“Sure.” His blue eyes shine with excitement. Real excitement. Ininterest.“Yeah, we should.”
There’s no hesitation. No polite ‘maybe’. Just an instantyes.
And just like that, the tension shifts and I relax, the nerves as good as gone. I feel lighter. The conversation flows easily, slipping into talk about engines, torque, favorite stretches of road, like we’ve done this before.
Take a little leap, Milos.
Yeah… I think I just did.
CHAPTER 04: KAIDEN
I can’t.
Oh shit, I can’t. I really couldn’t have come up with this even if I tried. He’s… like everything I ever hoped for in a man.
Everything I didn’t even know Iwantedin a man.
Fuck. I didn’t even want someone to begin with. I like my life the way it is. I like my freedom, my work, being able to do whatever I want whenever I feel like it. Drive my bike anywhere. I like that nothing holds me down. I’m too comfortable in a life that’s already full.
But him?
It’s like my mind conjured up this perfect specimen and justpoofedhim into existence. Like it’s challenging me, saying;Hey dumb-dumb! Make some room. He’ll fit!
He rides. He’s an artist—his sister showed me his neon stuff on her phone, and fuck me if I haven’t seen some of those pieces lighting up the Amsterdam nightlife. He’s funny. Shy but bold at the same time. Witty.And have I mentioned he rides?
But shit, most importantly, that face.
His face,madre mía.It’s like he’s carved out of something ethereal. All sharp cheekbones and a square jaw, no softness there, just clean lines and intensity. The kind of face that doesn’t ask for attention but gets it anyway.
He’s shorter than me… but notsmall.
No. He’s solid. Stocky in that compact, grounded way. The kind of build that feels steady. His arms are more defined than mine, even though it’s hard to tell with all the insane art covering them.
And woah, that design.
The design is unreal and I for fuck sure want to investigate it more.
Later. Privately.
Yeah, I mostly felt that strength just now, when he basically manhandled me into an abandoned chair from the tram-turned-bistro for one of the many poses Sadie wanted us in. One second I was standing, the next he had a hand at my waist, firm but careful, guiding me down like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Before he crawled on my lap, for crying out loud.
Which I like way too much.
The chair creaks beneath us, his thighs bracketing mine, solid and warm even through layers of denim. One hand rests on the back of the chair, the other loosely on my shoulder to keep his balance, and when he shifts closer I can’t help but grab his thighs, hisstrongthighs, and move my hands just that tiny bit upwards. Our gazes catch.
Andhold.
For a second Sadie’s voice, the wind, the whole stupid shoot just… fades. It’s just his eyes on mine, warm and a little unsure, like he feels it too—that strange, quiet pull settling between us.
His thumb brushes absently against my shoulder as he steadies himself, barely a touch, but it sends a small shiver down my spine anyway.
And suddenly this isn’t about poses anymore. Or about the shoot. Or about being a decent guy and filling in for his missing date.
My eyes drop.
It’s all about those lips…
