black Yamaha, and didn’t think twice. There’s something about riding it that I can't get anywhere else. The world falls away, and for a few minutes, it’s just me—no expectations pressing in, no comparisons to my brothers weighing me down. Cooper hates it. Calls it reckless. Maybe that’s part of why I love it. On the bike, I’m not the youngest Hendrix or a rookie first draft pick. I’m just free. And for fifteen minutes, that’s enough. But when I pull into her lot and spot her little silver hatchback under the streetlight, none of that matters anymore.
Alycia steps out before I even cut the engine and smooths a curl behind her ear, muttering somethingunder her breath about humidity like it’s a personal enemy. When her eyes find me, she lights up. Not polite or forced, but a genuine smile that punches the air right out of my lungs.
“You made it,” she says, her voice warm and lighter than before.
“I said I would.” I tug off the helmet as her gaze drifts over me, lingering on the bike.
“You ride?”
“Sometimes. It’s safer than it looks.”
She gives me a look that’s half amused, half unimpressed. “That’s exactly what reckless people say.”
“Probably.” I swing a leg off, boots splashing against the wet asphalt. “I’ll get you on the back of it one day.”
“Absolutely not.” But the way her eyes flick to the bike says she’s already imagining it.
“You’ll change your mind.”
She shakes her head, but the genuine smile that slips out betrays her. There’s a spark in it that tells me this isn’t just a one-night act for her, no matter how hard she’s trying to keep it professional.
She turns toward the building, and I fall in beside her. Every few strides, her shoulder brushes mine lightly, just enough to pull a thread tight in my chest. I shouldn’t notice, but I do. Every damn time.
She doesn’t look at me directly, but the corner of her mouth lifts like she knows exactly what she’s doing. I tell myself to focus on the walk, not the way her hair clings to her neck or the way she smells like vanilla and something that feels dangerous.
