I make it halfway down the hallway before I realize I’m shaking. I tell myself it’s the cold but it’s not. I’ve tasted the forbidden fruit, and now I want the whole fucking orchard.
CHAPTER 11
Artemis
Shit. It’s bad when your favorite place, your Mom’s state-famous Mexican-fusion restaurant, holds no joy or peace for you. It’s been less than twenty-four hours since my mouth met Xavier Martinez’s, and no amount of… well… anything is erasing the hot, searing brand he left on my lips last night.
“Patatas bravas.” Claudia’s cautious smile meets me as I lift my eyes from the blurring paperwork on the table in front of me.
Yes, it’s a restaurant, no I don’t care. I have shit to do, and I want to do it while eating delicious food someone else cooks for me. Win-win.
“You’re insatiable tonight, Artemis.” Her lips quirk. “I haven’t seen you eat this much since after the playoffs.” She grins, picking up the empty plates covering the table.
Am I trying to keep my hands distracted so I don’t message Xavier? Perhaps.
Or maybe I’m trying to erase the taste of him and replace it with something else.
Is anything working? Fuck no.
My lips still tingle with the memory of his touch: confident, caressing,claiming.
I buried myself in a logistical nightmare of supplier contracts and rebrand palettes, desperate to find a corporate design that felt more like my future and less like my father’s legacy. I flicked through the final contenders my marketing department had spent weeks narrowing down, their polished work-ups mocking my inability to make a simple choice.
“Gracias, Claudia. ¿Qué tal?”
“Not much. Flying solo tonight?” She takes in the scattered pages in front of me. “You look like you need some sleep.” When her hand touches my shoulder, a heavy sigh slips through my lips. I know what I need, and I’m not sure it’s sleep.
“I’ll bring you some coffee.”
I nod, turning my attention back to the options in front of me. It feels like a head versus heart decision I’m not sure I’m confident enough to make.
Dropping my head in my hands, I ease out another ragged breath. Before yesterday, I’d have gone black and silver, but the embers of that fiery kiss in my chest are grabbing on to the oxygen I breathe and trying to gather speed.
I lift my phone to text my brother. Apollo will know what to do. Since he graduated and got himself a big boy job in the NHL, he seems… anchored in a way I’m not, in a way I long to be.
He’ll give me sound advice. Safe advice. The kind that keeps me grounded, but also just the right amount of righteous.
My thumb skips his name and opens a new chat instead. This is ludicrous. It’s not going to do me any good, and yet, I’ve typed and sent a message before I can talk myself out of it.
Artemis: Which says ‘trustworthy aeronautics firm’ and not ‘midlife crisis with a marketing budget’?
He opens it and starts typing immediately, like he was waiting for me to message. Wishful thinking.
Goal Daddy: It’s about time you got your nose out of those pages and spoke to the outside world.
My head snaps up. There’s no way… is there?
Another text pings.
Goal Daddy: I have to say, I’m so glad you’ve shelved this whole ‘body is a temple’ crap and you’re eating real food like a human being. I’m not sure even I could put away that many tacos without taking a break.
That makes me smile against my will, and I pick up my fork to stab a few forgotten potatoes and cram them into my mouth so if he is watching me, he doesn’t see.
Artemis: Stalking’s illegal, Xavier.
I kick out the seat in front of me in a silent invitation.
Goal Daddy: I’m going to need you to say it, Baby Cakes.
