Page 9

Chapter nine

~IRENE~

It’s my day off, but I came in anyway. I’ve been volunteering at the youth center since I got back from college a few weeks ago. Usually, I only come on Saturdays and Sundays, but today, I had time.

And now, I’m regretting it. Because the sight before me is something I never thought I’d see. Ares Black, standing in the middle of the room, surrounded by kids. A swarm of tiny hands grab him, climbing him and tugging at his sleeves. And he’s…smiling and laughing. He’s never looked as devastating as he does now. His sharp canines flash as he grins at the chaos around him, his eyes crinkling slightly at the kids scramble to climb him.

He’s dressed in black jeans, combat boots, and a black hoodie. His usual armor. But he doesn’t look like a threat here. He looks like he belongs, like the kids own a piece of him.

What the hell am I seeing?

“Ares?” I don’t realize I’ve talked until I hear my own voice.

He freezes, his body locking up. His pale blue eyes snap to mine, staring me down and pinning me in place. Like I just caught him doing something he never wanted anyone to see. Like I just found out a secret I was never supposed to know.

For a second, we just stare at each other. He has that same look in his eyes he had when I caught him wincing while stretching.

The kids are talking over each other while I’m still trying to process what I’m seeing.

Ares Black. The coldest, most unreadable, most dangerously untouchable man I’ve ever met is standing in front of me, surrounded by kids. He looks like he’s home.

My heart is pounding. Because this doesn’t make sense. This isn’t the Ares I know.

He doesn’t stiffen or pull away when they pull at his hoodie, climbing him like he’s a jungle gym and fighting for his attention like he’s the most important person in the world.

“Oh, you two know each other?” I snap out of it, blinking as Tia, the youth center coordinator, smiles at me, completely oblivious. “We’ll have no problems, then!” she adds, nodding happily.

The words barely register because Ares is still watching me. Like he’s daring me to say something.

And then, his lips part.

“Irene.” His voice comes out low and deep.

Just my name, nothing more. But it’s enough to make my stomach flip.

Oh, God.

Why does my name sound like that when he says it? Why does it feel like a touch? Like his voice just wrapped around my hair and pulled?

I swallow hard. I should say something, but I don’t know what.

Tia hums, stepping closer to Ares. She tilts her head slightly, batting her eyelashes.

“So,” she purrs. “You sure you don’t want to stay here with the kids today?”

Ares slowly peels his eyes off me and looks down at Tia. “I’m sure,” he tells her.

I blink as I glance between them, and for some reason, I hate what I see.

I don’t like the way she looks at him, trying to get his attention. I don’t want to acknowledge what this feeling is, and I don’t like it.

He shifts his weight and stands back up, adjusting the small girl on his hip, before adding in that impossibly deep, impossibly steady voice.

“I take them out every week.”

“Out?” I ask, finally mustering the courage to step closer.

“Picnic. Park. Arcades. Sometimes, the movies.” Ares’ eyes return to mine.

“Oh, wow,” I breathe out because I don’t know what to do with this information.

The notion of the same man who held me against an exam table and had me seconds away from breaking apart without even touching me…taking these kids out, spending time with them. Did he get arrested? Is that part of his probation period? It’s the only explanation.

“Well, unfortunately, I have to stay in with the youngest.” Tia pouts with a crooked smile.

Ares doesn’t reply; just nods.

“You’ve got an extra set of hands today, though,” she continues, nodding in my direction, and my stomach drops.

What?

I open my mouth, but nothing comes out.

“Are you coming, Miss Irene?” One of the kids tugs at my dress.

Oh. Oh, no.

I wasn’t supposed to be a part of this. I was supposed to do my volunteer shift and leave without any new existential crises and run-ins with the man who hasn’t left my thoughts since I first saw him.

And now, I have to spend the rest of the day with him. I have to watch him be something I didn’t even know he was capable of being.

“She is,” Ares replies instead of me, giving the kid a small smile, but his eyes are intense. The kids all start jumping up and down, throwing their little hands in the air.

“Perfect! It’s settled then.” Tia claps her hands.

“I’m so happy you’re coming, Miss Irene!” A small girl with wild curls beams at me before tugging on Ares’ arm. He glances down. “Miss Irene is really nice to us.”

I’m trying to learn their names, but I’ve only been here a few times.

