Page 32

“Kiss me,” he says, his voice softer now, almost vulnerable. “If you don’t... If you don’t like it, I’ll back off.”

There it is. Underneath all his hard exterior, he’s trying to be sweet. He’s offering me control, giving me an out. But is he using his kindness as a weapon? Is this just another way to get what he wants?

Our eyes lock, and the intensity is almost unbearable. I can see everything in his gaze—the want, the restraint, the careful hope he’s trying to hide. He’s letting me see him, really see him, and it’s terrifying and beautiful and overwhelming all at once.

“My ex...” I trail off, not sure how to explain the minefield in my head.

He lifts my chin with gentle fingers, forcing me to meet his eyes. “I’m not him.”

I can’t argue with that. Slater is nothing like Tyler—where Tyler was charming and manipulative, Slater is direct and intense. Where Tyler hid his darkness behind a smile, Slater wears his on his sleeve.

“Trust me, baby,” he continues, his thumb tracing along my jawline. “I’m usually not the kind of man to ask for anything, but with you…”

“Why change for me?”

His expression softens, and when he speaks, his voice is barely above a whisper. “Because my demons see yours.”

My stomach drops as I search his eyes, looking for any hint of deception. But all I see is sincerity, raw and unfiltered. He’s being real with me in a way that makes my chest ache.

“I’m nothing special, Slater. I’m more fucked up than the rest of them.”

He pulls me into his arms then, and his embrace is warm and solid and safe. “I don’t believe that, and you shouldn’t either.”

His scent consumes me—something clean and masculine with an edge of danger that should scare me but doesn’t. I lean into him, letting myself have this moment of comfort.

He kisses the top of my head, and the gentle gesture makes my legs feel like jelly. I look up, resting my chin on his chest, and see something in his eyes that takes my breath away.

“Kiss me then,” I whisper.

His lips hover over mine, barely a whisper of contact. He’s teasing, luring me in, but neither of us presses forward. We exist in this shared breath, this moment is suddenly my favorite thing. The intense urge to lean forward is compelling, but…

“Slater,” I breathe, my lips brushing against his. “I’m scared.”

“I know,” he murmurs against my mouth. “You don’t have to be. I got you.”

Then he leans in, pressing a full kiss against my lips, and it’s intoxicating. His lips are soft and warm, moving against mine with a gentleness I didn’t expect from someone so intense. When his tongue flicks against mine, a small sound escapes my throat.

Without breaking the kiss, he lifts me up, and my legs wrap around his waist instinctively. I moan into his mouth, lost in the sensation of being held, wanted, consumed by someone who sees my darkness and isn’t running away.

He pulls back suddenly, breathing hard. “Holy fuck,” he murmurs against me.

“What?” I ask, my voice breathless and confused.

“That noise you just made.” His eyes are dark with something that makes my stomach flutter.

Heat floods my cheeks, and I can’t meet his gaze. The sound had escaped without my permission, raw and needy in a way that makes me feel exposed.

He carries me the few steps to the bed and lays me down gently. Then he just stares at me, taking in every detail—my flushed face, my racing pulse visible at my throat, the way my chest rises and falls with each unsteady breath.

I watch him watching me, my heart hammering so hard against my ribs I’m sure it might actually shatter. There’s something reverent in his expression, something that makes me feel beautiful and terrifying and completely out of my depth.

He leans down and kisses me once more, soft and lingering, before pulling back.

“Good night, Sage.”

The words hit me like cold water. “Are you leaving?”

“I am.”

“Why?” The question comes out smaller than I intended, almost wounded.

He stands slowly, and I can see the tension in his shoulders, the way his hands clench and unclench at his sides. “Before I do something you don’t want.”

The consideration in his voice, the way he’s putting my comfort before his own obvious desire—it does something to me.

He moves toward the door, and panic flutters in my chest.

“Friends, right?” I ask, the word feeling strange and insufficient after everything that just happened. But I’m grasping, reaching for anything he’ll give me.

He pauses with his hand on the door handle, and for a moment I think he might not answer. When he does, his voice is carefully controlled.

“Yes,” he says, not turning around. “Friends, Sage.”

Then he’s gone, and I’m left alone in the too-quiet hotel room with a deep ache spreading throughout my body. The bed still holds the impression of where he laid me down, and I can still taste him on my lips.

I touch my mouth with trembling fingers, wondering how someone saying goodnight can feel like both a promise and a goodbye.

I must drift off eventually because I wake to the harsh buzz of my alarm, morning light streaming through the hotel curtains. My head pounds from the one drink I had.

I pack my things, folding my clothes to fit perfectly into my carry on.

The team meets in the lobby for checkout, and I position myself to not acknowledge Slater’s presence even when I can feel his eyes on me. He keeps his distance too, staying with Henderson and Davis while I focus on my phone, my bag, anything but the man who is consuming every one of my thoughts.

The flight back feels interminable despite being only a few hours.

I am assigned the window seat toward the front.

I plug in my headphones, losing myself in some mindless romantic comedy that feels like mockery given my current situation.

Slater is so not the type to make me laugh and sweep me off my feet.

And then it dawns on me that I’m sitting on this plane comparing a nonexistent love life to a movie.

I lean back into my seat, wishing that I wasn’t aching for another kiss from him.

When we land, I’m one of the first off the plane, grabbing my carry-on and heading toward baggage claim with single-minded focus. But as we all congregate near the exit, waiting for our luggage, Slater appears beside me.

“Got my bags,” he says, his voice carefully neutral. “Let’s go home.”

The word ‘home’ hits me unexpectedly. His home. Where all my belongings happen to be. Where I have to sleep in his guestroom and pretend his presence doesn’t rattle me.

I glance around at the team, hoping no one’s paying attention to us.

Henderson is talking to the coaches, Davis is on his phone, and most of the other guys are focused on collecting their gear.

But I can feel eyes on us anyway—the subtle awareness that comes from being part of a team where everyone knows everyone’s business.

Eventually, I have to push aside their potential judgment and follow him. Because despite everything, I am staying with him now. I need his roof over my head, his charity to keep me from sleeping in my car.

The thought twists my stomach into knots.

I follow him toward the parking garage, my heels clicking against the concrete in a rhythm that sounds like a countdown to disaster.

His car—sleek, black, expensive—sits in the same spot where he left it three days ago. Three days that feel like a lifetime now.

I slide into the passenger seat, buckling my seatbelt and staring straight ahead. The silence stretches between us, thick and uncomfortable, filled with everything we’re not saying. He starts the engine, and the low rumble fills the space where conversation should be.

We’re not looking at each other. Not speaking. Just two people trapped in a metal box, pretending the other doesn’t exist while we both remember what it felt like when we kissed and acknowledged each other’s dark sides.

The city passes by outside my window in a blur of familiar buildings and foreign feelings. I’m going to his house where I will be staying until I find a place, and I don’t know how long that will be. I hope maybe we can actually be friends.

But I know that’s a trash thought. Straight garbage. Him and I were never going to be friends. I had hoped my intuition was wrong. We kissed, and it changes everything.

I lean back in my seat, slowly flicking my eyes to him.

His gaze meets mine.

And I have absolutely no idea how I’m going to survive this.