Knox’s smile widened, flashing a row of perfect white teeth. “Yeah? What kind of fucked-up deeds do these fictional morally grey men commit?”
He crossed his arms against his chest as though this was a completely normal conversation for him. His inquisition came from curiosity, or maybe amusement, but he wasn’t appalled by it–and that was a relief.
“Well, they…” My voice trailed off for a moment as I struggled to form an answer that wouldn’t sound completely unhinged. Raking myfingers through my hair, I looked across the table at his dark eyes, which were surprisingly eager as he awaited my confession. “They cross a lot of lines that they shouldn’t, and they’re possessive as hell. And these fictional morally grey men often take what they want… sometimes with dubious consent.”
God, I was rambling.
Sober Hallie would’ve never talked about any of this, especially not with Knox, whose head tilted ever-so-slightly at that last bit. “Dubious consent,” he echoed, the words coming out slowly like he was tasting every syllable.
Fuck.Why did it sound so much filthier coming out of his mouth? And how was he sitting there staring at me with just a hint of a smirk on his lips?
I tucked my hands under my thighs, lifting my chin in feigned confidence. “That’s what I said.”
“That something you’re into, Hallie?” he asked, his tone as casual as if he was asking me if I liked to go kayaking. It made my pulse quicken.
Was that something I was into?
God, he had no fucking clue.
“Only in the fictional sense. In real life, it’d be terrifying and not sexy at all,” I said in a rush, glancing over at the flamingo floatie in the pool. I had difficulty looking people in the eyes when I lied to them.
And it felt like Knox was reading me like a book. He was often a quiet observer when he showed up to our Rutherford gatherings, and I didn’t doubt he knew all of my tells when I was lying.
“At least, not without…” I continued, slowly dragging my gaze back over to Knox’s face. The truth was right on the tip of my tongue, and his patient expression was about to pull it out of me.
Still, I hesitated.
Because if I kept talking, I was going to shatter the illusion that I was just innocent little Hallie Rutherford.
I trusted Knox. I knew he wouldn’t run and tell my brother about this conversation. He wouldn’t weaponize it or bring it up again if I asked him not to. But there was this part of me that worried once someonesawyou differently, you couldn’t put that back in the box.
“Not without… what?” he prodded.
“Not without some kind of prearranged, consensual non-consent agreement,” I said, knowing those words shifted this from something I only read about in fiction to an actual, real-life kink. With this admission, I was quietly exposing myself.
Knox’s eyebrows lifted, but he gave me a slow, attentive nod. “Consensual non-consent. Hmmm. How does that work?”
I sucked in a breath, reaching up to tuck a loose strand of hair behind my ear. The alcohol flowing through my veins made this conversation feel like a dream, where everything around me seemed to fade to black–and I could only see Knox. And we were openly talking about my sexual kink, a subject I’d only ever broached aloud once before… with someone else.
And this time, I felt safer. It could’ve been my drunkenness making it easier to open up, but I knew my comfort had more to do with Knox’s steady, unjudging gaze than anything else.
This wasn’t scaring him.
“There has to be boundaries, safe words, and that kind of thing,” I said, relaxing my shoulders. I kept my voice low, even trying to sound a little sultry. Knox and I had flirted a little before, but never like this. “The consent happens before the… act.”
“Rape role-play, you mean,” he blurted.
None of the fireworks popping in the distant sky could compare to the explosions happening inside my head upon hearing those words.But only because they were coming out of the mouth of a man who, by all accounts, shouldn't have been capable of saying them so comfortably.
Not Knox.
Not the man who’d help my mom carry in her groceries without being asked. Who’d picked me up from the train station two years ago, when I came home from college for Thanksgiving. The guy who’d woven himself into my family so much that hearing something dark roll off his tongue sent a jolt all the way through my core.
“Uh. Yes,” I managed to say. “Something like that.”
For a moment, neither of us moved. We just stared, his eyes dancing with curiosity and the tiniest flicker of amusement, like he was waiting to see how far I’d go with this. My breath caught in my throat, but I didn’t look away. I couldn’t.
But then his expression shifted. Something softened in his face, and the corner of his mouth lowered as if a new thought had just landed hard. I watched his lips slowly part.
