Chapter 29
twenty-nine
. . .
Seven Minutes of Afterglow
HALSTON
The next day, I walk into Saints & Sinners after work like a woman with a plan.
It’s immediately suspicious to Marley, which makes sense. Historically, my plans have included running out of gas on the highway, getting drunk next door to my own business, and accidentally sleeping with her older brother before knowing who he was.
Growth isn’t linear.
Saints & Sinners is quieter than it was last night, though that’s not saying much. Last night involved a whole team of professional baseball players and emotional warfare.
Tonight, the bar is warm and low-lit. All dark wood, amber glass, and the smell of citrus, whiskey, and fried things I’m going to ignore.
There are a few Vipers tucked into the back booth, with one of them arguing with Marley about whether pastries shaped like a bat could be considered team merch.
At the end of the bar, Warren King sits on the same stool where he sat the night he walked in and changed the direction of my life.
He’s wearing dark jeans and a T-shirt, his hair half-tied back. There’s a half-empty glass of what I can only guess is whiskey in front of him and a black coffee beside it.
He looks up as I walk in.
Oliver leans against the counter. “If you’re here to make my night sentimental, leave.”
Warren’s gaze moves over me with the heat of a man who knows what he wants, and he wants me.
I chose to change into a blue wrap dress. The neckline isn’t enough to be a problem, and the skirt hits mid-thigh. His eyes take it all in, lingering on my legs.
Then his gaze returns to mine.
“Halston,” he says with a nod.
Just my name. That’s all.
“Warren. Fancy meeting you here.”
He smiles. “I was invited.”
“By me.”
“Yeah.”
“You still came early.”
Oliver appears with a basket of fries and tosses them at me with a little more force than necessary. “Eat before this becomes whatever it’s clearly becoming.”
I glance down. “You brought me food without being asked?”
He gapes at me. “I always do.”
“You really do care about me.”
He leaves with an eye roll.
Warren leans closer to me, his shoulder brushing mine lightly. “You look beautiful.”
I look up, a fry in my mouth. “Thank you.”
“You already knew that.”
“I suspected.”
“You wanted me to notice.”
Heat moves up my neck. “Maybe.”
His gaze dips to my mouth. “Well, I noticed, all right.”
I eat the fry slowly, not one to be above theatrics. He watches my mouth, the pulse in his jaw jumping.
Oh. That’s fun.
I smile, and his attention returns to my eyes with the kind of restraint that feels like it can snap at any point. He’s careful, despite the want and the heat.
I lift his black coffee and sniff it. “Still pretending?”
“It’s coffee.”
I frown. “It’s a superiority complex in a cup.”
“It’s also coffee.”
“Where’s the coconut bloom?”
“Not here.”
“So the alley?”
His mouth twitches. “I have no idea what you mean.”
“You’re a terrible liar, King.”
“I can lie just fine. You’re just unusually motivated.”
I lean closer. “Around you? Absolutely.”
The words land exactly as I intended. His fingers tighten around his glass, and for one second, the steady Warren slips. Not too much. Just enough to show me the man beneath the control.The one who remembers my mouth, my hands, my thighs, and the way I sound when he says, “Stop trying to be quiet.”
A flush creeps beneath his collar.
I think about licking it.
However, that’s not appropriate in a public bar.
I lower my voice. “Do you remember the first night we met here?”
His jaw jumps. “Yes, Halston. I remember it quite well.”
“All of it?”
“Every second.”
“Even the part where I was a little tipsy and deeply committed to making chaotic life choices?”
“Especially that part.”
I roll my eyes with a smile. “You’re such a romantic.”
“You were angry, sad, beautiful, and I could tell you were trying very hard to be brave.” His voice is quiet enough that it doesn’t feel like it belongs in this bar. “I remember thinking I should stay away from you.”
“You didn’t.”
“I didn’t. A character flaw.” His mouth curves.
“One of your better ones.”
He looks down at the fries between us, then up at me. “That night felt like theft afterward.”
I still.
He continues before I can respond. “Not because you weren’t capable of choosing for yourself.
You were. But because I didn’t know you were trying to escape.
I didn’t know what I was stepping into. If we were strangers, like we thought, it would have been okay.
But then I knew, and I still treated you too often like something I could protect. ”
The warmth in me shifts, going deeper.
“Warren.”
“I don’t regret wanting you,” he says. “I regret every moment I made you wonder whether wanting you scared me more than losing you.”
God. This man.
He cannot flirt normally.
I take a breath and set the fry down. “That night felt like mine.”
