Chapter 25
Chapter Twenty-Five
Kayla
It’s been a week. Seven straight days of fighting with Sawyer. Also, seven straight days of sleeping with Sawyer.
And at this point, I’m honestly not sure which one we’re better at.
The sex though … that part is easy. Embarrassingly easy, like the kind of easy that makes me question every man I’ve ever dated before this.
Because apparently, I’ve spent most of my adult life having mediocre sex with men who talked about their feelings a lot but couldn’t find a G-spot if their life depended on it.
Meanwhile, Sawyer Maccini—billionaire tech genius and aggressively frustrating man—has somehow ruined every other man for me in the span of one week, which feels wildly unfair.
Not just because the sex is incredible, but because he’s also … comfortable.
I glance across the living room. Sawyer sits at the island, scrolling through something on his laptop, wearing a gray T-shirt and black sweatpants, like he didn’t just spend the last hour absolutely destroying my ability to walk normally.
And the weirdest part?
He acts like none of it is a big deal.
No awkwardness or weird emotional conversation. He acts like none of this changed anything.
It makes it far too easy to fall into this routine with him.
The doorbell rings.
Sawyer looks up. “Expecting someone?”
“No.”
He walks over and opens the door.
Cole immediately pushes past him.
“Good,” he says. “You’re both here.”
Sawyer sighs heavily. “No.”
Cole ignores him and drops onto the couch like he owns the place. Judging by the way he looks around the penthouse, he probably thinks he does.
He glances at me. “You ready?”
“For what?” I ask suspiciously.
“Dinner.”
Sawyer groans. “No.”
Cole points at him. “You haven’t been to the restaurant in a month.”
“I’ve been busy.”
Cole looks between the two of us, then grins slowly. “Oh, I’m sure you have.”
Sawyer rubs his face. “Cole—”
“Nope,” Cole says, already standing again. “Get dressed.” He claps once. “We’re going to the restaurant.”
* * *
The restaurant is packed. Not in the trendy, quiet Manhattan way, where everyone whispers over expensive cocktails.
This place is loud.
Plates clatter, someone is laughing too hard near the bar, and a waiter squeezes past us, carrying three huge bowls of pasta.
It smells incredible. Garlic. Bread. Tomato sauce.
Cole leads the way through the dining room like he’s done it a thousand times. Sawyer walks beside me, one hand resting lightly at the small of my back.
The touch feels casual, almost automatic, like he’s not even aware he’s doing it.
We reach a long table near the back of the restaurant.
Seven people are already sitting there. The second they see Sawyer, several heads turn, and then every single one of them notices me.
The silence lasts exactly two seconds.
Then chaos erupts.
“Wait,” a woman with dark hair and sharp eyes says immediately. “Who is that?”
“That’s exactly what I was about to ask,” another woman says.
A guy across the table leans forward. “Did Sawyer just bring a girl to Sunday dinner?”
Cole drops into the nearest chair like this is the greatest moment of his life. “Oh, yeah,” he says. “This should be fun.”
Sawyer sighs. “Relax.”
No one relaxes. The first woman stands up and walks toward us.
She’s tall, confident, and carrying herself like someone everyone naturally listens to.
She sticks out her hand. “I’m Livia,” she says. “Sawyer’s older sister.”
I shake it. “Kayla.”
Behind her, the second woman is already grinning.
“I’m Brooklyn. Another sister,” she says. “And I already have questions.”
Sawyer rubs his face. “Can we sit down?”
“No,” Brooklyn says immediately.
A broad-shouldered guy with the same dark hair as Sawyer leans back in his chair.
“That’s fair,” he says. “He hasn’t brought a woman here in … ever.”
“That’s not true,” Sawyer mutters.
The man raises an eyebrow. “Name one.”
Sawyer opens his mouth. “Hudson …” he warns.
Hudson nods. “Exactly.”
Another man at the end of the table laughs.
“That’s Chase,” Brooklyn says, pointing at him.
Chase lifts his glass. “Nice to meet the woman who finally got Sawyer to show up to dinner.”
An older man clears his throat from the center of the table. “Are we finished interrogating the girl before she even sits down?”
Everyone pauses, and then an older woman smiles warmly and gestures toward the open chairs.
“Come sit, Kayla,” she says. “I’m Lucia, and this is my husband, Luigi.”
Sawyer pulls out the chair beside him, but Brooklyn immediately slides into it first.
“Sorry,” she says sweetly. “Family rule.”
Brookyln pats the chair beside Hudson. “You sit there.”
Sawyer gives her a flat look. “Of course you did that on purpose.”
