Chapter 2

The table settles back into rhythm after my coffee disaster. Napkins dab at stains, Gwen’s mom laughs it off with “happens to the best of us,” and plates start passing again. I keep my head down, forcing bites of casserole I can’t taste, every nerve screaming.

  CK—Christian—sits directly across from me, calm as stone. He answers questions like he’s used to them. Gwen’s dad leans forward first.

  “So, CK, how’re your folks doing? We haven’t seen them since that reunion last summer.”

  Christian sets his fork down, voice even. “They’re good. Mom’s still teaching piano, Dad’s semi-retired now. They wanted to come tonight, but the storm locked them in up north. Said to tell you they miss the old days—roommates in that tiny apartment, fighting over who got the good couch.”

  Gwen’s mom sighs fondly. “God, those stories. Your dad used to sneak in pizza at 2 a.m. when we were all broke and starving. We were convinced we’d rule the world back then.”

  Christian gives a small, tired smile. “They still talk about it like it was yesterday.”

  Gwen’s dad claps him on the shoulder. “And you, young man? Law school finally behind you?”

  “Just finished,” Christian says. “Bar exam’s next month. Got an offer from Harlan & Pierce—starting after I pass.”

  The table erupts in congratulations. Gwen beams, squeezing his arm. “That’s huge, CK! I’m so proud.”

  I stare at my plate, stomach twisting. The man who pinned me to a motel wall last night, who made me come undone until I couldn’t speak, is about to be a lawyer. Of course he is.

  Gwen turns to him, eyes sparkling with innocent curiosity. “So… how exactly did you two meet last night? Selene’s being weirdly quiet about it.”

  The air sucks out of the room for me.

  Christian’s gaze flicks to mine—brief, loaded. He opens his mouth. “We ran into each other at—”

  “At the bar,” I blurt, too loud, too fast. “Just… grabbed a drink. Storm was bad. Talked for a bit. That’s all.”

  Gwen tilts her head. “That’s all? You spilled coffee like you saw a ghost when he walked in.”

  I force a laugh that sounds strangled. “Jet lag. Or… coffee shock. I’m fine now.”

  Under the table, my knee bounces. Christian watches me for one beat longer, then shrugs lightly. “Yeah. Just a drink. Nothing crazy.”

  Gwen shrugs too, satisfied. “Okay, mystery solved. You two are officially allowed to be awkward around each other now.”

  The table laughs. Conversation shifts—someone asks about the firm, someone else about holiday plans. I breathe again, barely.

  But Christian’s foot nudges mine under the table. Just once. Deliberate.

  I jerk my leg back like I’ve been burned.

  He doesn’t look at me.

  But the corner of his mouth twitches.

  I’m trapped at this table, smiling through small talk, while the secret sits between us like a live wire.

  And dinner’s nowhere near over

  The table finally clears. Plates stacked, wine glasses collected, laughter drifting toward the living room where Gwen’s cousins are starting a card game. Gwen’s mom waves us off—“You two handle the kitchen, I’ll join the cards in a minute.”

  I freeze at the sink.

  Christian steps in behind me.

  The door swings shut. Just us. Running water, clinking dishes, the low hum of the dishwasher. No escape.

  He sets a stack of plates on the counter, close enough that I feel the heat radiating off him. Same cedar-and-smoke scent from last night. My hands shake as I rinse a glass.

  He speaks first, voice low, private. “You disappeared after that hot sex last night.”

  My spine stiffens. Soap suds slide down my wrist. “Don’t.”

  He doesn’t back off. “Just stating facts.”

  I turn the faucet harder, water roaring. “Gwen has feelings for you. Real ones. She’s had them since we were kids. She can never—ever—know what happened. I made an honest mistake. I wouldn’t have touched you if I’d known who you were.”

  He’s quiet for a second. Then he moves in—slow, deliberate—until his chest is almost against my back. The counter traps me. His breath brushes my ear.

  “You sure about that?”

  My heart slams against my ribs, loud enough I’m sure he hears it. I turn my head just enough. His lips are right there—full, still faintly swollen from last night. My eyes flick up to his. Dark. Heavy-lidded. Waiting.

  The kitchen light catches the edge of his beard. The same beard that scraped my inner thighs until I screamed.

  I feel the pull—magnetic, dangerous—like gravity tilting the room. My lips part on a shallow breath. One inch closer and we’d collide again.

  I shove my palm against his chest. Hard.

  “Yes,” I whisper, voice cracking. “I’m sure.”

  He doesn’t fight it. Steps back one pace. Hands up in surrender, but his eyes say he doesn’t believe me for a second.

  I turn back to the sink, gripping the edge so tight my knuckles bleach. Water still runs. Dishes still need washing.

  But my pulse won’t slow.

  From the living room, Gwen’s laugh floats in—bright, innocent, happy.

  I close my eyes for half a heartbeat.