Chapter 11
Bea
Imake it to the corner before I have to stop and lean against the brick wall of the bakery.
One block from the hardware store. One block from where I just made the worst—or best—decision of my life.
My legs are shaking. My heart's racing. And I can still taste him.
What the hell did I just do?
The December air bites at my flushed cheeks, but it does nothing to cool the heat flooding my system. My whole body feels like it's vibrating at a frequency that shouldn't be possible, every nerve ending lit up and screaming for more.
More of River. More of his hands on my hips. More of that devastating control barely holding back something wild and desperate.
My thighs are still shaky. I can feel the phantom pressure of his grip on my ass, the way he pulled me harder against him. The way I ground against him like I was trying to crawl inside his skin.
God. What is wrong with me?
I kissed him.
No—I wrapped my legs around him and practically climbed him like a tree in his own hardware store where anyone could have walked in. Where the security camera definitely caught everything. Where I work.
"Oh god." I press my palms to my burning face. "I'm an idiot."
A world-class, Olympic-level idiot who apparently solves her problems by making out with her boss under mistletoe she hung on purpose. Great life choices, Bea. Really stellar decision-making.
I pull out my phone. The social media posts—right. I have a job to do.
I pull up the videos we filmed this morning—River demonstrating light installation, looking unfairly competent and attractive while explaining electrical safety. The caption I wrote hours ago, before mistletoe and kissing and everything going sideways: Stay safe out there,
Honeyridge Falls! Your neighborhood hardware guy's got you covered.
My finger hovers over the post button.
Professional. I can be professional. Even if my lips are still swollen and I can still feel his hands on my hips and my entire world just tilted off its axis.
I hit post.
There. Done. Like a normal person with a normal job who didn't just make out with her boss under mistletoe she hung specifically to make this happen.
I'm still staring at my phone when a voice cuts through the cold air.
"You okay?"
I jolt, nearly dropping my phone.
Grayson.
He's leaning against the post office wall, arms crossed, and the sight of him hits me like a physical blow. Dark coat. Darker stare. That ink-and-leather scent cutting through the December air sharp enough to make my hindbrain sit up and pay attention.
My hips tingle with the phantom pressure of his hands. Where he held me, steady and firm, while his forehead pressed to mine in that alley.
Fuck.
"I'm fine." The words come out automatic. Defensive. My hand moves unconsciously to my hip—right where he—
His eyes track the movement. Something flickers across his face. Heat, maybe. Or satisfaction that I'm thinking about it too.
"You don't look fine." He pushes off the wall. Moves closer with that controlled intensity that made me want to climb him like a tree. "You look like you're about to run."
My pulse kicks up. "I'm just walking. Clearing my head."
"From what?" His voice is lower than I remember. Rougher.
From you. From River. From the fact that I can still taste one alpha while standing in front of another who had me pressed against a wall with his hand in my hair.
The air between us feels heavy. Loaded with everything we didn't do in that alley—everything we almost did. The countdown. The way he stopped himself even though I was begging him not to. His mouth on my neck. My hands fisted in his shirt.
We haven't talked since the Tree Lighting. Since he counted down five-four-three-two-one and gave me a choice to leave. Since I didn't take it. Since he told me he wanted me but not like that, not rushed where anyone could see.
Three days, and I can still feel the brick wall at my back and his body pinning me there.
"I should—" I gesture vaguely down the street. "I was going to grab something at Millie's. Clear my head."
"Meeting someone?" His eyes hold mine.
"No." The word comes out too fast.
His jaw tightens slightly. "Saw you leave Brooks Hardware looking... wrecked."
Great. So he watched me stumble out of River's store looking thoroughly debauched. Perfect.
And of course his tattoo shop has a clear view. The town's not that big—everyone sees everything.
"I just needed to leave."
"Want company?" He nods toward the diner. "I could use a burger."
Yes. No. I don't know.
This is a terrible idea. After what happened at the Tree Lighting—after I basically threw myself at him in that alley and he had to be the one with self-control—the last thing I should do is spend more time alone with him.
But another part of me—a bigger part—doesn't want to sit in that diner booth alone, replaying River's kiss while pretending I have my life together.
At least with Grayson, I don't have to pretend.
"Sure," I hear myself say. "Company sounds good."
