Chapter Seventeen
Vanessa
Drive
The Cars
Leaving Gild feels strangely intimate. Not because of what happened between us in Hayden’s room. Because of everything that came after. The conversation and the realization that we’re somehow doing this again. And even though we agreed we’d go slow, it doesn’t make it any less terrifying.
By the time we finally force ourselves out of bed, the club has gone quiet around us, the muted pulse of music upstairs softer now beneath the low hum of late-night conversation filtering faintly through the door. Neither of us seems particularly eager to acknowledge that means it’s time to leave.
Hayden dresses first, his actions methodical and controlled as his dark slacks are pulled on with ease.
Buttons fastened one at a time. His shirt cuffed neatly back into place while I sit tangled in black sheets watching him move through the room like I haven’t spent half my adult life trying not to remember exactly what he looks like doing ordinary things.
At some point his eyes catch mine in the mirror. “You’re staring again.”
“You’re very aesthetically pleasing.”
A quiet laugh leaves him as he reaches for his jacket draped over the chair. “Is that your professional opinion?”
“It’s science, actually.”
He smiles that smile again. God. I missed that smile. I reluctantly slip from the bed a few minutes later, gathering my dress from the floor while Hayden watches me with an intensity that makes heat curl low in my stomach embarrassingly fast.
“What?” I tilt my head.
“You’re staying at my place next time.” The words land with dangerous ease. Because we both know there’s going to be a next time. Because neither of us is pretending otherwise anymore.
I smooth my dress back into place before glancing toward him. “That sounds suspiciously optimistic.”
“It sounds like planning ahead.”
The frightening part is, I like the sound of that entirely too much. The walk to the exit is quiet after that. It’s not awkward but it’s clear that both of us are still pondering everything we said in that room. Everything we finally admitted.
Cold air greets us once we step outside, the city feeling empty this late at night. Chicago glows silver beneath streetlights and the distant reflection of the lake. Hayden walks me to my car without question. Of course he does.
And this time, strangely, it doesn’t feel suffocating.
It just feels like him. He stops once we reach the driver’s side door, one hand settling automatically against the roof of the car while his gaze drags over my face.
Neither of us moves to say goodbye immediately.
And I think it’s because neither of us really wants to, but it’s also too soon for us to do otherwise.
When he speaks, it’s to make a promise that settles soft between us. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”
I nod once. “Okay.”
His hand skim along my jaw until his fingertips disappearing into my hair to tug me close before he kisses me again. It’s slow and unhurried, like he’s trying to memorize me all over again. When he pulls back, he rests his forehead against mine. “Drive safe.”
There’s still that instinct. That protectiveness, but it’s softer now. Less consuming, and maybe that’s why I don’t pull away from it this time.
“You too.”
For one dangerous second, I almost ask him to come home with me anyway.
Instead, I climb into the car before I can make another reckless decision tonight.
Hayden waits on the sidewalk until I pull away.
And somehow, I know without looking back that he’ll stay there until I disappear completely into traffic.
Friday drags. Not because work is difficult.
If anything, the museum feels calmer than usual, the steady rhythm of restoration work and quiet conversation settling around me in the familiar way it always does.
But underneath all of it; there’s Hayden.
He is everywhere; in the back of my mind, in my bloodstream, in the lingering ache between my thighs every time I think too hard about last night. Which, annoyingly, is often.
I spend nearly twenty minutes touching up a section of cracked varnish while replaying the exact way his voice sounded when he said: I want to try. And the way that affects me more than the sex did. Which feels unfair.
By the time I finally finish for the evening, Chicago is already slipping into dusk outside the museum windows, the city painted in cold, blue-gray shadows and streaks of gold from the setting sun.
I shrug into my coat, say goodnight to the last few staff members still lingering, then step outside.
I look up from wrapping my scarf around my neck and stop short.
Hayden is leaning against the side of his black Audi, which is parked along the curb, hands tucked into the pockets of a charcoal wool coat while wind moves through the dark strands of his hair.
