Page 16 of Meet Me In The Dark (Skeptically In Love #3)

I don’t go back to the office.

Instead, I text my assistant to clear my schedule and head for the exit without looking back.

Nathan falls into step beside me. “Gym?” he asks, reading me like he always does.

I guess he would, considering he and Wes have been my best friends since the day they rolled up to the front of my house.

I was sitting on the steps with a scowl and enough anger in my chest to fuel a war.

I didn’t belong there. I didn’t belong anywhere.

New kid. No roots. Nothing but a chip on my shoulder the size of Texas.

They were on bikes, asking if I wanted to come out and play.

Play?

Pussies.

I told them I didn’t have a bike and was ready to watch them leave.

But Wes, all bones and bloody knees, grinned and said, “I’ve got another one. It’s old, but I can fix it up for you. ”

Then my mother opened the door and pushed me out, shoving me back into the world. Just like that, the three of us were on our way. It’s been that way ever since.

“Julian?” Nathan prompts, snapping me out of the memory.

I’m off my fucking game today, all because of the woman I left in that building.

“Yeah, I’m heading to the gym.”

“I’ll join you.”

I glance at him. “You fly out in four hours.”

“Exactly. One last hit of nostalgia.” He slaps my shoulder. “Might be good to see Mateo again. Remind ourselves who we are under all this polished bullshit.”

That earns a huff of air from my chest, the closest thing to a laugh I’ve got left.

∞∞∞

When we step into the ring, Mateo eyes us both. “Well, shit. Haven’t seen you two boys throw down in a while. Where’s the third stooge?”

“Wes is too busy with domesticated life,” I tell him, rolling my neck to try to ease the tension.

“Ah, he was always the smart one.”

Nathan and I exchange an arched brow and laugh because Mateo’s many things, but he’s not wrong.

“Go on then.” He tilts his head toward a teenage boy who is cleaning floors on the other side of the gym. “Or I’ll have you mopping again for old times’ sake.”

Fuck that.

We square up.

Nathan’s quick, always has been, but he’s rusty. Two jabs from me, and he knows it .

“Still telegraphing that left,” I grunt.

“Still a smug asshole,” he replies, ducking.

A hook grazes my side, and I blink.

Celeste.

Her mouth.

Those fucking eyes.

My glove cracks against Nathan’s face, splitting his lip.

He stumbles back. “Jesus. Ease the fuck up.”

Mateo laughs from outside the ropes. “That’s what happens when you poke the beast.”

Nathan spits blood before wiping his mouth. “Believe me, I’m not the one who poked him.”

I don’t deny it.

“Get to it,” Mateo growls. “Go on. Beat the smug out of each other.”

Nathan throws a jab, but I duck, sweep low, and respond with a left hook that makes him stumble back.

He grins right in my face. “There he is.”

I give him a full smile, showing him my gum shield, and wink.

We fall into a rhythm. Gloves cracking, breath heavy, bodies slick with sweat. It’s not elegant, but it’s honest.

For some reason, this is always where our real conversations take place—somewhere between the bruises and the blood.

“You know,” Nathan pants, sidestepping one of my shots, “I’ve been thinking.”

“Don’t do that, sweetheart. You know it hurts that pretty head of yours.”

He lands a body shot that makes me grunt.

“I’m serious,” he says.

“Fuck, here we go. ”

“I’m going to ask Sienna to marry me.”

I freeze for a long second. “It’s about time.”

He exhales a breath that’s half a laugh, half a sigh of relief.

“I mean it. I’m happy for you. Really fucking happy, brother.” I jab the air between us. “Sienna’s… well, she’s Sienna. I don’t need to tell you. That girl is for keeps.”

“Yeah, she is.” Nathan dips his head, eyes down, but there’s a faint smile tugging at his busted lip. “I knew that would get a reaction from you that doesn’t look like you want to set something on fire.”

“You want a reaction?” I jab him in the gut. “There you go.”

“Jesus,” he groans, holding his side as I smirk down at him.

We both laugh until he ruins it by saying, “You fucked the architect.”

I’m so caught off guard, I don’t see his glove coming until it connects with the side of my jaw, just enough to snap my head.

“The fuck?” I growl, stepping back.

Shaking it off, we circle again.

“Is this going to be a problem?” he asks, serious now. “We’ve had world-class architects fight to get this contract. She’s the best. If this thing between you two gets messy—if she starts designing skyscrapers shaped like dicks and naming them The Julian—I’m going to be pissed.”

“Fuck off,” I mutter through a laugh.

“I mean it.”

I throw a punch that misses. “We met at the—” I stop and flick my eyes to Mateo behind the ropes before I clear my throat. “We met at the club. ”

Nathan’s brows lift. “No shit? Really?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, that explains the tension, but is she going to be a problem?”

