Dinner. Her mom’s house:I walked in fine. Or I thought I was. Shoulders loose, breathing steady. Then Alycia touched the strap of her bag, and I felt my chest tighten like someone had taken the air out of the room. Not bad tight. Just… alert. Like my body knew something before my brain did.
I kept joking. I noticed that. Every time she looked overwhelmed, I reached for humor. Automatic. A pressure valve. It worked, I think, because she kept breathing. I don’t know if she saw me watching her hands—the way her thumb kept scraping the edge of the plate. That’s when I went quiet. I only joke when I feel like I have control. When I don’t, I shut up.
Meeting her mom:My stomach dropped like I was taking a face-off I didn’t train for. My jaw got tight. Hands were a little shaky when I took her mom’s hand. But the second Marisol smiled at Alycia, something I didn’t expect softened in me. Like relief. Like, oh, she’s loved here. And I wanted to be part of that without earning it. That scared me more than anything.
Touch:When our elbows brushed at the counter, my whole chest expanded, like someone opened a window. When I tucked her hair behind her ear, my hands shook afterward. Not from nerves, but from trying not to want more than she was offering. I don’t know how to describe the feeling except that everything in me went very still. That’s new. I’m not a still person.
At the table:Her knee hit mine under the table, and my pulse jumped. Not fast. More like… solid. Grounded. I guess that’s the “softening” part Dr. Shah meant. Every time I caught her staring at my mouth, my throat tightened. My voice kept dropping lower without me telling it to. I don’t know what that means.
The almost-kiss:Right before her mom walked in. My hands went numb for a second, like my body was trying to decide whether to move forward or pull back. I didn’t pull back.
I would have kissed her if her mom hadn’t come in. I’m not sure what that says about me.
The car ride: I noticed her breathing went shallow when I talked about the truth. Mine did, too. Even when she was looking out the window, my body kept leaning slightly toward her. Not enough to reach. Just enough to feel her there. My grip on the steering wheel was too tight the whole way. I didn’t want her to see.
Walking her upstairs: My legs felt wired. Not shaky but charged. Her fingers brushed mine when she dropped the fob, and my whole damn body reacted like I was hit with static.
I didn’t joke. I couldn’t. Everything in me went quiet. Then the kiss happened—or whatever that was.
Before it: my stomach dropped. My chest locked tight.
During: everything softened. Every muscle. Every thought.
After: everything tightened again like withdrawal.
She whispered, “We shouldn’t,” and my entire body felt it. My jaw, my hands, and even my fucking ribs. I wanted to promise something I shouldn’t. I almost did. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do with this part, but whenshe touched the side of my neck, something deep in my chest eased, as if my body recognized her. I don’t have another word for it.
Leaving:Her closing the door felt like losing something I didn’t have a right to yet.
I stood there longer than I should have. My hands wouldn’t stop shaking. She said tonight was pretend, but my body didn’t buy it. That’s the truth.
Chapter Eleven
Kyle
The second I see Alycia, my lungs forget what they’re supposed to do. The woman I couldn’t stop thinking about last night is here, standing under the fluorescent lights of the Timberwolves PR office like she didn’t kiss me breathless twelve hours ago. My dreams were full of the way she whispered my name, fingers clenched in my shirt, like she’d waited years to say it.
She’s all polished professionalism now, in high heels, a navy blazer, and a cream blouse. Put together in a way that shouldn’t remind me of last night but does. Her hair’s pulled up tight, except for a single curl falling loose against her temple, and that one detail hits harder than it should. Sin and salvation wrapped up in a woman trying to pretend last night never happened.
She looks up, a flicker of recognition in her eyes—shock, panic, memory—and then it disappears, replaced by the careful calm of a woman who has something to lose. I should look away and pretend I don’t rememberthe taste of her lip gloss or the way she melted into me. But the second I open my mouth, it betrays me.
“Hello, sweetheart.”
She freezes, and the only thing that moves is the pulse at her throat, fluttering high and fast with the ghost of last night thrumming between us. It beats through my own skin before she forces it still, her face going perfectly blank.
“Already charming the staff, huh?” Cole chuckles beside me, turning to Beau. “You owe me twenty bucks.”
“What the hell are you two betting on now?” I mutter, tearing my eyes away from her.
“We bet on how fast you’d turn on the Hendrix charm,” Beau says, squeezing my shoulder.
I snort, forcing a laugh that sounds steadier than I feel. “Really mature, betting on my social skills.”
“Don’t call it social skills. Call it a brand.” Cole grins.
“Yeah? Pretty sure the brand is about to get me fired for sexual harassment.”
“You’re the one who opened withsweetheart, Casanova,” Cole fires back, eyes glinting.
