Page 14

K enzie thinks she’s won.

Thinks she got the last word. That she can outrun this. Outrun me.

But she’s wrong. Because I’m still here. And once I set my sights on something—someone—I never fucking lose.

I tighten my grip on the steering wheel, my eyes locked on my phone screen.

Nothing.

No reply.

Not to my first text.

Not to my second.

And yet—silence.

I exhale slowly, my jaw ticking. She’s ignoring me. Which means she’s fighting this. Which means she’s losing.

I should let her go. That was the rule, wasn’t it?

No names. No strings. No expectations.

So why the fuck is my grip so tight on the wheel? Why is my pulse hammering every time I check my phone? Why is it taking everything in me not to drive straight to her and finish what we started?

But the problem?

I don’t give a damn about the rules anymore. Because last night wasn’t just sex. It was something else entirely. And I know she felt it, too.

I drag a hand down my face, trying to shake it off.

Because this isn’t me.

I don’t chase.

I don’t text. I don’t wait around, checking my phone like a goddamn teenager. I don’t let a woman get under my skin.

But here I am. Checking the clock. Waiting for her to crack.

And when my phone vibrates, I feel it in my fucking chest. My stomach tightens as I glance at the screen—but it’s not her.

It’s Lauren.

I let out a slow, controlled exhale.

I can ignore her for now. I turn my focus back to my real problem.

Kenzie.

Because she can pretend all she wants.

She can run, she can bury herself in distractions, she can lie to herself about what happened.

But I know the truth.

And sooner or later?

She’s going to know it, too.

I type out another message.

I hit send.

Then I drop my phone onto the passenger seat, lean back against the headrest, and wait.

I don’t care how long it takes. I don’t care how much she tries to fight it. I know how this ends.

And I have more patience than she does. I tell myself to let it go.

I should. She made her choice.

She threw up her walls, slammed the door in my face, and walked away like I was just some mistake she couldn’t shove into the past fast enough.

And fine.

That should be enough for me.

I should be able to move the hell on.

But the problem?

I don’t want to.

Not when I can still feel her.

Her lips.

Her body.

The way she came apart in my hands like she was made for it.

I drag a hand down my face, exhaling sharply.

This is bullshit.

Kenzie doesn’t get to act like I’m the only one affected here.

Like last night didn’t wreck her just as much as it did me. I know the truth. I saw it in her eyes. She felt it. And if she wants to pretend otherwise, that’s on her.

But I’m not playing her game. I glance down at my phone again.

Still nothing.

That unread text sits there like a goddamn challenge.

I should let her come to me. I should be patient. But I’m not a patient man. Not when it comes to her. I tap out another message.

I hesitate for half a second.

Then hit send.

Because I meant every word.

She can run all she wants.

But this?

This isn’t over.

Not even close.

Patience has never been my strong suit.

And waiting on Kenzie to crack?

Not happening.

Not when I know she’s sitting somewhere, probably staring at my message, pretending she doesn’t feel anything.

So, I make a decision.

A bad one.

A reckless one.

But at this point?

I don’t give a damn.

I throw my car into drive, cutting through the city, my hands tight on the wheel.

By the time I pull up in front of her apartment, I know exactly what I’m doing.

It’s reckless. It’s the worst possible decision I could make.

And I’d do it a hundred times over.

I step out, stride up to her door, and knock.

No answer.

I knock again. Harder.

Still nothing.

But I know she’s in there.

Because Kenzie might be a lot of things—reckless, impulsive, infuriating as hell—but she’s not a coward.

And I refuse to believe she’s hiding from me.

I lean in, my voice low.

"I know you’re in there, Flight."

Silence.

Then—

A rustle.

A shadow under the door.

And finally, the lock clicks.

The door swings open.

And there she is.

Standing in front of me in leggings and a loose tank top, hair messy, mouth slightly open, eyes sharp with something she hasn’t figured out how to fight yet.

And fuck me, she looks gorgeous.

But also?

Pissed.

"You don’t get to just show up here," she snaps.

But she grips the doorframe.

Like she needs the grounding.

Like she knows the second I step inside, she’s already lost.

I smirk, stepping closer.

"Funny," I murmur. "You didn’t seem to mind when I showed up last night."

Her breath catches.

Because we both know she has no comeback for that.

Kenzie doesn’t move. Doesn’t blink. Doesn’t even breathe. Because she knows I’m right.

She can try to ignore me.

Try to run.

Try to shove last night into a neat little box labeled One-Night Stand, Do Not Open Again.

But it won’t work.

Because I’m standing in her doorway. And I’m not leaving. Not until we stop pretending.

She crosses her arms, tilting her chin. "What do you want, Grant?"

My eyes drag over her. The way her shirt hangs off one shoulder. The way she’s barefoot, her nails painted some deep red that shouldn’t make my brain short-circuit, but somehow does.

She looks soft. Like she just woke up. Like she’s comfortable. Like she wasn’t expecting me to show up and throw her entire night off balance.

Good.

I take a step forward, closing the space between us.

"You tell me," I murmur.

Her breath hitches. She hates that I noticed.

I lean against the doorframe, my voice calm. Controlled.

"You made your rules, Flight. No names. No strings. No expectations."

Her jaw tightens.

"So why are you acting like this is something to be scared of?"

A flicker of something flashes in her green eyes. Something sharp. Unreadable. Then she scoffs.

"I’m not scared."

I arch a brow. "No?"

She glares. "No."

And yet—she’s gripping the hem of her shirt like it’s the only thing keeping her grounded.

I could push her on this. Call her bluff. Tell her she’s full of shit.

But instead? I tilt my head, studying her.

And then I lower my voice. "I’ll ask you one more time."

I step closer. Not touching, but in her space enough to feel her body heat. Her throat moves in a slow swallow.

"You still think you can handle this?"

Her mouth opens slightly.

I can see the war happening in real-time. Between her body and her mind. Between what she wants and what she’s telling herself she should want.

Her fingers twitch. Her breath shakes. And still—she doesn’t answer. Because we both already know.

She’s not ready to admit it.

But she will.