Just kisses me once—soft, lingering—like punctuation instead of promise.
“Text me when you get home,” he says.
“I will.”
I mean to go straight home.
Instead, I sit in my car for a minute, breathing, replaying the way his hands felt, the way his restraint somehow made everything more intense.
When I finally pull away, my phone buzzes.
Colton: Youshould come back.
My lips curve.
Me: That was fast.
Colton: I’m efficient.
I shake my head, smiling as I drive.
When I get home, I lie in bed and text him that I’m home. I realize how this all feels so normal.
Which is probably the most dangerous part.
We don’t talk about the line we keep dancing around. We don’t talk about what comes next.
We exist in this suspended space, where desire is constant, control is intentional, and neither of us seems in a hurry to break the balance.
Before I lose the nerve, I text what’s on my mind.
Me: You realize we’re becoming very good at stopping before we …
There’s a pause.
Colton: I’m aware.
Me: Is that a skill you practice often?
Three dots appear. Disappear. Then …
Colton: No.
The honesty in that single word sends a quiet thrill through me.
I set my phone aside, my body warm, my mind calm. This feels good. Not complicated. Not heavy.
Just … wanted. And for now, that’s enough.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Colton
On Saturday night, Melissa shows up at my place with confidence I didn’t expect.
She knocks once. When I open the door, she’s already smiling like she knows something I don’t. Jeans, fitted enough to be distracting. A simple top. Hair down, loose, makeup easy and light. She looks comfortable yet breathtakingly beautiful.
Before I can say anything, she steps past me and turns, pointing a finger at my chest.