And in his hand, Jesus give me strength, he’s holding a bouquet of sunflowers.
My heart actually stumbles. Bright yellow against all that dark. Warmth against winter.
He notices me the second I step outside, posture shifting as his attention locks fully onto me. Like it always does. I cross the sidewalk in a haze, unable to stop staring at the flowers. “You brought me Van Gogh.”
One corner of his mouth lifts just a fraction. “I brought you flowers.”
My chest tightens even though he’s trying to downplay his actions. Because he remembered. Of course he remembered. Hayden remembers everything. I take them carefully from his hand, fingertips brushing his as the faint earthy scent of the sunflowers curls into the cold air between us.
“They’re beautiful.”
“You look surprised.”
“I am surprised.”
That earns me a low hum of amusement before his gaze drags over me with lazy precision. Not sexual exactly. Just focused and not missing a single detail. Like he’s reassuring himself I’m actually standing here.
“You’ve been staring at your phone.”
I blink once. “Excuse me?”
“I know I have been.” His expression stays maddeningly calm as he shrugs. “And I noticed you checked your phone at least twelve times between five and six.”
A laugh escapes me before I can stop it. “There he is.”
“There who is?”
“The terrifyingly observant man I’m apparently trying this again with.”
Something softer flickers through his expression then.
He prowls closer until there’s no more distance between us and one hand slides against the small of my back while he leans down enough for his mouth to brush against mine.
The kiss is brief, but it’s intimate in a way that sends curling heat low in my stomach all over again.
“Hi,” he murmurs against my lips. God.
“Hi.”
For one dangerous second, I think he might kiss me again, but instead, he pulls back just enough to look at me. “Come have dinner with me.”
“That sounded less like a question and more like an executive order.”
“I can rephrase if necessary.”
“You’ll hate yourself for it.”
A quiet laugh slips from him, low enough that I feel it more than hear it. And there it is again; warmth and an ease that’s beginning to exist between us again.
It’s terrifying. It’s wonderful.
I glance down at the flowers once more before looking back up at him. “Where are you taking me?”
“You’ll see.”
“That’s not suspicious at all.”
His hand stays planted against my back as he opens the passenger door for me. “Do you trust me enough to get in the car?”
My gaze catches his for one long second. “That’s the problem.”
Something dark and emotional flickers behind his eyes as he steps aside, letting me climb in first. The entire drive downtown feels strangely easy after that.
Music plays low as city lights streak across the windows.
Hayden’s hand occasionally shifting against my knee like he can’t stop touching me now that he’s started again. And honestly? I don’t want him to.
Dinner turns into whiskey after. Whiskey turns into lingering touches across the table. And by the time we finally make it back to my apartment later that night, there is no universe in which I don’t invite him up. And both of us are smiling more easily than we probably should be.
Vinny greets us at the door as soon as it swings open. Well, greets me. He stops dead the second he notices Hayden stepping in behind me, green eyes narrowing in suspicion before his tail flicks once.
“Oh, this should go well.” I chuckle under my breath.
Hayden closes the door behind him, gaze locked cautiously on the cat now stalking slow circles around his boots. “That thing looks like it’s seen war.”
“He’s sensitive.”
“He’s judging me.”
“He absolutely is.”
Vinny sniffs Hayden’s shoe once before abruptly rubbing against his leg like they’ve known each other for years. I stare in disbelief as Hayden looks down at the cat now winding happily around his ankles.
“Seriously, Vinny?” What a complete traitor. No loyalty at all. I shake my head.
Hayden’s mouth curves up in a triumphant smile. “I knew he had good instincts.”
Vinny meows loudly in agreement. “Oh my God.” I point a betrayed finger at Vinny. “You don’t even know him.”
Hayden crouches down to Vinny’s level and begins scratching beneath Vinny’s chin with immediate confidence while my horrible cat practically melts.
And somehow, somehow , watching Hayden Sloane standing in my apartment petting my cat, while I hold sunflowers, suddenly feels more intimate than everything that happened at Gild the night before.
Which should probably concern me. A lot.