And now I had to fucking hold it together.
I opened the door, holding it for her like it was the most natural thing in the world, even though my pulse was absolutely battering the inside of my veins. She stepped past me with half a smile, her hair brushing my arm.
I watched her climb the first step. God help me, that arse was making me want to peel that dress off with my teeth. Make her forget anyone else had ever touched her.
But not unless she wanted that, too.
And so, yeah. I followed quietly because if I said anything, she might have backed out.
But with every single step upstairs, I was praying like hell that I could keep my hands to myself for forty more minutes.
Chapter Eleven
Kate
His Southfields flatwas modern and stylish in that slightly impersonal way that screamedtemporary. Sleek furniture. Neutral tones. A few tennis rackets leaning by the door like they were just visiting. Sports bags stacked neatly in the corner, like it was waiting for its real owner to come home.
He’d told me over dinner that he split his time between London and Australia, living mostly out of a suitcase with brutal schedules and constant travel. No roots. I should’ve taken that as a red flag. But right now, it just made him seem more human. Like someone trying to build something solid in a world that kept moving. I could empathise with that.
“Make yourself at home,” he said, flicking on the kettle like it was second nature.
I slipped off my jacket, draped it over a chair, and leaned on the breakfast bar, eyes roaming the space while he moved around the kitchen. Cupboards open. Mugs clinking around, like he was determined to give me the perfect one. He looked good like that. Human. At ease. Not the shiny tennis player from earlier.
Then I caught myself staring just a little too long, watching the flex of his forearms as he reached up, the way his jeans fit over his arse alittle too well. My teeth grazed the corner of my lip before I even realised it.
“Milk?” His voice cut through my…completely innocent thoughts.
“Huh?” Heat rushed to my cheeks. Definitely caught.
He smirked. “Do you want milk in your tea?”
“Oh. Yeah. Please.” I cleared my throat, trying not to look like I’d been mentally undressing him.
There was a moment. Maybe two. Or maybe it just felt longer because I was suddenly aware of the little stretch of age between us. He didn’t know it yet, but part of me braced for that moment. For the flicker of uncertainty in someone’s eyes when they realised you weren’t a twenty-something anymore.
“How old are you, Jordan?” I asked before I could talk myself out of it.
He turned slightly, his grin curling. “Thirty. Why? You trying to judge if you’re into older men?”
I cocked my head.Older?Surely he was joking. “How old do you think I am, Jordan?”
He poured milk into both mugs, casual. “Dunno…twenty-eight? Twenty-nine?”
The scandal must’ve been written all over my face, because he froze mid-stir.
“What?…Shit. Was I wrong?”
I took the mug and raised my brows. “I’m thirty-bloody-four.”
His eyes widened. “That’s not…you don’t…”
“Look it?” I sipped my tea, feigning offence. “Go on, say it.”
He laughed, hands up. “That’s exactly what I was going to say.”
I smirked behind the rim. “Oh God, I’ve been outsmarted by a boy with very good hair.”
“Hey, I’m a proper adult, I’ll have you know. I pay taxes and everything.”
