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CHAPTER FIFTEEN

SAWYER

O ther than at the bar last week, this is the closest I’ve been to Collins since I had her in my bed, naked and wrapped around me.

She still smells the same, and the way her chest moves rapidly fills mine with warmth.

I affect her.

I’ve always known that I had some kind of impact on her—the way her skin reacts beneath my touch, the brief flashes of vulnerability, the rise and fall of her chest. Even when she adjusts her collar as my breath tickles her neck.

“What do you say, hmm?” I ask, my face showing way more confidence than I feel.

Collins has said three words since I asked her out, and that was a request for me to repeat what I just said. A little like in the cocktail bar, I know I caught her off guard, and honestly, I like it. She hasn’t had the time to gather herself and manufacture a witty response. The Collins in front of me is real, raw, and … fucking gorgeous.

Aside from the photos from when she was younger, this is the first time I’ve seen Collins without makeup. She’s probably chalked my initial nerves up to the sight of her wearing only a T-shirt—and, yeah, it stopped me in my tracks. Her legs are just as I remember them—shapely and smooth, fair skin I want my tongue to explore all night. Though it’s her natural beauty beneath the shine of a mid-November morning that really stole my breath, ripping it from my lungs as she stood at the entrance to her apartment.

The second I walked into her space, I was reeling, wondering which door her bedroom hid behind. How many guys have had the privilege of seeing her like this—all soft, bare skin and wild hair?

Turning up unannounced was a borderline dick move, but a little like my need to figure out this girl—beyond the flashes of real she shows me—I was powerless to drive straight home after skate. Archer’s advice has been on repeat in my mind since the game against Philly, and now I have to shoot my shot.

The faint murmur of traffic is the only sound we can hear as Collins breaks eye contact, and I catch her chin, bringing her focus back to me. I’m so done with suppressing my urge for this girl, my need for her attention.

I don’t know what this is between us, between her and my son. It’s indescribable and more than I’ve felt in a long while.

“Are we talking, like, a date?” Her eyes reach mine on the final word.

I catch another glimpse of vulnerability as it passes through her. Ordinarily, I’d hate it. The thought of her feeling uncomfortable or exposed stirs a protective alpha feeling within me, one that lay dormant for years. Though, in this moment, I can’t say the look in her eyes is one I don’t welcome. I want her to be torn over spending time with me. I want more than the flat-out no I frequently hear.

Between my thumb and forefinger, I grip her chin more firmly. “You can call it what you like, Collins. Two friends hanging out or a date. I’ll take whatever you give me.”

She exhales slowly, chewing on her lip as she ponders a response. “I thought we agreed never again.”

Just hearing her refer to that night pumps blood to my dick. The adrenaline surging through my veins urges me on, daring me to push this a little further. I want to test her, just like she does me.

I lean toward her, a smug grin pulling at my lips. “The only attention I get from you is the same kind you pay everyone else, probably even less. I want something from you that’s just for me, and I gotta be honest, Collins—I think you do too.”

Her head’s spinning out—I can tell. I’ve switched from a guy falling over his words when he arrived to one holding her by the chin while he tells her what he wants.

“I think you’re kidding yourself,” she replies with confidence I know is fake. “I don’t date.”

“You do, Collins. You’re just telling yourself you don’t. It’s all narrative, barriers, and bullshit. Plus, weren’t you meeting a guy that night we first met at Lloyd’s?”

Chin still in my hold, she rolls her eyes. “I met him at a bar with the intention of a hookup. And then I found out he was married and cheating on his wife.” She pauses for a second. “Just your standard asshole guy, I guess.”

“That’s honestly what you think of us, isn’t it? Either asshole or a crap lay—maybe both.”

She shrugs, her trademark response hardening my dick.

“Stop shrugging,” I demand.

She does it again and grins wide. “I’m sorry. I just love pushing your buttons. It’s fun.”

I lean in a little further, pleased when I see the way her skin pebbles. “I think you do it to distance yourself from me. It’s a safety mechanism and your default setting.”

I know I’m taking a huge leap—for myself and Ezra. A large part of me fears this could all end in disaster, though a smaller—and louder—part drives my actions to follow Archer’s advice.

“I have to work early each morning,” she replies.

“I can have you home well before bedtime.”

She flushes at that, and I release her chin, my hands going straight to my pockets, curling into fists as I wait on her decision.

“Will you tell Ezra?” Collins asks.

“Why?” I question.

She twists her lips to the side as she looks away, and I let her have a second. I’m intrigued about everything that goes on in her mind, but especially now, when it comes to thoughts of my son.

“I’ll go on one date with you, but I don’t want to complicate things with Ezra. If I keep on the way I’m going, I’ll be looking for a new job, likely outside of New York.”

I hoped she would agree to a date, and I fully expected her to offer me only one. What I didn’t anticipate was the way she’d prioritized my son in all of this.

I feel myself falling further, my lips desperate to touch hers.

The final words of her sentence sit less comfortably though. Thoughts of how temporary she likes to keep everything in her life stick in my throat. It’s true; I don’t know what this is between us—though I sure as shit wouldn’t be putting myself on the line like this if it didn’t feel real.

“What do you mean, keep on the way I’m going ? Is something wrong?” I ask, expecting to be shut down straight away.

She blows out a short, sharp laugh. “Just me being me, pissing off bosses and generally being a pain-in-the-ass employee. Plus, rent’s getting expensive here, so I’ll probably give notice on the lease.”

I can’t tell if these are genuine issues or if she’s already talking herself out of seeing me.

I opt to play it cool. “So, what I’m hearing is, you’re not just a brat with me?”

The tension building between us is seismic, crackling each time one of us moves an inch.

“What I’m saying is, I’ll go out with you, but I won’t promise anything beyond that.”

I work to keep my body language unaffected. “I can take us somewhere private so you won’t be recognized or photographed.”

She quirks a questioning brow. “If I cared about that anymore, I wouldn’t have let you touch me or pose as my boyfriend last Wednesday night. Besides, if they catch a photo of us again, then I’m sure I’ll be forgotten in a week or two.”

I remain silent. I don’t like the thought of this girl being forgotten, not one fucking bit. She’s anything but forgettable.

“I guess this is what you have to ask yourself, Sawyer: are you okay with Ezra potentially seeing us alone together and asking you questions?”

He already has, right after he searched for your social media profile.

“If he sees something and asks, I’ll tell him we’re friends,” I reply. “Because that’s the truth, right?”

She offers a tight nod. “Yes.”

Her breath fans my face, a familiar scent washing over me, fueling my desire to take her mouth and prove the bullshit in that statement.

We aren’t friends.

“You have to protect Ezra first,” Collins adds, softness in her eyes.

I have so much I want to say. I don’t know if she’s an only child. I don’t know if she has any experience with kids or even wants them someday. But judging by the way she is with Ezra, she’d be a fucking great mom.

Ripping myself from unhelpful thoughts, I pull a hand from my pocket and test the water, grazing my index finger along the side of her hand.

“I’ll pick you up on Tuesday at five. That way, you can be home earlier, and I can get childcare for Ezra without him needing to stay over at his grandparents.”

Collins opens her mouth, but quickly closes it, her thoughtful expression replaced with a familiar mischief. “You also don’t want to stay up past your bedtime. I can’t imagine how tired I’ll be when I’m your age.”

I narrow my eyes. “Are you saying I’m old?”

She rests a condescending palm on my shoulder, though the warmth in her features contradicts her actions, and I feel the connection she seems hell-bent on denying pass all the way through me.

“Yes, Sawyer. Yes, I am.”