Page 100 of The One Who Never Left: Colter

His voice slipped low, meant only for her. “You doing okay?”

She didn’t look at him. “Fine.”

His little liar. He could hear the edge in that single syllable—the same strain she’d had right before she came apart in his hands.

He dipped his head slightly. “You sure about that? You’ve been avoiding eye contact like I’m contagious.”

“We’re not talking about this here.”

“Why not? It happened.”

A stack of volunteer forms slapped against the table as she organized them with unnecessary force. “Exactly. It happened. Past tense.”

He smiled—not charming, not polite, but possessive as hell. “Freckles, that wasn’t past tense. That was a beginning.”

Now she did look at him—sharp and with warning. “It was sex. Great sex. But sex.”

“Colter!” Maribelle barked from across the room. “That banner isn’t going to hang itself. Front wall!”

He pushed off the table, but not before he lowered his mouth to Sutton’s ear and murmured, “You can pretend it was a one-time thing. I know better. And so does your body.”

Her inhale hitched. Good.

He straightened, masking heat with a lazy grin. “Be right there, Ms. Windsor!”

Volunteer chatter rose around him—donation logistics, dog-toy pricing, who was baking brownies—mundane noise, unaware of the current crackling between him and Sutton.

Colter grabbed the rolled banner, still feeling her stare scorch his spine. One-night stand?

Not a chance. He’d make damn sure it wasn’t. Not when she’d tasted like a promise and screamed like a fucking porn star.

Not when he still ached for more.

This wasn’t an ending. This was the opening move.

Colter was midway through wrestling the banner flat—one edge taped, the other flapping like it wanted to escape—when a familiar presence sidled up beside him.

Boone didn’t speak at first, just stood there with his arms folded and his chin tilted like he was observing a crime scene.

“So, you clearly didn’t heed my advice,” his brother said.

Colter pressed another strip of tape to vinyl. “Afraid not.”

“This the part where you tell me you just slipped up?”

“It was bound to happen.”

Boone gave him a look, the same disappointed but lightly amused one he used when Colter claimed he could rebuild an alternator with duct tape and faith.

“Sutton Rose is not a one-night-stand kind of woman,” Boone said.

“No. She isn’t.”

Boone waited. The bastard was good at waiting.

“She’s the one calling it a one-night stand,” Colter muttered.

Boone let out a bark of laughter loud enough to turn Maribelle’s head. He lowered his voice, only after she glared a warning in their direction.