“When do I ever let women get in the way of business?”

He snorts. “I remember thinking the same thing when I met Sienna.”

“You gonna get all fucking poetic on me now?”

He ignores that. “Celeste is beautiful.”

My gut clenches. “I know.”

“And smart.”

“I know. What’s your point?”

“I know what a woman like that can do to a man. I’m about to ask one to marry me, remember?”

We shuffle, and the rhythm slows, but the weight between us doesn’t.

“You forget I know you too,” he adds. “The way you looked at her? It’s the same look you get when you’re chasing a deal or about to burn something down just to win. You get obsessed,” Nathan goes on. “And if that’s where this is going, you need to take a step fucking back.”

He’s right.

Of course he’s right.

That doesn’t mean I’m going to listen.

I land a solid shot to his ribs.

“Yeah,” he wheezes. “There it is.” He gathers himself just in time to pant out, “Just saying. A good woman doesn’t ask you to change. She makes you want to.”

“Sounds terrifying,” I deadpan, not in the mood to continue whatever the hell it is that we’re doing.

Nathan can sense it, so we keep going until sweat drips into our eyes.

“Jesus,” he mutters, grinning through the blood. “You’re still an angry shit.”

“Still?” I echo, breathless. “You were always the sensitive one.”

Mateo barks from the side, “You two finished dry humping, or should I get the hose?”

We both limp to opposite corners of the ring and collapse onto the benches.

Neither of us speaks for a minute. Not because there’s nothing to say, but because that’s what happens after the gloves come off. You bleed a little, sweat a lot, and feel more like yourself than you do in a boardroom full of men who smile while plotting your downfall.

Eventually, we hit the showers.

By the time we’re back in the locker room, toweling off and getting dressed, Nathan slaps my shoulder and grabs his bag.

“Airport’s calling,” he says.

I pucker my lips and smack them together. “Give Sienna a kiss from me.”

“Not fucking likely,” he calls over his shoulder just before he leaves.

Finally dressed, I step outside into the fading afternoon light, tugging my coat on with one hand and reaching for my keys with the other.

“Mr. Blackwood!”

I turn and see Dylan Reyes jogging toward me.

He’s taller than the last time, but he still has the same battered backpack slung over one shoulder.

He approaches me with his hand out. I shake it.

“Sir,” he says, a little breathless. “I saw your car out front. It sticks out around here.”

I arch a brow at him .

“Don’t worry. Nobody will touch it. Everyone knows you own it.”

“You keeping up at school?” I ask.

“Yes, sir. I’m back on the football team. Coach says I’m fast.”

“Good man.” I clap a hand to his shoulder. “You come by the offices again in a couple of weeks for summer, all right?”

Last year, he came in for some paid work experience. It kept him off the street and out of the mess his father left behind.

He nods. “Yes, sir. Appreciate it.”

I raise another brow.

“I mean, yes… Julian . Thanks.”

“See you around, Dylan.”

He jogs toward the gym as I get into the car.

It hums to life beneath my fingers, but I don’t shift into gear. Instead, I pull out my phone and open Sinclair Architecture’s website.

I scroll to the team page and find her.

Celeste Morgan.

Lead Architect.

Panel speaker. Award winner. Probably invented gravity and never mentioned it.

In her photo, her hair is swept back. She wears minimal makeup. Her eyes are just as sharp.

I stare at it and pinch to zoom because fuck it, I’ve come this far, might as well go full creep.

There are some articles linked below her photo, and one catches my eye.

The Woman Behind the Skyline: Celeste Morgan on Power, Purpose, and Designing a Better Future.

The article features a shiny banner image of the Sterling Vista Tower set against a sunset background. The city’s newest architectural showcase is scheduled to open in the coming months.

There’s a second photo further down. She’s not as polished in this one. Her hair is in a ponytail, and she’s wearing dusty jeans while walking through a construction site. An older woman is beside her.

The caption reads:

Morgan pictured at the Westbridge Women’s Shelter Project—her firm’s third pro bono community partnership with The Hope Foundation in two years.

I sit back and read it again.

“These spaces save lives,” she says. “And women who’ve survived the worst deserve better than crumbling walls.”

This isn’t just some piece about a hotshot architect. This is her on the ground, choosing to build something that matters.

This is exactly the kind of work that shaped me and Nathan into who we are.

Working with real communities. Investing in neighborhoods nobody else cares about.

Building something from nothing. Not for a press release, but because we remember what it was like when no one cared about the street we came from.

I close the tab and slam the phone onto the passenger seat. I’ve seen enough to know she’s more than a distraction, and that’s exactly the problem.