“I know,” I say, brushing a strand of her hair away from her cheek. “But not like this.”
Her lips part, a soft exhale escaping, and for a second, I think I see relief mingling with that hunger in her eyes. She nods, a slow understanding settling in, but that doesn’t stop the tension from simmering between us.
“But the offer still stands,” she whispers, a shy smile tugging at her lips. “The bed, I mean.”
I chuckle, shaking my head. “You’re gonna drive me insane, you know that?”
“I’m okay with that,” she quips, her playfulness returning.
Her apartment is small,cozy, with soft lighting that makes everything feel warmer than it is. Lakelyn shrugs off her jacket, tossing it over the back of a chair before glancing back at me.
“I’m gonna shower real quick. Make yourself at home.”
I give her a nod, watching as she disappears down the hallway, leaving me standing in the middle of her living room. The place feels lived in. Soft blankets are draped over the couch, the faint scent of vanilla lingering in the air. Her art supplies are scattered around—sketchbooks, paints, brushes—all neatly organized but clearly used.
The kitchen island separates the spaces, and a small dining table sits right behind her comfortable looking couch. It isn’t my apartment in New York, the one Rich and I were on a waiting list for what felt like forever for. I thought I had it all back then. An alpha to take care of, an apartment to make my own, a life. But I know now none of it was real, because this feeling inside my chest when I’m around Lakelyn is nothing like how I felt then.
I make my way over to a small table by the window, where a half-finished painting sits. It’s beautiful—soft strokes of color blending into something abstract, something I can’t quite namebut that feels familiar. There’s a quiet passion in the way she works, like she pours herself into her art the way I do into music. Or used to pour myself into music at least…I lost that joy somewhere along the way.
I touch the edge of the canvas lightly, feeling that pull again, that connection to her that’s more than just physical. She’s more complex than she lets on. I’ve seen the fire in her, but this... this is a different side. Softer. More vulnerable.
The sound of the shower running in the distance pulls me from my thoughts, and I turn away from the painting, glancing around the rest of her space. There’s a bookshelf crammed with old novels, some dog-eared and worn. A stack of records sits beside it, and I smile, recognizing a few of the artists.
She’s got taste. I’ll give her that.
I move toward the couch, intending to sit, but my gaze catches on something hanging on the wall. It’s a framed drawing, small and delicate—two figures standing side by side, their hands barely touching. The lines are soft, like a memory. Something about it tugs at me.
“Chad?”
I turn around, startled by the sound of her voice. She’s standing in the doorway, towel-drying her hair, her cheeks flushed from the heat of the shower. She’s wearing an oversized T-shirt that hits mid-thigh, her bare legs drawing my gaze for just a second longer than it should.
I clear my throat, trying to get my head back on straight. “I was just... admiring your art.”
Lakelyn glances at the painting, a hint of pride in her eyes before she shifts her gaze to me. “I didn’t know if you’d like it.”
I shrug, sinking down onto the couch, doing my best to keep things casual. “There’s more to me than a pretty face and sharp wit, you know.”
Her lips curve into a soft smile, and there’s something warm and genuine in her eyes that makes my chest tighten in a way I can’t quite explain. “Yeah, I know.”
Her words sink deeper than I expect, settling somewhere I’ve kept guarded for too long.She knows.Not just the version of me I show the world—the playful, confident Chad everyone sees—butme.The real me.
For a moment, that recognition hangs between us, and I have no idea how to respond. But she speaks again, her voice quieter, more serious this time.
“Your dad’s wrong about everything he said. Things got a little—” she pauses, a blush rising in her cheeks, “heated earlier, but I need you to understand that.”
I sink down to the couch, and she lowers herself next to me, tucking one leg underneath her as she faces me, eyes earnest. The closeness, the softness in her expression—it’s almost too much, but in a good way. The kind of good that makes me want to pull her close, kiss her until we both forget whatever worries are lingering.
But instead, I force a small smile. “He’s always been wrong. About a lot of things.”
Her brow furrows like she wants to say more, but I can feel my emotions building again, so I decide to cut through it before it drowns us both.
“Besides,” I say, leaning back and tossing her a wink, “you didn’t have to kiss me just to prove him wrong. You know I’m irresistible anyway.”
She blinks in surprise, and then a laugh bursts out of her, light and musical, and just like that, the serious moment evaporates into something easier. She gives me a playful shove, shaking her head.
“You’re ridiculous,” she says through her laughter.
“Yeah, but you’re laughing, aren’t you?” I grin, feeling more at ease now that the heavy conversation has lifted. “Works every time.”