Ares gives the girl a small smile and scoops her into his arms too. The girl’s small hands grip his shoulders.

“She’s so beautiful, too!” She looks at me, beaming.

Ares tilts his head slightly, glancing at me. And the look in his eyes…I feel it everywhere. He considers me before he looks back at the girl.

“Yeah?” he finally speaks.

His voice is lighter like he’s amused.

“Yeah.” The little girl nods. “I want to look like her when I grow up.”

Ares flicks his gaze back to mine, humming.

My breath shudders, and his lips twitch. Barely.

“Go put your shoes on,” he orders softly, setting both girls down.

The kids scatter, running after Tia, leaving us with a few stragglers.

Ares tells them to stay put while we wait. The tension is so thick it claws at my throat.

“I didn’t know you’d be here,” I say softly. “I know this looks really weird, but I swear, I didn’t know—”

He takes a step toward me, making me press my lips together.

My breath catches in my throat when he lifts his hands. And before I can even think of moving, his fingers brush against my hair.

Oh my God.

His touch is light as he tucks my hair behind my ear, fingertips dragging along the exposed skin. I stop breathing completely. My heart is hammering so loud I can feel it in my throat. His gaze drags down to his he’s touching me.

“Mandy’s right,” he says, his voice low. I blink up at him confused before realizing what he just said.

Ares Black just called me beautiful.

The park is a short walk from the center, tucked away behind a row of old buildings and shaded by thick oak trees. It’s quiet and peaceful, except for the kids running ahead, shouting, laughing, and racing toward the grass like they’ve just been freed.

I follow after them, gripping the backpack Tia gave me, still trying to process what’s happening because nothing about this makes sense.

The man who feels like an earthquake every time he’s near me is now carrying a duffel bag of food, dressed in black, effortlessly balancing a small boy on his other arm like it’s second nature. Like this is just who he is. Like he’s done this a hundred times before. And maybe he has.

The kids scatter across the park, but not far. They stay within a certain distance, trained to listen. Like they know not to push Ares’ limits.

Ares stops, scans the area, and then drops the duffel bag onto the grass with a heavy thud.

“Here.” His voice is sharp, giving orders like it’s muscle memory. “This is good.”

A handful of kids immediately turn back, waiting. He crouches down to their level. And when he speaks, it’s not his usual detached, quiet tone.

“Viki, Tommy, you two grab the blankets. Adam, take the juice boxes and pass them out.” His deep voice is firm but gentle.

Ares pulls out the blankets, hands them over, and watches as the kids hurry to spread them out over the grass.

I set my own bag down and watch in awe. This man carries himself like a loaded weapon. And he’s now organizing a picnic with a dozen children. And they’re listening, hanging on to his every word, doing exactly what he tells them. No complaints, no arguments.

I take a slow step forward and help unfold one of the blankets.

Ares’ voice pulls me back.

“I’ll handle the food,” he says, already pulling out a few lunchboxes. “Tommy’s allergic to nuts. Viki won’t eat anything with pickles in it.” I blink as he hands me two of the boxes. “Put these on that blanket.” He nods toward the shaded one. “That’s their spot.”

“Okay.” I nod, hesitant. Because I don’t know how to react to the fact that he knows the eating preferences of a dozen kids.

I take the lunchboxes from his hands, and my fingers brush against his.

I freeze. He doesn’t. He doesn’t react at all. He just keeps working, like what he did at my office never happened. Like he didn’t have me pinned against the examination table the last time I saw him.

I exhale slowly, shake it off, and move to set the lunchboxes down.

Ares keeps working, giving instructions, handing out juice boxes and making sure everyone has a spot.

The kids listen intently, gravitating toward him. Just like me. Because I never expected him to be like this. I never expected to see him so completely out of place, yet looking like he’s home.

He’s not warm, open, or soft. But these kids look at him like he’s a superhero. And I don’t know how to process that.

I sit on one of the blankets, watching the kids settle in, watching Ares double-check everything, making sure each kid has what they need.

And then, he glances at me. Our eyes lock, and for one single second, I feel it.

That shift, that heat I feel every time he’s near.

The kids eat, talk, laugh, and wipe their hands on their shirt. Everything is perfectly normal, but I’m not. I am not okay. I can feel his presence, movements, and every time he glances at me.

