Chapter 04 KAIDEN
I can’t.
Oh shit, I can’t. I really couldn’t have come up with this even if I tried. He’s… like everything I ever hoped for in a man.
Everything I didn’t even know I wanted in a man.
Fuck. I didn’t even want someone to begin with. I like my life the way it is. I like my freedom, my work, being able to do whatever I want whenever I feel like it. Drive my bike anywhere. I like that nothing holds me down. I’m too comfortable in a life that’s already full.
But him?
It’s like my mind conjured up this perfect specimen and just poofed him into existence. Like it’s challenging me, saying; Hey dumb-dumb! Make some room. He’ll fit!
He rides. He’s an artist—his sister showed me his neon stuff on her phone, and fuck me if I haven’t seen some of those pieces lighting up the Amsterdam nightlife. He’s funny. Shy but bold at the same time. Witty. And have I mentioned he rides?
But shit, most importantly, that face.
His face, madre mía. It’s like he’s carved out of something ethereal. All sharp cheekbones and a square jaw, no softness there, just clean lines and intensity. The kind of face that doesn’t ask for attention but gets it anyway.
He’s shorter than me… but not small.
No. He’s solid. Stocky in that compact, grounded way. The kind of build that feels steady. His arms are more defined than mine, even though it’s hard to tell with all the insane art covering them.
And woah, that design.
The design is unreal and I for fuck sure want to investigate it more.
Later. Privately.
Yeah, I mostly felt that strength just now, when he basically manhandled me into an abandoned chair from the tram-turned-bistro for one of the many poses Sadie wanted us in. One second I was standing, the next he had a hand at my waist, firm but careful, guiding me down like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Before he crawled on my lap, for crying out loud.
Which I like way too much.
The chair creaks beneath us, his thighs bracketing mine, solid and warm even through layers of denim. One hand rests on the back of the chair, the other loosely on my shoulder to keep his balance, and when he shifts closer I can’t help but grab his thighs, his strong thighs, and move my hands just that tiny bit upwards. Our gazes catch.
And hold.
For a second Sadie’s voice, the wind, the whole stupid shoot just… fades. It’s just his eyes on mine, warm and a little unsure, like he feels it too—that strange, quiet pull settling between us.
His thumb brushes absently against my shoulder as he steadies himself, barely a touch, but it sends a small shiver down my spine anyway.
And suddenly this isn’t about poses anymore. Or about the shoot. Or about being a decent guy and filling in for his missing date.
My eyes drop.
It’s all about those lips…
I’m just itching to kiss them, to taste the ones that for the last hour made me laugh, made me smile, made me spill all kinds of shit about myself—about missing my mom, my dad, the chaos that is my work, my love for traveling through Europe—things I normally would never really share on a date because, well… I don’t ever date.
Guess there might be a little room for change in my life after all.
That pretty, pouty mouth parts on a soft sigh that breathes over me, and shit, I’m so fucking close to saying fuck it and planting one right on him in front of that lens. Any minute now I’m gonna lean in and—
“Could we, uhh… could we try something?“
Sadie interrupts after taking a couple of shots of us exactly like this—me staring between his mouth and eyes like he’s the only thing that exists right now, my hand absentmindedly rubbing along his leg.
Him staring right back, his arms loosely locked around my neck now, fingers toying with the hood of my hoodie like he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it.
At some point she made us put our sweaters back on, claiming she could crop out the company logo and that she really didn’t want us getting pneumonia. It was sweet—and very welcome.
At least the sun’s peeking out now, turning everything into some bright winter-wonderland scene instead of just freezing misery. Still, I don’t think I can blame the warmth spreading through me on that. Not when it flares every time he shifts closer, every time Sadie calls for another shot and we end up inches apart again.
And I swear, in every single one we’re grinning at each other like a couple of idiots.
Like fools.
It can’t be just me. It can’t.
That kind of smile can't be faked. That hopeful, slightly disbelieving, excited smile. The kind that screams he wants to see me again just as much as I want to see him.
And if he’s faking it? Then he deserves a fucking Oscar.
I’m in deep fucking trouble. I already know it. I can already feel it. Somewhere deep inside me, something small just clicked into place, like a piece finally settling where it’s supposed to, and I’m not entirely sure I’ll survive this man.
“Guys?“
Sadie asks when we don’t reply, and I tear my gaze—with some serious effort—away from Milos. I lean back a little and raise my brows at her.
“Yeah?“
Not ashamed at all that my voice comes out rough.
“If you’re comfortable… could you, uh, maybe lose the hoodies?”
I blink at her, glancing down at myself before looking back up.
“I’m happy to, but don’t you have enough pics without them?”
She grins, freckles standing out against her flushed cheeks from the cold. “Well… my next question was going to be whether you’d want to lose the shirts as well.”
The whoop behind me can only come from his sister. Milos shoots daggers at her when he scrambles off my lap, and I can’t help grinning up at him even though I already miss the warmth and weight of him there.