He watches me.
“It started messy and absolutely smelled like tequila and bad decisions, but it was mine. I chose you then, even if I didn’t know what that choice meant yet. Tonight feels different.”
“How?”
I slide my foot along the rail beneath the bar until my knee brushes his. “Tonight, I know exactly who I’m choosing.”
The silence that follows is not quiet. The bar is full of clinks and laughter, Marley yelling, Oliver threatening someone with vermouth, and the Vipers erupting into applause.
But between Warren and me, something locks in place.
His hand moves from the bar to my knee under it.
Slow enough for me to stop him but firm enough that I know what he wants when I don’t stop him.
His palm is warm against my skin, his thumb stroking the inside of my knee. My body goes hot everywhere.
“You should be careful,” I whisper.
His voice lowers. “Do you want me careful?”
I swallow.
The first honest answer that comes to mind is no. The second is yes. The third is yes, but only because I want us to be careful enough that I can ask him not to be.
I place my hand over his and guide it a little higher.
He lets out a brief inhale through his nose, one small fracture in his control. My thighs press together.
“I want you careful with my heart,” I say. “Not my dress.”
His fingers flex.
“Halston.”
His scary voice. Low and controlled.
I smile. “Yes?”
“You’re doing this in public.”
“I’m sitting politely at a bar.”
“You moved my hand under your dress.”
“Barely. Don’t be dramatic.”
His thumb moves again, this time under the hem of my dress. My breath catches hard enough for his eyes to dart to my mouth.
“Careful,” he says.
I lean in. “You keep saying that like you don’t want me reckless.”
“I want many things.”
“List them.”
His pupils blow wide.
For a second, I think he won’t answer. Not here. Not with Oliver six feet away and Marley with a phone and a roomful of Vipers players living their loud little lives in the back.
Then Warren bends his head, his mouth near my ear.
“I want to take you upstairs,” he says softly.
“I want to lock the door. I want this dress on the floor, your hands in my hair, and your thighs around my shoulders. I want to hear every sound you tried to swallow the first time. I want to take my time until you’re begging me to stop teasing you, and then I want to give you exactly what you asked for.
I want to do it all without all these people down here knowing what a good little slut you are with your lips locked around my pierced cock. ”
My entire body goes molten.
I grip the edge of the bar.
Warren’s thumb strokes higher on my thigh, still maddeningly controlled. “Was that enough of a list?”
I turn my head, our mouths too close. Too public. Too everything.
“No,” I whisper.
His eyes flash.
Oh, I may be in danger.
Oliver appears in front of us again, his gaze dropping briefly to where Warren’s hand disappears.
“No.”
I blink. “No, what?”
“No to whatever this energy is.”
“I’m drinking his whiskey.”
Warren stands quickly, the warmth of his hand leaving my skin feeling naked. He drops cash on the bar. “We’re leaving.”
The words move through me like a match dropped in gasoline.
Marley meets us before we can turn.
She looks at me for a moment before her gaze moves to her brother. Her lip curls. “Okay gross. I’m letting this happen, but I have one rule. I do not need to hear any more about it, got it?”
My heart is in my throat. “Totally. No more.”
“Good. Go be happy. Text me if you need anything, but please don’t scar me for life.”
I grab Warren’s hand before anyone else can say anything weird, and we head through the side door, into the alley, and around back.
By the time we reach my apartment door, the teasing has burned down into something darker. Quieter. My key sticks in the lock, and Warren stands behind me with one hand braced on the doorframe, his body close enough that I feel the heat through the dress.
“Need help?” he asks.
“No.”
The key sticks again.
His mouth lowers to my ear. “Are you sure?”
“I swear to God, if you’re making a key-in-the-hole joke—”
“I would never.”
His breath tickles the back of my neck. “Warren, I need you to stop breathing like that,” I warn as the key wobbles.
“I’m breathing normally. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“It feels particularly slutty.”
His forehead drops gently to the back of my head. “I have no response to that.”
“Growth.”
The lock finally turns, and I push the door open and step inside. Before I can move far, Warren catches my wrist and turns me back to him.
I barely have time to inhale before he closes the door behind us and presses me against it.
The stairway is dark except for the moonlight shining through my windows upstairs.
One hand is on my waist, the other at my jaw, his thumb brushing over my lower lip slow enough that my mouth opens around the touch.
His mouth comes down on mine with weeks of wanting, and I open for him immediately. This isn’t that first night in the bar. This isn’t grief or panic or rebellion. This is what happens when you open yourself to someone completely.