As I reached the last stoplight before our house, a red Ducati pulled up behind me. Anyone else would have lane filtered, but he stayed behind my car.
By the time we got back to the house, the bone-deep tension inside me still hadn’t gone away. If anything, it had gotten worse.
“Keaton—”
I didn’t stop. I pushed the front door open harder than necessary without glancing back at him and headed straight down the hall, my pulse racing and my head spinning.
I just needed space.
I barged into my room and tore off my shirt over my head.
Behind me, I heard the door open and slam close again, and I spun around to see Rowan leaning back against it, his chest rising and falling with each breath.
“Get out!” I barked.
“You want to tell me what that was?” he asked, ignoring what I said.
I scoffed. “What what was?”
“At the gym.”
I shrugged, turning away from him. “Nothing.”
“I mean, you’ve been a dick since I got here, which I understand, but that was a bit much even for you.”
I laughed under my breath. “Maybe you’re reading into it.”
“Maybe you’re full of shit.”
I turned back toward him. “Excuse me?”
His eyes held mine. “You’ve been acting strange since you walked in on me in the bathroom.”
My stomach twisted. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Yeah, you do.” His voice lowered slightly. “Something’s changed.”
I shook my head, needing this conversation to end. “You’re imagining things.”
“I don’t think I am.”
“Then that’s your problem.” I moved past him, but he wrapped a hand around my arm. I looked down at where he was touching me, then back up at him. “Let go.”
His grip didn’t tighten, but it didn’t loosen either. “I will if you admit you can’t stop thinking about me."
My heart pounded harder against my ribs. “Stop acting like you know what I’m thinking.”
His gaze briefly dropped to my mouth. “Four years may have passed, but I can still read you.”
That was the final thread holding everything together. I couldn’t ignore how I’d been feeling any longer. I grabbed the front of his shirt and pulled him in. The kiss was full of teeth, frustration, and something that had been building over the past two days.He didn’t pull away; rather, his hands went up my sides to pull me closer, as if he’d been waiting for this just as much as I had.
I pushed him back until his shoulders hit the door, one hand still clenched in his shirt, and the other hand braced beside his head.
“I fucking hate you, but I’ve been wanting to kiss you for two weeks. Tell me to stop,” I breathed against his neck.
“I don’t want you to stop, but …”
Something in his voice made me pause. “What?” I let out a breath, my lips hovering over his pulse point.
