Chapter 24
Chapter Twenty-Four
Sawyer
By Friday night, I’m ready for a drink. Not because work has been particularly difficult this week, but because Kayla has spent several days successfully avoiding me inside my own penthouse.
It should not bother me as much as it does.
Unfortunately, it does.
I leave the office with Dean, loosening my tie as we step onto the sidewalk.
“Jeez,” Dean mutters. “You’ve been in a mood all week.”
“I’ve been busy.”
“You’ve been insufferable.”
I glance at him. “Careful.”
Dean grins. “I’m just saying. If this is about the woman living in your apartment—”
“It’s not.”
He laughs. “Sure it’s not.”
We push through the doors of the bar a few minutes later. Lincoln, Roman, Walker, and Colton are already there at the back table, but the second I walk in, something immediately catches my attention.
I notice there are more people at the table than usual.
Melissa sits next to Colton. Eva and Kylie are there too.
And standing near the end of the table is Kayla.
For a second, coherent thought abandons me completely.
She’s wearing black pants that hug her hips and legs like they were clearly designed to ruin my self-control. Her deep red tank top somehow manages to look simple and devastating at the same time.
Her long brown hair is pulled into a high ponytail.
And her lips … in that shade of red. The same shade as the top.
I can’t stop staring.
Apparently, I’ve been standing there longer than I realize because Dean nudges my arm.
“Hey.”
Nothing. I barely notice him.
“Hey.”
Still nothing. He follows my line of sight, then slowly smiles.
“Well, that suddenly makes sense.”
Kayla laughs at something Melissa said, tipping her head back slightly.
Suddenly, I’m very aware that every man in this bar probably just noticed her too.
Dean snaps his fingers in front of my face. “Earth to Sawyer.”
“What?”
“You planning on saying hello or just standing here, staring at her all night?”
I straighten slightly. “I wasn’t staring.”
Dean looks unconvinced. “Right.”
We head toward the table. Kayla glances up when we approach. For half a second, our eyes meet, and her expression flickers.
Surprise flashes across her face before her expression turns knowingly amused. And just like that, the atmosphere between us changes instantly, like the past five days never happened.
“Hey,” Melissa says brightly. “Look who finally showed up.”
“Kayla invited herself,” Colton adds casually.
Kayla rolls her eyes. “I did not.”
“You absolutely did,” Melissa says.
Dean slides into the seat next to Kayla before I can react, which is when I realize exactly what he’s doing—testing me. Because he leans toward her slightly.
“Kayla, right?”
She smiles politely. “That’s me.”
“So you’re the reason Sawyer’s been impossible lately,” Dean says.
“About what?”
“Well,” he says easily, “mostly about how you managed to make Sawyer completely unbearable this week.”
Across the table, Walker snorts.
Roman mutters, “He’s not wrong.”
Kayla glances toward me, one eyebrow lifting slightly.
“Oh,” she says sweetly, “has he been grumpy?”
Dean laughs. “Grumpy is putting it lightly.”
And before I can stop him, he reaches over and lightly touches her arm.
Jealousy hits hard enough to make my grip tighten instantly. My glass hits the table harder than I intended. The entire group goes quiet for half a second.
Lincoln leans toward Roman. “Here we go.”
Roman grins while Kayla notices my reaction.
Of course she does.
And the worst part?
The corner of her mouth lifts slightly, like she’s enjoying this.
The rest of the night continues exactly like that. Dean flirting and Kayla pretending she doesn’t notice. Everyone else watching me slowly lose my patience. Even Colton joins in eventually.
“You know,” he says casually, “you could stop glaring at Dean anytime.”
“I’m not glaring.”
“You absolutely are,” Melissa whispers.
Kayla laughs again at something Dean said, and my jaw tightens.
The entire night, I can’t stop watching her. Noticing the way she talks with her hands. Or when she tucks a loose piece of hair behind her ear. And her red lipstick keeps pulling my attention back to her mouth.
By the time we finally leave the bar, I’m already on edge. And when Kayla says she’ll take a cab—
“No,” I say immediately.
She looks at me. “I can get my own ride.”
“I’m taking you.”
My tone leaves no room for argument.
The ride home is quiet—very quiet. Kayla tries talking twice; I barely respond. In the end, she gives up and looks out the window.
Probably deciding I’m being an asshole—which is fair because, right now, I am.
The ride up in the elevator is silent. Not the comfortable kind. The kind where silence feels one sentence away from disaster.
Kayla stands beside me with her arms crossed, staring straight ahead at the metal doors.
Now she’s done trying. Which, if I’m being honest, somehow irritates me even more.