“Sure,“
I say easily, rubbing my hands together for warmth. “But you’re getting the medical bill if I end up in the hospital.”
“Fair enough,“
Sadie laughs. “I just want to see both your bodies together.”
“Sadie! What’ll your fiancée say?“
I scold, humor clear in my tone.
She rolls her eyes. “I meant your artwork. I’ve seen bits and pieces, but I’m curious. I only need a couple of seconds.”
“Only a couple, huh? Think you can do it under ten?“
I ask as I shrug my hoodie off and grab the hem of my henley. Milos does the same in my peripheral, muttering something about the damn snow under his breath.
She makes a so-so gesture with her hand. “I’ll need sixteen tops. Promise.”
“Sixteen seconds?“
Milos cuts in. “You better make them count, I’m freezing my balls off.”
“I promise that’s the last shot. We can go inside after, and warm those balls up.“
Sadie nods toward the mural where we started the shoot, grinning. “Let’s go there? Lean against it. Just pick what feels good. I’ll take a few and then we’ll get a cup of hot chocolate.”
“Or a shot of bourbon,“
Milos mutters under his breath as he does as she says, crossing the snow and picking a spot against the wall. “Maybe two.”
I shake my head in amusement as I pull my shirt off and push it in Nika’s hands, who’s blinking at me beneath that monstrosity of a hat of hers. The cold air instantly bites into my skin, raising goosebumps along my arms and across my chest.
“This is insane,“
Milos mutters beside me as I step up next to him. “You owe us at least a hot drink after this.”
But holy shit, I’m not cold. Not at all, when I really look at the guy next to me.
The laughter, the teasing, the stupid freezing weather—all of it fades into the background when my gaze drops, taking him in properly for the first time.
Ink winds over warm, pale skin in the brightest colors, flowers and lines flowing over muscle and bone like living art. His eyes are wide too, taking just as good a look at me as I am at him, breath fogging in the cold air between us when I step forward on autopilot, right into his space, and flatten my palm straight over his heart, right atop the beautiful floral arrangement inked across his chest.
I just have to touch it. Feel the hard planes beneath, the steady thud of his heartbeat under my hand, the solid line of his sternum. My fingers slide higher almost without thinking, tracing the ink toward his throat before splaying wide there where there is none, feeling the warmth of his skin despite the winter air biting at my back.
And yeah.
Sixteen seconds suddenly feel way too short.
“You’re both absolutely stunning. I need to know who your artists are.“
Click. “But I’ll shut up. Gimme sixteen okay? Enjoy this.”
I faintly hear another click, but it doesn’t really register. All that registers is the guy in front of me who was supposed to stay a stranger. A shoot they hired me to work for, not take part in.
“I kinda want you to kiss me, Kaiden,“
the words come out as a murmur between those sinful as fuck lips, low enough so only I can hear. A blush quickly follows the confession.
“Is that so?“
I ask, watching him swallow against my fingers still loosely curled at his throat, the dark ink stark against the rare stretch of unmarked skin there. Still a blank canvas. “Even with the camera?”
He cocks his head, expressive hazel eyes blazing, a shiver from the cold racking through him as he nods. “Yeah… shit, I want to. And I want to see you again.”
For a second he almost looks pained, like the words cost him something, like he’s bracing for this to go wrong before it even has a chance to start.
“And if I want to as well?“
My voice comes out low, quieter than before. “What’s with the frown?”
“I suck at dating,“
he spills. “I mean, that’s what I’m told. And Christ, I really don’t want this to suck.”
His expression is so painfully earnest it hits me straight in the chest, and I can’t help the grin that tugs at my mouth as I lean a hair’s breadth closer.
“I’m hardly a professional, either,“
I start, the words coming easy now, even as somewhere in the background I still hear the faint click click click of the camera. But it’s just static at this point, an insistent buzz I barely register.
Because all my attention is on the slight smile curving his mouth now.
“They say I get lost in my work,“
he admits with a small shrug. “That I forget the rest of the world exists sometimes.”
I huff a quiet breath, shoulders relaxing just a little. “It’s good that I’m apparently a flighty fucker then, never settling down, always on the go. We can see if it can be a match.”
“I want it to be a match.“
The words come out low, barely a whisper, hope threading through them so openly it catches me off guard for a second.
Shit, that confession guts me. And it’s the one that pushes me forward, pushes me to claim what my gut already tells me is mine.
The kiss is soft. Hesitant. Testing.
Just a touch at first, like I’m giving him time to pull back.
He doesn’t.
His hand finds my chest instead, warm and solid, while mine tightens slightly at his neck. My other one snakes around his waist as the kiss deepens just enough to make heat flare low in my stomach, his breath mixing with mine in the freezing, wonderful air.
It lasts only a couple of seconds. Barely anything.
But it feels like something tipping over.
I don’t even know anything about this dude.
But shit.
I love the way he makes my heart dance.