Brooklyn smiles. “Obviously.”
I slide into the chair beside Hudson while Sawyer sits across from me.
Hudson leans slightly closer. “So,” he says quietly, “should we be congratulating him on his first real relationship?”
I laugh. “I wouldn’t go that far.”
Across the table, Livia folds her arms. “All right,” she says, “someone explain.”
Sawyer exhales slowly. “Don’t act like you don’t know. Kayla is staying at my place temporarily.”
Cole grins. “Roommates.”
Chase snorts. “With benefits?”
Sawyer points at him. “Don’t.”
Brooklyn leans toward me. “Is it terrible?”
“What?”
“Living with him.”
I shrug. “He’s not as bad as he thinks he is.”
The table laughs.
Sawyer glares at me. “Wow.”
Hudson smirks. “She’s got jokes. I like her.”
Luigi claps once. “All right, enough.”
Menus are pushed around the table while wine gets poured.
Everyone starts talking again. I can still feel several pairs of eyes occasionally drifting back toward me, like they’re trying to figure out exactly what my presence here means.
And honestly?
So am I.
Food starts arriving almost immediately. Huge bowls of pasta and platters of bread.
Someone passes a bottle of wine down the table, and Chase pours it generously into everyone’s glass, like this is a regular Tuesday, which, apparently, it is.
Conversation erupts again the second the first plate hits the table.
Hudson reaches across and steals a piece of bread from Cole’s plate.
Cole swats his hand away. “You have your own.”
“Yours looked better.”
Brooklyn laughs. “It’s literally the same bread.”
Livia leans across the table toward me. “So,” she says, “tell me about yourself.”
Sawyer groans quietly across from me. “Livia—”
“What?” she says, not even looking at him. “If she’s living with you, I’m allowed to ask questions.”
“She’s not living with me,” Sawyer says.
“Temporary roommates,” Cole reminds everyone cheerfully.
Chase grins. “That still feels suspicious.”
I take a sip of wine. “I’m a writer.”
Several heads turn.
“A writer?” Lucia says warmly. “What do you write?”
“Romance.”
Brooklyn nearly chokes on her wine. “Oh, this just got better.”
Hudson laughs under his breath. “So, you write about men like Sawyer?”
“Not usually,” I say.
“Too cold?” Chase asks.
“Too rich,” I correct.
The table erupts with laughter. Even Luigi chuckles.
Sawyer just stares at me, and I smile sweetly back.
“Anyway,” I continue, “I’ve been staying at Sawyer’s place while I finish a book.”
Livia raises an eyebrow. “And then?”
I shrug. “I’ve actually found some possible apartments.”
The reaction across from me is immediate. Sawyer goes completely still.
Across the table, Cole notices. Of course he does.
“You’re moving out already?” Cole asks.
“Eventually,” I say. “I’ve seen a couple of places in SoHo this week.”
Sawyer doesn’t say anything, but his jaw tightens slightly.
I notice.
And apparently, so does Brooklyn.
She looks between us, then hides a smile behind her wineglass.
Luigi cuts into his food thoughtfully. “You know,” he says, “this table hasn’t changed much in twenty years.”
Everyone looks toward him.
“Your uncle Tony used to sit right there,” he says, nodding toward an empty chair near the end.
The table quiets slightly.
Chase leans back in his chair. “Yeah,” he says. “He basically lived here.”
Hudson nods. “Half the staff thought he owned the place.”
Lucia smiles softly. “He loved this restaurant.”
I glance across the table. Sawyer has gone still again.
His hand tightens around his fork, just for a moment, and then he sets it down.
Luigi sighs. “He would’ve liked seeing all of you here tonight.”
Sawyer nods once. “Yeah,” he says quietly. “I’m sure he would have.”
The conversation shifts again after that. Someone argues about whose sauce recipe is better.
Cole tells a story about something that happened in the kitchen earlier. Brooklyn keeps asking me questions about writing.
But my attention keeps drifting back to Sawyer because something about that moment—about the way he reacted to the mention of his uncle—didn’t feel normal.
Watching his family tonight has been like stepping into another world.
They’re loud but warm. Constantly teasing each other. Touching shoulders and passing plates. Arguing over food.
It’s the kind of family dynamic people usually only see in movies, which makes one thing incredibly hard to understand.
How someone raised in a family this warm became someone as guarded as Sawyer Maccini.
By the time we’re ready to leave the restaurant, the dinner rush has taken over the entire place.
Cole disappears back toward the kitchen.
Brooklyn hugs me like we’ve known each other for years.
“Come back soon,” she says. “We need more entertainment.”
