Page 24 of Only ever you-Ana & Byron (Blindsided #2)

O ver the next few weeks

They'd fallen into a rhythm. Ana practically moved in without her even noticing, only going back to her place for fresh clothes or when she needed a moment to breathe. Byron always offered to drive her.

Sometimes she'd find post-it notes on the fridge:

"Left you the last pancake. You're welcome. Also, I love you. Don't fight it."

It wasn't the first time he'd said it.

The first time had been in the steam and slick of the shower, water beating down on them both as Ana clung to his shoulders and he held her up like she weighed nothing.

They hadn't even made it past brushing their teeth that morning.

One look and he had her pressed against the cold tile, her name gritted through his teeth like a prayer .

Afterward, as they leaned breathless against the wall, chests heaving, water cascading between them, Byron rested his forehead against hers.

"I love you, Ana girl," he murmured.

She stiffened.

"Was that the orgasm talking?" she asked, trying for humour but not quite hitting the right note.

He didn't laugh.

He gently let her down. Then he grabbed a towel, wrapped it around his waist, and stepped out of the shower. No teasing this time. No smartass quip.

"I'll make an omelette," he muttered over his shoulder.

Ana felt like she had kicked a puppy. By the time Ana made it to the kitchen, he was already at the stove. The smell of butter and eggs filled the space. He had his back to her.

She hovered, uncertain.

When he finally turned, his eyes were serious.

"You don't believe me," he said, voice quiet. "And you don't trust me yet."

She opened her mouth. Nothing came out.

"But you will," he added. "I'm not goin' anywhere. And I'm not lettin' you get away again."

It was a promise, vow stitched from old mistakes and pieces of his heart.

She didn't respond. She just sat at the counter and ate the omelette thoughtfully. It was a little burnt, not the usual Byron standard.

She didn't mind.

Later that night, they were in bed.

Byron lay on his side, facing away from her. No arm across her waist. No whispered innuendos or wandering hands .

Ana frowned. She didn't like this version of Byron. It was as if he was unsure of his welcome on her side of the bed.

She slid closer, draped a thigh over both of his, and wrapped herself around him like a human koala.

He huffed but didn't move.

"I love you too, you big grumpy baby," she mumbled into his meaty shoulder.

He turned his head slightly.

"You don't have to say it back," he whispered.

"I was just... bein' a coward. I do love you. Have done for a while," she whispered back. "I'm just... scared."

There was a pause before his hand found hers under the duvet, fingers intertwining.

"You don't have to be," he said. "I won't make the same mistakes again."

And she believed him.

Text messages became something to brighten their day:

Byron: Don't be late. I'm starvin' and I want you before dinner. In that order.

Ana: I'm in a meeting.

Byron: So am I. With my hand and inappropriate thoughts. My balls are fucking blue. I want my doctor Ana.

***

6 months later

The office was mostly dark by 7 PM, the dull hum of lights and the occasional clack of a keyboard marking the presence of stragglers.

Ana was still at her desk. She had adapted to her role of half-editor, half-investigative hound, deep in a spreadsheet that was meant to be background data but felt more like there was something she was missing in there. Something waiting to detonate.

A shadow loomed across her cubicle wall .

"Still here?" came Harben's voice, dry, familiar.

Tall and narrow-shouldered, with glasses that always slid low on his nose, Harben looked like a grad student who'd wandered into the wrong office.

The youthful, innocent look had gotten him a number of headlines and into a lot of beds he had no business visiting.

"Still ugly?" she shot back without looking up.

He snorted and slouched against the edge of her cubicle wall, arms folded. "You are just jealous of my exploits. When are you going to admit you want me?"

"What I want is caffeine and silence."

"So, still in denial, then."

They'd fallen into a rhythm of dry humour, late nights and professional respect with a pinch of wary competition . He didn't ask what she was really working on. She didn't ask why he kept hovering after hours.

Then a long shadow stretched across her monitor. Harben went completely still as he looked up.

Ana turned and saw Byron looking like he was chewing on shards of glass.

In a pink t-shirt.

God help her.

The man had the audacity to make it work. Paired with black athletic shorts and trainers, he looked like he'd wandered off the cover of a fitness magazine. His hair was damp at the edges like he'd just come from a workout. Every woman in the vicinity was pretending not to stare.

Ana blinked once she stopped drooling. "What are you doing here?"

But Byron wasn't looking at her .

He was staring straight at Harben, jaw tight, lips thinned out, hazel eyes sharp enough to cut glass. A vein pulsed on his temple.

Harben glanced at Ana, then back to Byron with a faint smirk. Because he had a death wish and obviously did not know how to read the room.

Byron's gaze finally slid to her. "Brought you something," he said, holding up the brown paper bag. "From that place on Wilton Road. Your usual."

Ana smiled, couldn't help it. "You're the best." She turned to Harben. "Want some?"

Harben didn't move. "Aren't you going to introduce us?"

There was a beat.

Ana cleared her throat. "Right. Harben, Byron. Byron, Harben."

Byron gave a tight nod. Harben nodded back, just as tight.

"No food for me," Harben added. "I'm good."

Ana thought he murmured," I would like to live a little longer."

Byron tilted his head, voice smooth. "Alright then. Time for bed."

She blinked. "What?"

He pointed at her screen, and he whispered in her ear. "Save your data, love, or your mates here are gettin' a live show."

Heat flooded her face as she yanked the laptop shut.

"Subtle."

"Wasn't tryin' to be."

The moment the elevator doors slid shut, Byron had her pinned to the mirrored wall, mouth hot and claiming, one hand gripping the nape of her neck, the other squeezing her arse with firm, unapologetic intent.

Her toes curled.

When he pulled back, she could barely think .

"What was that about?" she panted like she had run a couple of miles uphill.

"Nowt," he muttered, straightening his shirt. But his eyes betrayed him with their extreme smugness.

Ana arched an eyebrow. "That was the most passive-aggressive dick measuring contest I've ever seen."

He smirked. "You liked it."

She did. Damn him.

Ana glanced at him sideways, lips twitching.

"Love the pink on you. Brings out the green in your eyes."

Byron looked down at himself like he hadn't noticed what he was wearing.

"This? Yeah, well... just gettin' in touch with me feminine side and shit."

She bit back a laugh.

"Right."

"I'm a metrosexual lad now," he added while examining his nails. "Big fan of exfoliatin' and manicures."

Ana shook her head, laughing as he crowded her against the lift wall.

"You're ridiculous."

"And you love it."

She did. Every maddening bit of him. And she was sinking deeper and deeper every day.

Then he leaned in and kissed her again like he hadn't seen her in weeks, when he had left her completely shattered after a couple of rounds that morning.