“Alright,” Ares’ voice cuts through the chatter.

Immediately, the kids stop talking.

“We’re playing a game,” Ares announces, tossing an empty juice box into the trash bag. “I want you guys to pick teams.”

Instant chaos. Kids scramble, shouting names, pulling at each other, debating strategies like this is the World Cup.

“What’s the game?” I ask, setting my sandwich down.

“Keep away,” Ares says, tugging out a soccer ball out of his bag and flashing me a wink that hits me square in the chest.

The kids are running everywhere, screaming, laughing, and colliding with each other. The ball gets stolen, dropped, kicked too hard, and sent flying all over the place. But they’re having fun. And Ares is making them work for it. He dodges and fakes them out, letting them think they have a chance before stealing the ball right out from under them. But he lets them get small victories; he lets them steal the ball back, take him down, push him around. I don’t miss the way he compensates, favoring his left hip as he plays with them.

Tommy charges at Ares before bouncing off his side.

“Again,” Ares tells him with a nod. “Come on. Show me something.”

The boy attacks again, and this time, Ares lets him win. He lets Tommy push him back half a step to make the steal.

The boy whoops in victory, running off with the ball. I watch, stunned. I’ve seen Ares throw his entire body into a fight like he doesn’t care what happens. Now, he’s something else entirely. Still powerful and untouchable but also gentle and patient. The kids adore him. They follow his lead, listening to every word.

And I…I can’t stop staring. I don’t realize the ball is coming my way until it’s too late. Ares intercepts it first. I gasp, whirling to chase him. He lets me for a second.

I lunge, but he dodges me, twists, and suddenly I slam into his chest hard.

Ow!

My fingers grab onto his hoodie, and his hands land on my waist. I freeze, and so does he. The kids are still running, shouting, and scrambling for the ball. But I can’t focus on anything but his scent enveloping me. He smells clean and sharp, with a dark undertone. I look up, and he’s already looking down. His fingers press into my waist like he’s making sure I feel it.

“Should I go easy on you next time?” he murmurs, his lips curling slightly.

I shove at his chest, chasing after the ball, because I need to move, I need to do something, I need to break whatever this is before I fall into it completely.

The game winds down only because Ares allows it to. He grabs the ball, spins it in his hands, and plants himself on one of the blankets, exhaling like they’ve exhausted him.

He leans back on his hands, stretching his legs out in front of him and tilting his head as if he’s actually worn out. The kids flop onto the grass around him, breathing hard.

“Alright,” Ares drawls. “You got me. I’m dead.”

Some of the kids cheer. Some collapse dramatically. Mandy crawls into his lap and pokes his cheek.

“You’re not dead, Ares!”

Ares cracks one eye open. “Pretty close.”

“No, you’re not.” She pokes him again.

“You won,” Ares sighs dramatically.

“We won!” Mandy yells, scrambling off Ares to go cheer with the other kids, her curls bouncing.

Ares shifts, grabs a water bottle from the bag, and cracks it open.

“Everyone, drink some water.” His voice leaves no room for argument.

Every single kid reaches for their bottles trusting whatever he tells them to do, it’s for a reason. And that does something to me.

I watch quietly as they all sip from their water bottles.

“I have another game for you,” he tells them, his voice softer now but still carrying that edge.

“What?” The kids perk up immediately.

“I’m looking for the prettiest flowers in the park.” Ares leans back slightly, tilting his head.

Gasps. Excitement. Screams of “ I can find them ” and “ No, me! ”

Ares lifts a hand, and the kids go quiet again.

“You can all find them. But you know the rules.”

“Stay where I can see you,” the kids shout in unison.

“That’s right.” Ares nods.

“Are you going to give them to Miss Irene?” Viki asks with a giggle.

“I am.” Ares nods with a small smile. My eyes snap to his, my lips parting to suck in more air. “That’s why I’m looking for the prettiest ones. Can you guys help me?”

"Yes!" they all shout together, eyes locked on Ares, waiting for his signal.The moment he claps his hands, the kids explode into action—scrambling, sprinting, rushing off in every direction to pick the best flowers they can find. And just like that, we’re alone.

I stare at him, forcing myself to speak.