The elevator dings, and the door’s part open. She steps out first. Her heels click against the marble floor as she walks down the hallway toward the penthouse like she knows exactly where she’s going.
Irritation cuts through me.
Tonight, at the bar, she looked like she belonged everywhere. She was confident, relaxed. Laughing with everyone, including Dean.
I swipe the key, and the door unlocks. Kayla walks inside ahead of me. The moment she crosses the threshold, she turns slightly, like she’s about to say something.
Maybe another attempt at conversation. Possibly another sarcastic comment.
The door shuts behind us, and whatever restraint I had left finally disappears.
Before she can say a word, I grab her arm and spin her back toward the door.
Her back hits it with a soft thud.
Her eyes widen. “Sawyer—”
My hand slides up the wall beside her head, boxing her in completely.
“Did you enjoy that tonight?” I ask quietly.
Her brow furrows. “Enjoy what?”
“Dean.”
Her lips part slightly.
“Oh,” she says slowly. “You mean the part where he talked to me like a normal person?”
I look away before she notices exactly how annoyed I am. “You knew exactly what he was doing.”
“And what was that?”
“Flirting.”
She shrugs. “Maybe.”
The casual way she says it sends another sharp flash of heat through my chest.
“And you just stood there, smiling,” I accuse further.
“Well,” she says lightly, “someone had to.”
My patience finally runs out. I lean in, close enough that I can feel her breath catch.
“You think that was funny?”
Her chin lifts stubbornly. “A little.”
That’s it. My hand slips around the back of her neck, and I pull her toward me.
The kiss hits hard. It’s not careful or hesitant. Nothing like the first one.
This one is fueled by everything that built up all night. Jealousy and frustration. Five days of pretending we didn’t exist in the same apartment.
Kayla freezes for half a second in surprise. Then her fingers curl into the front of my shirt, and suddenly, she’s kissing me back just as hard.
My other hand tightens at her waist, pulling her flush against me as the door presses into her back.
The taste of her lipstick hits me first. Then the soft sound she makes when my thumb coasts under the edge of her top.
That sound almost undoes me completely.
I break the kiss for air, my forehead resting against hers. Her breathing is just as uneven as mine. Her eyes are wide, lips slightly swollen. Red lipstick smudged.
Desire sharpens her expression, challenging me.
“You’re still mad?” she murmurs.
“Very,” I exhale.
She bites her bottom lip. “Good.”
Her fingers hook into my shirt, pulling me closer again. This time, when our mouths meet, neither of us is pretending this is just another argument anymore.
Kayla’s fingers edge into my hair as she kisses me back, hard and immediate, like she’s been holding this in all night too.
My grip tightens on her waist, and I pull her off the door and walk backward toward the kitchen.
She makes a small sound against my mouth that sends heat straight down my spine, and then her hands move quickly. I end up backing up against the island, my back hitting the counter.
Her fingers hook into the front of my shirt and tug.
“Really?” I murmur against her lips.
She pulls harder. “Less talking.”
I laugh under my breath, but it dies quickly when she unbuttons my shirt and pulls it off my shoulders then down my arms.
“Careful,” I say.
Kayla doesn’t answer. She just grabs the fabric again and yanks it the rest of the way off before tossing it somewhere behind her.
My hands slide down her sides in response, catching the edge of that red tank top.
For a second, she freezes, and our eyes meet. That same electric tension sparks between us again.
“Still mad at me?” I ask quietly.
Her lips curve. “Very.”
“Good.”
I pull the tank top up over her head before she can say anything else. She lets out a surprised laugh as it disappears across the kitchen.
I spin us around, and she braces herself on the edge of the marble, breathing a little faster now.
“Still jealous?” she asks.
My hands settle on her hips again. “Very.”
Her fingers move to my belt. “Good.”
When she looks up at me again, the challenge in her eyes is unmistakable. She fumbles with my belt for a second, then unzips my pants and drags them down with my boxers.
I kick them off while I go for her pants. My thumb and finger grab the corner and pull until it unbuttons.
Her chest is rising and falling rapidly as I slowly unzip them. I hook my thumbs into the sides and push down, leaning forward until our lips graze each other.
When they fall to her ankles, she kicks them off across the room, and the sound of them hitting something echoes in the silence.
She stands in front of me in nothing but her black lace bra and thong.
The sudden need to see her ass takes over. I grab her elbow and twirl her around, then place my palm on her back and push her forward. She leans her arms onto the counter and looks over her shoulder, but I’m too focused on taking in how damn sexy she looks in her thong.