Silence stretched.I could see the gears turning behind his eyes, the part of him that planned, that controlled chaos instead of letting it control him.
He reached for my hand, thumb brushing over my knuckles.“We don’t have to make this small.”
I pulled my hand back gently.“We aren’t going to make it anything.”
That hurt landed clean.I saw it.The flicker of something wounded before it disappeared behind that familiar stonewall.But I kept going, because if I didn’t say it now, I ran the risk of becoming weak to the sheer allure that was all things Dante Verdone.
“We aren’t this,” I stated.“We aren’t going to do the long-distance thing.We aren’t going to do the late-night calls or the maybe someday promises.I’m going to go back to my life.You’re going to go back to yours.Back to reality where you call me the night before my birthday to tell me first before the flowers come the next morning.The one where I send you a text on your birthday and we see who will reach out first on Lamonte’s.We’re gonna go back to the way things were where my sister mails you a Christmas card and it always has a picture of me with my nieces so you always call to tell me how big they are getting and how beautiful the Banks women are.We aren’t anything more than what we have been, check the box friends holding onto something from many moons ago.”
He frowned.“You don’t know what I’m offering.”
“I know exactly what you offer,” I stated quietly.“Space.Silence.Waiting.Worry.I’m not doing that.”
He leaned forward, forearms on his knees.“You think I’d make you wait?”
“Yes,” I confirmed without hesitation.“Because you always have.Even when you weren’t here.Even when you lived in Maryland.You make people wait until you’re ready.And Dante, I am on no man’s schedule or timeline.”
That landed harder.At least my point was getting across.I swung my legs over the side of the bed, standing despite the protest of my body.I wrapped the robe around myself, hiding away my insecurities that my traitorous body would show him how much I still wanted another round.Yes, my robe, a garment to cover, a way to put something between us.
“My life is in DC,” I continued.“My work.My routines.My stability.I didn’t fight this hard to build it just to orbit around the chaos that follows you.”
His mouth opened, then closed.
“I won’t be someone you fit in when it’s convenient,” I laid it all out.“I won’t wait for you to decide you’re ready.I won’t gamble my peace on potential.And truthfully, as much as you don’t fit in my world, I don’t fit in yours.”
He stood then, towering in the space, naked and raw in a way that had nothing to do with skin.“So that’s it?One night and we pretend it didn’t matter?”
“No,” I countered, turning to face him fully.“It mattered.That’s why it ends here.That way it stays good.”
He searched my face like he might find a crack.An invitation.There wasn’t one.
“This was a one and done,” I stated softly.“A good one.A necessary one even because there won’t be a what if between us.But it’s done.”
The silence that followed was thick, heavy with everything we weren’t saying.Finally, he nodded once.“You’ve always been good at walking away.”
I met his gaze steadily.“I don’t think that’s a fair statement, Dante.But I’m not going to continue the back and forth.I want last night to be what it was and let’s not taint it with any jabs over bruised egos or even dancing around with the idea of what if because there is no situation where this works.”
I grabbed my suitcase, moving toward the bathroom.To load up the last of my toiletries.I had packed last night.Changing my clothes, I put on a basic sweat suit and slip on shoes before packing up my robe.
My heart was steady, even if it ached.Because some doors, once opened, had to be closed again before they burned the whole house down.
He didn’t argue, didn’t push.He waiting patiently until I emerged from the bathroom.As I shut the door behind me, I caught one last glimpse of him in the mirror—standing alone beside the bed we had ruined, eyes dark, expression unreadable.
I didn’t look back after that.I made my way out of the hotel room, down the hall, down the elevator, outside, and to my rental car.Not once did I even given a glance behind me.
Some dances are too dangerous to repeat.
And I wasn’t about to make a habit of waltzing with the devil.
DC swallowed me whole the second the plane touched down.Not in a bad way.In the familiar way—like sliding back into a pair of shoes that fit just right.The air was colder than North Carolina’s damp heat, sharper in my lungs, and the airport was its usual churn of bodies and noise and impatience.Everyone moving with purpose.Everyone pretending they weren’t tired.
I pulled my coat tighter as I walked through the terminal, my carry-on rolling behind me like an obedient shadow.Sunglasses on, even though it was cloudy.It wasn’t about the light.It was about hiding the fact that I still felt him.
Not in some poetic, romantic way.In the very real way my body reminded me with every step.That slow, deep ache between my thighs.The tenderness in my hips.The faint bruises that bloomed under my skin like secrets.
Three rounds.
I hated myself a little for how my mind kept replaying it in flashes—his mouth at my throat, his hand steady on my neck, that rasp of his voice when he whispered like he was worshipping life itself.You’re alive.You’re safe.