“You’re good with them,” I say, my voice softer than intended. Ares flicks his gaze to me, and under the weight of his stare, I shift slightly on the blanket. “And they trust you.”

He leans back on his hands, head tilting as he watches me.

“It took a lot of work,” he says.

“You’ve been coming here for a while, haven’t you?”

Ares exhales slowly, but it’s not that usual detached calm he hides behind. And it’s not the teasing edge he’s used with me before, either.

This is different—quieter. Raw.

“I know what it’s like,” he murmurs. “To feel lonely, scared, and so fucking angry you don’t know what to do with it. To look around and realize there’s no one there for you.”

His words settle deep in my chest, heavy and real. This is not what I expected from Ares. I didn’t even know this side of him existed. I want to ask him why. I want to ask him how long he’s been doing this. I want to know everything. But I hold back.

I can’t push too hard. I’ve seen how he shuts people out. I can’t rush this. But God, how I want to know what’s inside his head. What made him this way. What’s happened to him that he hides so well behind that tough exterior. I want to see the parts of him that no one else does. If I want to understand him, I have to tread carefully. I have to make him feel like he’s in control, like he’s the one who’s wants to open up when he’s ready, not me pushing him.

Ares’ voice breaks me out of my thoughts.

“Where did you grow up?” His voice is casual, as if it’s no big deal, but there’s a look in his eyes that tells me he’s waiting for an answer that matters. It’s not just small talk. It’s not just him being curious.

“Here in LA,” I reply, wondering why I feel as though he’s looking for more than that.

He hums, testing my answer, but he doesn’t press. “What made you want to work as a PTA for the Panthers?”

I pause for a second, unsure of how much to reveal. From what I’ve seen, Ares is dangerously perceptive and observant, so I choose my words carefully.

“I’ve always loved helping others. It’s something my dad and I have in common. And as for the Panthers, he has a hand in that, too. He’s always loved hockey. It’s always been a huge conversation at our house, so it just felt natural as a summer job.” It’s true, but not the whole truth. I spare him the fact that my father is his coach.

He doesn’t say anything for a moment; he just watches me, weighing my response. I start to feel self-conscious under his gaze, wondering if he’s catching on to the fact that I’m holding something back.

“You two must be close,” he murmurs, and there’s something in his voice, something I can’t quite place.

Before I can say anything, Ares angles closer, and his knee brushes mine.That’s all it takes—just one small touch—and my whole body goes tight.

Neither of us moves. Not even a breath.

We sit there, watching each other like as if the air between us is about to snap.

I study him quietly, trying to figure out what to do with this warm, ridiculous feeling blooming across my chest. And before I can stop myself, my gaze flicks down to his mouth.

That’s when I hear it—small footsteps and the sound of excited voices.

The kids are coming back.

I jolt, blinking and turning just as the moment shatters. Whatever that was, whatever it was about to be, it’s gone.

Ares drags his gaze away from me, unfazed. Calm, like he wasn’t just seconds away from…something.

The kids skid to a stop in front of us, holding out tiny bouquets trophies.

“Look!” one of the little girls beams. “I found the best ones!”

“No, mine are!” Viki shouts, holding hers up high.

“They’re all wonderful, guys,” I say with a smile, leaning in. “You really did find the best ones.”

“These are the prettiest flowers I’ve ever seen,” Ares says as he moves forward to take one. I watch his fingers. The way his large tattooed hand is now holding something so fragile.

He leans back, stretching his legs out in front of him, one arm braced behind him as he tilts his head slightly.

“Alright,” he says, voice calm. “Everyone, sit down.” The kids scramble, dropping onto the blankets around him with zero hesitation. “Put all the flowers in the middle,” he continues. “We’re making flower crowns.”

My head snaps up.

I’m sorry, what?

Did he just say flower crowns?

The kids gasp, nearly vibrating with excitement and they toss their flowers into a colorful heap.

I blink at him. “Do you know how to make them?” The question comes out stunned, mostly because I’m genuinely not sure I heard right.

Ares doesn’t answer right away. His eyes meet mine, and the look he gives me isn’t smug or cocky. It’s quieter. Softer. But then he smirks, slow and knowing, and reaches forward.

“I want everyone to watch carefully,” he says, grabbing a few stems.

And just like that, I forget how to breathe.

