I nod, swallowing hard. “I promise.”
She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, and her voice drops slightly. “I want to explore the rougher side of sex like we did back in college, but on terms that work for both of us.”
I lean forward. “I’m all ears. Anything else I should know?”
“That covers it for now. We should start getting ready.”
I’m the first to leave the bed, stretching deliberately, feeling her eyes track me with the focus she saves for courtroom battles. I stroll around the bed, unhurried, not bothering to hide my arousal. She tries for composure, but her lips twitch, and her gaze darts down, then up again, like she’s resisting the urge to stare at something too bright. I give my shoulders a slow roll, a silent invitation, and slip into the bathroom before she can catch the flush rising in my cheeks.
At the sink, I splash cold water on my face and breathe deeply, counting to four to steady my racing pulse. The reality hits me: after twelve years, Minji is back in my life. Now I just need to figure out how to keep her there. I start the shower, still feeling traces of her touch on my skin. The steam rises, carrying phantom notes of her scent—citrus with something electric underneath. Every cell in my body feels hyperaware, like I’ve been recalibrated to her frequency, her voice still reverberating through me like an aftershock.
I’ve been under the spray for maybe three minutes when the bathroom door clicks open.
“Need to use the toilet,” she announces.
“Be my guest,” I call back, tracking her movements and then hearing the soft thud as she sits.
She flushes, washes her hands, and through the foggy glass, I see her watching me. I turn a little, showing off the line from my chest to my hip. “Are you actually posing in there, or do you always shower like you’re on a magazine cover?” she asks.
I squeeze gel into my palm, working it across my shoulders with exaggerated care, grinning despite myself. “This is a limited engagement performance. Audience of one.” I push the shower door open with my forearm, steam billowing around me. “Plenty of space for a co-star.” I wink, stepping back as water streams down my face.
She gives me that half-smile I’ve been chasing since college. “If I join you in there, we’re definitely going to be late for dinner.”
I extend my hand, dripping with soap suds. She takes it instinctively, and I guide her behind the glass door. Water cascades down her shoulders, her hair darkening as it gets wet. I guide her against the cool tile wall, pressing my body to hers, feeling her breath catch. I sink to my knees, ready to worship every inch of her.
“I’m starving,” she says, a little unsteady.
“So am I.” I look up at her with hunger in my eyes. It’s not about dominating her now; it’s about cherishing her. I run my palms up her calves, feeling the strong muscles there. “I’ll make it quick, I promise.”
We arriveat the restaurant early. It’s fancy but tries to look casual with exposed brick and Motown music, though the lighting is warm and every table faces the bridge.
“I can’t decide whether the cocktail list is brilliant or just pretentious.” Her eyes are wide as she scans the menu.
“It’s both. Tabitha would say it’s ‘brand-forward.’”
She snorts. “You love mocking your agent, but she gets you six-figure advances. You’re obsessed with her.”
“The only person I’m obsessed with is you. No other woman can compare to you, even on your bad days.” I peek at her over the top of it. She’s fighting a smile.
“Let’s order first.” She waves at the passing server, her confidence so sharply elegant it’s almost intimidating. But when she looks at me, I get a flash of something soft and familiar: her foot nudging mine under the table, the deliberate tilt of her lips.
I order a Rye Manhattan, and she picks a gin martini with a lemon twist. We joke about the appetizers—the positives and negatives of the menu and which dish could send a character to the ER in one of my stories. Minji is sharp, funny, and always ahead of me. I can’t get enough of it. By the time our food arrives, I’m two drinks in and feeling that rare, light feeling of being truly seen and wanted.
I reach across the table, not even planning to, just the instinct to touch her wrist where a faint blue vein runs beneath the surface. “Tell me something you’ve never told anyone.” It’s a cliché, but I mean it.
She stares down at my hand, her poker face perfect except for the quick flare in her eyes. “I once forged my mother’s signature on a scholarship application,” she says. “I was twelve, and I forgot to have her sign it before I left for school and it needed to be returned that day. I thought she would be happy that I did something wrong, but for the right reasons. She was indeed not happy and grounded me for a week.”
“Did you get the scholarship at least?”
She nods. “Spent a summer dissecting pig hearts. Best two months of my life.”
I decide to share a secret of my own, one I never thought I’d say out loud. I lean in and lower my voice, even though the waitstaff isn’t listening. “I never fell out of love with you.”
That draws her attention all the way up. She tries to laugh, but it’s half a wince. “Aaron… no.”
She looks away, tracing her thumb around her glass, her face softening in ways I haven’t seen before. This isn’t the Minji who used to keep me guessing. This is her being honest, even if it’s hard.
But I want her to know I see it.
