“Try again.”
I do. Same result.
A girl behind me huffs. “Can you hurry up? Some of us have class.”
My cheeks burn. “Just one second,” I mumble, trying to keep my voice calm. My hands shake a little as I try the card again.
The machine beeps. Declined.
The barista sighs. “Do you want to try another card?”
I shake my head quickly. “No, it’s fine. I don’t need coffee.”
Before I can step away, a familiar voice cuts through the chatter.
“I’ll pay.”
That deep voice. Calm, certain.
I turn. Dmitry stands behind me, tall and steady, wearing black jeans, a sweatshirt, and glasses that make him look like the most dangerous man in the world. He’s over six feet of pure muscle and masculinity. His voice radiates assurance and certainty and my desperate, scared mind clings to that sound like a reed in a storm. I’ve never been more glad to see anyone.
I was having a meltdown. I hate being humiliated socially and this was going to go down as one of the worst days in my life, but my knight in dark armor just showed up to save the day.
I can’t believe it. Is he psychic? How does he know exactly when I need him? Then I realize he is my stalker. He knows where I am at all times. But he doesn’t use that knowledge to hurt me. He uses it to come to my rescue.
I can’t decide whether he’s a bully or my savior.
Just seeing him freezes the panic in my chest.
He steps closer, his presence swallowing the space between us. His hand comes to rest on my shoulder, warm and heavy. He leans in, his breath brushing my ear. “It’s fine. I got this.”
It’s such a simple sentence, but it cuts through my anxiety like light through fog. For a moment, I just want to melt into him. I want to disappear into the crook of his arm and stay buried there all day. I want to be enveloped in his strength andheat, to let him carry the burdens that have become too much for me.
He moves steadily, rubbing my hips, rubbing my back, keeping me steady while the storm inside me rages. Keeping me anchored while I try to find my calm again. His presence is all I need to remind me that there’s someone in my corner. That I don’t have to figure everything out alone.
He pays, takes both drinks from the counter, and hands me mine. “Here.”
“Thank you,” I say softly. “I’ll pay you back.”
He gives me a small smile. “I don’t need the money.”
“Then why?”
“Because you look like you haven’t slept,” he says. “And because I can.”
He nods toward an empty table near the window. “Sit with me.”
I follow him, the edges of my embarrassment blurring as I watch him set down our drinks. He sits across from me, leaning forward, his gaze steady.
“What’s going on?” he asks.
I hesitate. I could lie. Tell him it’s a glitch. But something in his tone, steady, unyielding, yet somehow gentle, that makes me want to tell the truth.
He reaches across the table, taking my hand. His thumb moves in slow circles over my wrist, grounding me. I relish in the quiet comfort of his caretaking. Those hands were inside my pussy last night, giving me another kind of pleasure. And I thought that’s all we were. That’s all we’d ever be—two people who were sexually attracted, whose kinks matched. But I was wrong. The heaviness crowding my chest isn’t lust. It isn’t even gratitude. It’s the realization that he means more to me than I thought. I like Dmitry Antonov. I even like the way he stalks me. I like things about him that would make other girlsrun away. His red flags? They don’t matter to me, because underneath everything, he’s a man who cares, who understands, who supports. And that’s more than enough.
“Callista,” he says quietly. “I’m not going anywhere. Talk to me.”
My throat tightens. “My dad cut me off.”