Because those hands—tattooed, rough, probably responsible for broken bones and at least a few black eyes—are now gently weaving delicate little flowers together like he’s done this a hundred times.

He works with practiced ease, his fingers working the stems together, and the kids fall silent, completely captivated.

“You have to twist them like this,” he explains. “Keep the stems long so they don’t snap.”

The kids mimic him, their little fingers fumbling to follow his movements.

I don’t notice the small boy next to me until he reaches for a few flowers. That’s when I see something dark peeking out from under his sleeves.

I frown gently.

“Hey,” I murmur, leaning closer. “What do you have on your arms?”

The boy beams like I’ve just asked him his favorite question.

Without hesitation, he shoves up his sleeves and holds out his arms proudly.

I gasp, stunned.

His skin is covered in thick black marker—doodles, swirlies, rough little shapes. Messy lines that try so hard to look permanent.

Like tattoos.

I glance up at Ares, who’s leaning toward Mandy, helping her twist her flowers together. His mouth is curved into a quiet smile, and the warmth in his entire face makes my heart flutter.

I turn back to the boy. “You drew on yourself?”

“Yeah!” He grins. “So I can be like Ares!” he shouts proudly.

Oh.

Emotion catches in my throat.

I glance back at Ares again. He’s looking at the boy now, too—and this time, he looks caught. His smile falters for half a second, his gaze flicking to mine, unsure how I’ll react.

And I see it. Plain as day.

This means everything to him.

And I have a feeling…this isn’t the first time that boy’s done it.

The kids are lost in their own worlds.

Heads bent, tongues poking out in concentration, tiny fingers twisting stems together, trying to copy Ares, who’s working on his fifth flower crown.

He sets it down and turns slightly. Before I know it, his hand is on mine.

Oh, God.

My breath catches as his fingers wrap around my wrist. Not like the previous times. This time, his touch is gentle as he drags his fingers down and wraps them around the flower.

“Here,” he murmurs, his voice a velvet rasp against my skin. “Let me help you.” Low, steady, and sinfully dark—each word brushing my ear in a slow, deliberate touch. My spine locks up. I feel him lean in just slightly, enough to send a shiver straight down my back. His fingers adjust my grip on the flower stems, slowly guiding my hands.

“Twist them like this,” he instructs, taking his time, fully aware of what he’s doing to me. I swallow and try to focus on the flowers. But his hands, his fingers, his breath on my cheek…I can’t think.

“There you go,” he praises, his tone warm and teasing. I feel the drag of his thumb against the inside of my wrist when he slowly pulls away.

“Keep going.”

The words land softer now—darker, like he’s savoring every second.

I twist the flowers exactly as he showed me, forcing myself to breathe and act normal. Ares leans back, watching me and my hands.

“Such a fast learner,” he murmurs, quiet enough so only I can hear.

By the time we’re back at the youth center, the sun is dipping low, painting everything in gold. The air has cooled, soft and fresh with the scent of cut grass and late April warmth. The kids are all wearing flower crowns—every single one of them. Ares made sure of it.

I watch as he crouches in front of one of the smallest girls, adjusting the crooked flower crown on her head.

“Do I look like a princess, Ares?” She giggles.

“You are a princess,” he replies, fixing the flowers on her head.

The girl smiles up at him, and his eyes soften. I just spent the entire day watching him be someone no one else knows he is. Someone soft and gentle. And now I have to walk away, pretend like this man hasn’t scrambled my brain completely.

I exhale and force myself to walk up to the desk where my purse is.

I hear footsteps behind me, slow and steady.

“How are you getting home?” he asks, the question hanging in the quiet between us. “My friend dropped me off,” I say, turning around to face him. Lie. It was my dad. I still don’t want him to know I’m his coach’s daughter. I don’t want him looking at me differently.

“I’ll take you,” he says after a beat of silence.

I still, my fingers gripping my purse strap a little tighter.

“You don’t have to.” I shake my head.

“I apologize if I made it seem like it was a question,” he says, staring at me with that heavy, intense gaze.

I swallow, realizing that he’s not asking.

His car smells like him—clean, with that faint edge of spice I’m starting to crave. The interior of the car is unlike anything I’ve ever seen. I feel like I’m in a spaceship. His presence is overwhelming as I sit in the passenger seat, trying not to look at him.

