Not anger. Not frustration. Something deeper. Something heavier. Something that feels like if we weren’t standing in the middle of a room full of people, he’d…
I don’t finish that thought. I don’t need to. I can see it. Feel it. The way his jaw tightens. The way his chest expands slightly like he’s forcing his breathing to stay even. The way his hands flex at his sides like it’s taking effort not to reach for me. Heat curls low in my stomach. Dangerous. Thrilling. Real.
“Maybe next time,” he says. His voice is rougher now. Lower. Controlled in a way that feels like it’s holding something back instead of simply existing.
I don’t miss it. I don’t miss any of it. Especially not the way his body is reacting. The way he looks like he’s one step away from pulling me into him and not stopping. Right here. In front of everyone. That realization should make me pull away. It doesn’t. It makes my pulse spike. I let my hand linger for just a second longer before pulling it back slowly. Deliberate. Watching him the whole time.
He doesn’t relax. Not immediately. Not even close. His gaze follows my hand like he’s tracking it. Like he’s memorizing the absence of it.
“Good,” I say softly, my lips curving slightly. “I’ll hold you to that.”
Something shifts in his expression. Not softer. Never that. But sharper. Focused in a different way. Like I just stepped into something without fully understanding it. And maybe I did.
Behind me, Tessa calls my name, breaking the moment before it stretches too far.
I step back. The space between us returns. But it doesn’t feel the same anymore. Nothing does. I turn away first. Because I need to. Because if I don’t, I’m not sure I will. And as I walk back toward my chair, I can still feel it.
His eyes on me. His control tightening around something that’s starting to slip. And the realization settles deep in my chest.
I didn’t just check on him. I pushed him. And he didn’t push back.
He held. But barely.
When we get back to the clubhouse, the energy feels different again. Tighter. More contained. More people are here than before. More presence. More watchfulness.
I pick up on it immediately.
Something’s changed. Or maybe it hasn’t, and I’m just starting to see it.
The women are gathered in the kitchen, voices low, expressions shifting between serious and something else. Something… mischievous. Mac catches my eye and grins.
Oh. That’s trouble.
“What are you doing?” I ask cautiously.
“Fixing something,” she says.
“That’s not reassuring.”
“It’s not supposed to be.”
Kya laughs softly. “We’ve all been a little tense.”
Brooke adds, “And the men are worse.”
Mac shrugs. “So we’re helping.”
I shouldn’t be curious. I am. “How?”
Mac holds up her phone. “Like this.”
And then, they all start typing. At the same time.
I blink. “What are you—”
“Wait,” Kya says, biting back a smile.
Brooke glances at me, then back at the others. “We should probably loop her in before we traumatize her.”