Hudson nods in agreement. “Preferably when Sawyer isn’t in such a bad mood.”
“I’m not in a bad mood,” Sawyer mutters.
Chase laughs. “You’ve barely spoken in an hour.”
Lucia, his mother, kisses Sawyer on the cheek before turning to me. “It was lovely meeting you, Kayla.”
“You too.”
His father shakes Sawyer’s hand before patting his shoulder. “Don’t disappear for another week.”
Sawyer nods once. “We’ll see.”
We step out onto the sidewalk a moment later. The night air is cooler than I expected. For a few seconds, we just walk in silence.
Sawyer’s hands are shoved in his pockets, his shoulders tight.
“You were quiet in there,” I say.
He shrugs. “Family dinners are loud.”
“That didn’t seem to bother anyone else.”
He doesn’t answer.
We reach the car. Sawyer opens the passenger door for me without saying anything.
The ride back to the penthouse is quiet. It’s not awkward quiet, just … tense.
Halfway through the drive, I glance over at him.
“You know,” I say casually, “your family is terrifying.”
That finally gets a reaction.
Sawyer glances at me. “Terrifying?”
“There were, like, six people interrogating me at once.”
“They liked you.”
I lean back in the seat. “That’s the scary part.”
A small smile appears at the corner of his mouth, then disappears again.
When we reach the building, neither of us says much on the elevator ride up.
The moment the penthouse door closes behind us, Sawyer finally exhales like he’s been holding his breath all night.
I turn toward him. “All right,” I say, “what’s going on with you tonight?”
He looks at me for a long second, and neither of us moves.
Then he shakes his head once. “Nothing.”
I cross my arms. “You went silent the second I mentioned apartments.”
His jaw tightens slightly. “That’s because you’re leaving.”
“Eventually.”
“You didn’t mention that before.”
“I didn’t think it mattered.”
He laughs quietly under his breath. “You’re living in my penthouse.”
“Temporarily.”
Something flashes in his eyes. Frustration, mixed with something deeper. Before I can say anything else, his hand grabs my waist and pulls me toward him.
His mouth crashes into mine instantly. My hands slide into his hair automatically.
“So, this is your coping strategy?” I murmur against his mouth.
“Maybe.”
He lifts me easily and starts walking down the hallway.
“Sawyer—”
“Bedroom.”
I laugh breathlessly. “Very caveman of you.”
“Don’t start.”
The bedroom door shuts behind us. Sawyer doesn’t waste any time, stripping me of my clothes. Before I know it, we are both naked and lying on his comforter.
He positions himself on top of me after he rolls on a condom, then pushes inside of me like he’s trying to outrun whatever’s in his head.
I watch him thoughtfully for a moment, but the pleasure is just too much. My toes curl in when he hits that spot, the one only he seems to know how to find.
With each thrust, I come closer to coming undone.
His hands are on the bed next to my head as he thrusts in a steady rhythm in and out.
He looks down at me.
“Fuck, Kayla.” His deep voice sounds almost pained. “Each time with you only makes me want you more. What the hell is that about?”
I know I’m not supposed to answer. It’s an honest admission, and I completely understand. I feel the same way.
My hands squeeze his biceps as my body begins to tense up.
“That’s it, baby,” he pants. “Come for me. I need to feel your pussy squeeze my cock.”
His words are my final undoing. My body lets go as wave after wave washes over me. Sawyer grunts his own release in a slew of curse words until he falls on top of me.
Later, the room is quiet.
Sawyer lies on his stomach beside me with one arm stretched across the mattress.
That’s when I notice it. A circular scar right on the back of his shoulder. Perfectly round, like something burned him.
My eyes trace it slowly.
Then I notice more. Thin lines across his side. Faded but definitely scars.
I frown slightly.
Sawyer doesn’t strike me as someone who gets into bar fights or accidents.
I don’t ask.
Something about them feels … private.
Instead, I roll onto my side and watch him. After a few minutes, I notice something else.
Sawyer’s shoulders are tense.
Not a lot, just enough that I can tell he’s not completely relaxed, like he’s waiting.
A realization hits me.
Slowly, I slide out of the bed. The mattress shifts.
Sawyer glances over his shoulder. “You leaving?”
I shrug lightly. “Thought you might want the bed.”
For a second, his expression flickers with something I can’t quite read, and then he nods.
“Night, Kayla.”
“Night.”
I walk down the hallway toward the guest room.
As I close the door behind me, one thought lingers.
Sawyer Maccini might be the most confident man I’ve ever met.
But something about sleeping next to someone clearly makes him uneasy.
And I’m starting to wonder why.