Page 88 of Blackwood

You were something else. All power and grace and control. It wasn’t just hot, it was art. I couldn’t look away.”

His eyes lock on mine, soft but intense. “So, I talked to Lex and told him how I felt. He’s a little more skeptical about all of this—about bringing someone in, especially you.” He gives a little shrug. “Then he asked me to talk to you, get to know you, and see if this,” he gestures between us, “has anything real to it before we even think about going further.”

Okay. Most forward coffee-not-a-date of all time.

I let out a breath, still gripping my caramel latte.

“Wow. Okay. That’s a lot.”

Cade groans and leans back. “I know. I wish Ellie hadn’t said anything. I just wanted this to be a simple meet and greet. What’s your favorite color? Football team? Song? That kind of thing.”

“Blue. Razorbacks for college, Chiefs for pro, and “Nobody” by Dylan Scott,” I say automatically, then take a long, slow sip of my latte like I didn’t just answer like a damn Tinder response.

He flinches a little bit, probably at the choice of song and the memory of Nashville, but then he laughs and damn it, he has a nice smile. One of those easy, genuine ones that reaches his hazel eyes. The kind that makes it hard to stay annoyed.

Cade grins, still watching me. “See? That was way less terrifying.”

I stir my latte, staring into the swirl of caramel like it’s going to give me answers. Dr. Monroe’s voice creeps in uninvited.“Bella, if there was someone out there who could give youboth—the release and the connection—wouldn’t that be worth letting in? Even just a little?”

I’d rolled my eyes when he said that. Thought it was romanticized bullshit wrapped in a copay.

I exhale slowly. “Okay, fine. Let’s get to know each other.”

His brows lift, hopeful.

“Favorite color?” I ask.

“Green,” he says.

“Team?”

“College, Wexley.”

“Obviously, you Whitmore’s and your legacy shit,” I say.

“Pro, please don’t hate me, The Bills.”

I pretend to clutch my pearls. “That’s disgusting, but it tracks. I remember being the only Chiefs fan on Sunday Nights at your parents’ house.”

He laughs again and my chest does this annoying flutter thing.

“Song?”

“Far Away,”he says without missing a beat.

“Nickelback?”

He grins. “Don’t mock it. That song ruined me in high school.”

I smile over the rim of my mug. “You’re such a walking contradiction, Whitmore.”

“What, because I like sad rock ballads and turn emotions into brushstrokes?”

“Because you likeNickelbackand somehow made it sexy.”

Cade smiles and leans forward, hands wrapped around his coffee cup. “So… what’s the dream, Bella? After school. What do you want?”

To kill Vince. To destroy every man who sees a child as currency and sleeps just fine. But I probably shouldn’t say that over lattes.