Page 11

I don’t get jealous.

At least, that’s the lie I’ve been telling myself for years. But the second I step into The Foundry, every bit of that bullshit goes up in flames.

Because she’s here. And she’s not alone. My jaw tightens. My steps slow.

She’s at a table near the bar, laughing at something Kingston just said. Her hand is resting lightly on his arm.

I shouldn’t care. But the moment Kingston leans in—just a little too close—something dark and territorial coils in my chest.

Jake’s voice cuts through my spiraling thoughts. "Dude, what the hell is your problem?"

I force my gaze away, muttering, "Nothing."

Jake snorts. "Yeah? Tell that to your face. You look like you’re about to murder someone."

I exhale slowly, trying to shove the rage back down. I didn’t even want to come out tonight, but Jake and some of the guys dragged me along, saying I needed to "unwind."

Right.

Unwinding is the last thing happening right now. My eyes drag back to her.

Kenzie looks ridiculously good. Hair loose and wild. A fitted black top showing just enough skin to make my hands twitch. And she’s still smiling at Kingston like he’s the most interesting guy in the goddamn room.

I don’t realize my fingers are digging into the bar until the bartender clears his throat.

"You good, man?"

I force myself to relax. To play it cool. But everything inside me is screaming. Because she’s doing this on purpose. I should look away.

I should just drink my drink, ignore this, and let her play whatever game she thinks she’s winning.

But I can’t. Because she’s pushing me. And the worst part? She’s enjoying it.

Her hand lingers on Kingston’s arm and her body angles toward him in that effortless, flirty way she does.

And Kingston?

He’s eating it up. Leaning closer. Smirking like he’s already won. I take a slow sip of my whiskey, forcing my jaw to stay loose. I won’t give her the reaction she wants.

She wants me to snap? She’ll be waiting all damn night.

But then—

Kingston calls her sweetie, just like he did at the airport.

And she lets him.

No correction. No hesitation.

Just a smirk and that slow, teasing tilt of her head—the one that should be just for me.

Something snaps.

The burn in my chest erupts into something darker. I set my glass down, too carefully.

Jake notices. "Grant—"

"I’ll be right back," I mutter, already moving.

I move slowly, deliberately, like a predator tracking its prey. And Kenzie? She sees me coming. Her smirk deepens. I don’t stop.

Not when Kingston leans back, his smirk widening.

Not when Kenzie takes a slow, calculated sip of her drink, playing the role of the unbothered queen.

Not even when every logical part of me is screaming to turn around and let her win this round.

Because I can’t.

Not when she’s wearing that smirk. Not when I can feel every molecule in my body daring me to claim what’s mine.

I reach their table, step right into their space, and cut between them before Kingston can even blink.

Kenzie doesn’t move. Doesn’t flinch. She just looks up at me, her green eyes glinting with mischief.

"Grant," she purrs. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

Pleasure.

I barely contain the growl building in my chest.

"You having fun?" I ask, voice low, controlled.

She tilts her head, amused. "Actually, yeah. Kingston’s great company."

My jaw ticks. My hands flex at my sides. I feel Kingston’s gaze on me, feel his lazy grin stretching wider.

"Relax, Coach," he drawls. "We’re just talking."

I don’t even look at him. My gaze stays locked on Kenzie. Because I don’t care about Kingston. I care about her. And the fact that she’s pushing me just to see how far I’ll let her go.

"Yeah?" I murmur, leaning down slightly, so close that she can feel my breath.

"Then why don’t we have our own talk?"

She blinks, but only once. "What makes you think I want to talk to you?"

My lips curve. Because I know her. I lean in just enough that only she can hear me.

"Because if you didn’t, you wouldn’t have made sure I saw this."

She freezes. For a fraction of a second—just long enough. And that’s when I know.

That’s when I know I’m right. This was never about Kingston.

This was about me.

I step into her space, close enough that she has to tilt her chin to meet my gaze, that she feels my body heat, even in this crowded bar.

Then, low and controlled, I say, "Let’s go, Flight."

Her breath hitches. Just slightly. Just enough.

Then her eyes flash. "Excuse me?"

"You wanted my attention." I lift a brow. "Now you have it."

She glares at me, daring me to back down.

I don’t.

And the best part?

She doesn’t either. She sets her drink down, rises slowly from her seat. And without a word she takes my hand. The moment her fingers slip into mine, I don’t hesitate.

I lead her through the bar, ignoring the heat of Kingston’s stare, the buzz of conversations fading into background noise.

Kenzie doesn’t resist. Not once. She follows me through the crowded space, out the door, into the cool night air.

Only then do I stop. Only then do I drop her hand. She takes a slow breath, crossing her arms, her expression unreadable.

"You don’t get to do that," she says finally, steady and unflinching.

"Do what?" I ask, my words calm, measured.

Her jaw tightens. "You don’t get to act like you own me."

I take a step closer.

She doesn’t move.

I lean in, my words low enough to make her breath hitch.

"Then don’t play games you’re not ready to finish."

Her throat bobs. Her fingers twitch against her arm. But her eyes? They burn with defiance.

"Who says I’m not ready?" she murmurs.

I exhale, slow. Controlled.

Because she’s pushing me again. Because she has no idea what she’s asking for.

I take one more step forward, bringing us so close, the space between us disappears.

I can feel her breath, can see the way her pulse flutters at the base of her throat. She doesn’t pull away. And that? That’s the biggest mistake she could have made.

I let my fingers trail up her arm, slow, deliberate, barely there. Her sharp inhale tells me everything. Then I lower my head, my lips brushing the shell of her ear.

"You want to play, Flight?" I rasp, low and rough.

She doesn’t answer. She just stands there, chest rising and falling, green eyes locked on mine.

I pull back slightly, my gaze dropping to her mouth. I linger. Just long enough to watch her lips part, her pulse kick against the delicate skin of her throat.

Then I step back.

Slow. Measured. Leaving her standing there, breath unsteady, fingers twitching at her sides.

Wanting.

Her breath comes sharper now. I turn, starting toward the parking lot.

"Go home, Kenzie," I murmur over my shoulder. "Before you start something you can’t handle."

I don’t look back. Because if I do? I’ll ruin her.

And next time?

There won’t be any holding back.