But I can’t help it. I sneak another glance, but he doesn’t react; he keeps driving as I watch the way his tattooed fingers grip the wheel. The way his jaw tightens and flexes under the streetlights. The way his broad shoulders move with every shift of the car. His side profile is perfect—straight nose, prominent jawline, and Adam’s apple beneath a layer of ink. He’s almost too much to look at.

I look at his hands again, remembering how they felt wrapped around my wrists, and immediately press my thighs together at the surge of heat spreading through me. But Ares glances down, catching the movement. My cheeks warm, and I shift in my seat, trying to cover it up. But I don’t miss the way the corners of his lips curl upward.

“You didn’t have to walk me all the way to my apartment.” I say, my fingers curling around my bag, turning to face him. “But thank you. Not just for the ride. Today was amazing.”

“You’re welcome.” Ares’ eyes drag over my face.

“I bet it was nice having someone above the age of five with you for a change,” I huff out a laugh that Ares doesn’t return.

He hums, considering me for a moment.

“It was,” he finally says, his eyes softening. “The kids like you.”

I play with my bottom lip, backing away toward my door, but something stops me. Something bold, reckless, and stupid makes me take a step toward him instead. I rise on my tiptoes, watching him instinctively lower his head. And I kiss his cheek. It’s soft and quick, barely anything, but I feel his smooth skin beneath my lips.

His body goes rigid, and he turns his head, his pale blue eyes narrowing before dropping to my lips. I mimic him, dragging my gaze down to his slightly parted mouth.

And I don’t think. I just press my mouth against his, light and hesitant. A breath of a kiss, yet it’s enough to have fireworks exploding all over my body. His lips don’t move against mine, don’t pucker, don’t kiss back. And when I open my eyes, I see he hasn’t even closed his and is staring at me with a crazed look.

I pull away, peeling my lips off his unmoving ones, feeling the greatest embarrassment I’ve felt in my entire life.

What the hell did I just do?

I look up at him, my lips less than an inch away from his. He’s looking down at me, brows furrowed, jaw locked, and expression almost pained.

No, no, no. I did not just do that.

I open my mouth to speak and I try to take a step back, hoping there’s a hole there and the ground swallows me.

“Oh my God, I am so sorry. I don’t know what came ov—”

My breath is cut short by strong arm wrapping around my waist, tight and unyielding, stopping me from pulling back. I look up at him, wide-eyed, my chest rising and falling with each breath.

“What are you—”

His other hand grips my jaw, cutting me off and sending my heart into overdrive. He brings his face closer to me, his eyes boring into mine as he tightens his hold.

It all happens too fast—his arm pulling me up by my waist until my feet leave the ground, his other forcing my jaw closer, a deep growl escaping his throat. And that’s when his lips crash against mine, trapping me in a bruising kiss. His previously unmoving lips are devouring mine, rough and deep. There’s no uncertainty, no holding back, as his teeth nip my lower lip, causing a small whimper to slip out.

Oh, God.

I’ve only been kissed once before. And this is nothing like it. Ares forces my lips open, and his tongue slides past them, caressing mine.

My back hits the door. His hand tangles in my hair, tugging, pulling me deeper. I lose everything. Every thought, every word. It’s just him—his lips, hands, breath, and body weight pressing me into the door.

I whimper into his mouth, clutching at his hoodie, my legs dangling as he holds me suspended.

He groans deep in his chest and presses closer. I’m dizzy and lightheaded, kissing him back, my hands going up to his face.

And then he pulls back, just enough for his breath to fan against my lips. Just enough for me to see the way his blue eyes burn.

We stare at each other, panting. His grip on me loosens, and he sets me down gently. My knees are threatening to give out.

“Get inside.” His voice is low and hoarse. “Now.” An order. I don’t move. I can’t move. “Irene. Get the fuck inside before I do something stupid.”

“I…” I can’t.

He exhales sharply, eyes darkening, before he opens my small purse and fishes my keys out.

His hand brushes past my waist when he reaches and unlocks the door behind me. He pushes it open and then places the keys in my hand. His fingers slide to my waist before he gently pushes me, guiding me inside.

I cross the threshold, and he releases me before his fingers curl around the door handle. With one last lingering look, he pulls the door shut, sealing me inside with nothing but the ghost of his kiss and the wreckage of what just happened.