He nods, and his scent wraps around me more fully now—ink and leather with something darker underneath. Spice, maybe. It's completely different from River's warm cedar, but it does the same thing to my pulse.
The walk to Millie's is less than half a block, but I'm hyperaware of every step. The way he moves beside me—controlled, deliberate. How close his hand is to mine. The breadth of his shoulders under that dark coat.
Three days ago those hands were on my hips. That forehead pressed to mine. I was pinned against brick, gasping, begging him not to stop.
And he stopped anyway.
"So," he says, his voice lower than before. "Want to talk about it?"
I keep my eyes forward. "Talk about what?"
"Whatever happened." A pause. When I glance over, he's looking at my mouth. "You smell like cedar and sawdust."
My cheeks betray me. Of course he can smell River on me. Smell what we did.
"And you've touched your lips four times since I found you."
I immediately drop my hand. "You're very observant."
"Yeah." His jaw tightens. "I am."
We reach Millie's and he holds the door open. The warm air and smell of comfort food hits me, but all I can focus on is how his scent wraps around me as I pass him. How his hand hovers near my lower back without quite touching.
How much I want him to touch me.
How guilty I feel for wanting that after what just happened with River.
"Want to grab a booth?" His voice is rough.
I follow him to a corner booth, trying not to notice how he moves. Trying not to remember how that body felt pressed against mine, all controlled strength and leashed intensity.
I slide in across from him. He watches me with those dark eyes—the same look he gave me in the alley before his forehead dropped to mine.
The air feels thick. Heavy with everything unsaid.
This is the first time we've been alone since that night. Since he counted down and didn't kiss me and I wanted him to so badly I could barely breathe.
And now I'm here, fresh from making out with a different alpha, sitting across from the one who had enough self-control to stop when I couldn't.
"So." He leans back, but his eyes never leave my face. "The hardware guy."
It's not a question.
"River," I say, because pretending is pointless. "His name is River."
"I know his name." Something flickers in his expression. "You work for him."
"With him. It's not—" I stop. What is it, exactly? "It's complicated."
"Yeah." His hand moves across the table, stops just short of mine. His fingers are tattooed, scarred. I remember how they felt twisted in my hair. "Looks complicated."
I can't breathe properly. "Grayson—"
"You ran." His voice drops lower. "From the alley. From me."
The words hit like a physical thing. "You stopped."
"Because you deserved better than that." His jaw works. "Not because I didn't want you."
The confession makes my chest tight. "I know."
"Do you?" He finally pulls his hand back. "Because you're looking at me like you think I rejected you."
"Didn't you?"
"I told you to leave if you wanted to." His eyes are intense. Dark. "You didn't leave, Bea. You stayed and gasped my name while my forehead was against yours and—"
"Stop." My face is on fire.
"Why? You were there. You remember." He leans forward slightly. "Or are we pretending that didn't happen?"
"We're not pretending anything." My voice comes out sharper than I mean it to. "We both know what happened. And we both know you stopped it."
"For good reason."
"I know that." I do. I really do. But it doesn't make it easier. "You were being respectful. Giving me a choice."
"And you chose to stay." He's still looking at me like he can see straight through me. "Until you ran."
"I panicked, okay?" The words tumble out. "You had your hands on my hips and your forehead against mine and I couldn't think and I—" I stop. Breathe. "I panicked."
"Because of me?"
"Because of me." I look down at the table. "Because I don't know what I'm doing. Because one minute I'm trying to keep my distance from all of you and the next I'm—"
"Making out with him in full view of the front windows?"
My head snaps up. His expression is unreadable, but there's something in his eyes. Heat. Dark interest.
Oh god. He watched.
"It just happened," I say quietly, but my face is on fire.
"Did it?" His voice drops lower. Rougher. "Because from where I was standing, it looked pretty deliberate. You climbed him like a tree, Bea. In the middle of his store. Where anyone walking by could see."
My stomach drops. "Who else—"
"Relax. It was after five. Most shops were closed." His eyes hold mine. "But I saw. And it was... educational."
The way he says it makes heat pool low in my belly. He's not angry. He's turned on.
"Educational," I repeat weakly.
"Mmm." His hand moves closer to mine on the table. "Watching you lose control like that. Seeing what you look like when you stop thinking and just feel." A pause. "Yeah. Educational."
I can't breathe. "Grayson—"