Chapter 21 Try Me
Try Me
Langston
By the time the city starts glowing orange against the glass, I’ve already wrapped every meeting, sent Jake home and cleared my schedule for the next twenty-four hours.
I close my laptop, lean back in my chair, and take in the skyline. Chicago looks sharp tonight—clean lines, golden light, endless movement. The kind of view that usually keeps me grounded.
But tonight, I can’t stop smiling.
Because soon, I get to go spar with my wife.
I can already picture her—hands on her hips, trying not to laugh while she tells me all the reasons she “didn’t have time” to pack.
And I can’t wait.
I spin my chair toward the window, phone in hand, and hit the contact I need.
Matthew answers on the second ring. “Langston. What’s up?”
“I need a favor.”
“Always dangerous coming from you.”
I chuckle. “Bring your truck to an address I’ll text you in a few.”
He hums. “You moving something or someone?”
“Both,” I admit.
There’s a pause, then a laugh. “I’ll be there.”
“Appreciate it.”
When the call ends, I’m still grinning—right up until a throat clears behind me.
I swivel in my chair, already sighing. “Let me guess. Dean couldn’t make it?”
Coleman stands in the doorway, arms crossed, that calm, controlled presence that makes everyone else in the room sit up a little straighter.
Nathan’s leaning against my desk, looking too entertained for his own good, and Harvey—big, tattooed, and perpetually unimpressed—has taken up position near the door like he’s guarding it.
Coleman shrugs. “Practice. He said to tell you not to do anything stupid.”
“Noted.”
“Where are my favorite girls?” I ask him.
Coleman’s expression softens instantly. “With Remi at the record store.”
I smile. I’ve known the twins since they were born. They’re trouble wrapped in glitter and sass, and I love them like they’re my own blood.
Nathan kicks back in the chair he’s claimed. “Better question—why do you need a truck?”
I glance between them. “To move my wife’s things.”
Coleman raises a brow. “About that…”
I sigh. I’ve never lied to these men, and I’m not about to start now.
So I tell them. Everything. How it started, why it happened, and what it’s become.
When I finish, they’re all staring at me.
Then Harvey speaks from the doorway, voice low. “So why not ask me for a truck?”
There’s something in his tone—disappointment, maybe—and I get it. We’re all family.
“Because she doesn’t want to move in with me,” I admit, lips twitching.
For a second, silence.
Then bursts of laughter.
All except Harvey.
“So what—” Nathan manages between laughs, “you’re just going to force her?”
I roll my eyes. “No. If she really didn’t want to, I wouldn’t. But she likes to fight with me.” I smirk. “And you, big guy.” I nod toward Harvey. “Would’ve taken her side.”
That earns a deep grunt from Harvey, but there’s a hint of amusement in it.
Nathan pushes up from the chair, snatching my phone and laptop off the desk.
“What the hell are you doing?” I ask.
He grins. “Not missing this for the world.”
“Nathan—”
Too late. He’s already halfway to the door. “Come on, Lang. Let’s go get your wife.”
I shake my head, laughing as I grab my jacket.
Coleman claps me on the shoulder when we reach the parking garage. “Don’t do anything stupid.”
Harvey stops beside his truck, arms crossed, expression hard but eyes soft. “Don’t hurt her.”
I meet his gaze. “I might not let her tell me no,” I say quietly, “but I’d never hurt her.”
He studies me for a moment, then nods once. “I know.”
When I slide behind the wheel, my pulse is already pounding.
Because I know exactly what’s waiting for me at that apartment—chaos, laughter, maybe a few sharp words.
Nathan is still laughing when we get to her building.
“You realize,” he says, “this woman’s going to eat you alive, right?”
“Probably,” I mutter, grabbing the takeout bag I brought for Mrs. D as a peace offering. “But she’ll do it from my house.”
When we reach her apartment door laughter is drifting out of it. I push it open and stop dead in the doorway.
Papers. Everywhere. Still.
Her entire living room looks like a brainstorming bomb went off.
The couch is covered in sticky notes, the coffee table’s drowning in half-scribbled plans, and Sabrina—barefoot, hair piled up in a messy knot, wearing an oversized sweatshirt—is sitting cross-legged in the middle of it all with Mrs. D and that damn dog.
Nathan whistles low beside me. “Looks productive.”
Mrs. D’s head pops up. The second her eyes land on him, she grins like a cat spotting cream. “Well, hello there.”
Nathan chuckles. “Ma’am.”
“Oh, don’t ma’am me, young man. You can call me Mrs. D—or anytime you need a home-cooked meal, just call me.”
Sabrina chokes on a laugh. I pinch the bridge of my nose.
Nathan glances at me, grinning. “I love her.”
“Yeah, I bet you do.”
Sabrina finally looks up, eyes bright with mischief. “Hey, husband.”
“I missed you.”
Her expression softens—just for a second—before she hides it behind a smirk.
I take a step closer, scanning the chaos. “You’ve been busy.”
“Very,” she says proudly.
I nod, impressed despite myself. “Looks like it.”
But the longer I stand here, the more I can tell what’s not here. No boxes. No suitcases. Not a single packed thing in sight.
I turn back to her slowly. “You didn’t pack.”
Her chin lifts, defiant. “I told you I’d get to it.”
“When?”
She shrugs. “Eventually.”
Mrs. D lets out a tiny laugh before pretending to cough. Nathan looks like he’s watching his favorite sitcom.
I take a few steps toward her until we’re inches apart. “You like testing me, don’t you?”
She tilts her head, all sweetness and sass. “Maybe I like watching you try to win.”
Something low and hot tightens in my chest. “Sweetheart,” I murmur, “I don’t try. I do.”
She blinks up at me, all fire and challenge. “What if I told you I’m not moving?”
“Then I’d tell you I don’t care if you pack a single thing,” I say, voice low, calm. “I’ll buy you all new clothes, new furniture, new everything. I will throw you over my shoulder with just the clothes on your back and take you home.”
Her lips twitch. “You wouldn’t.”
I step closer until her breath hitches. My hand comes up, fingers slipping beneath her chin, tilting her face up to mine.
“Try me.”
The words hang heavy between us—low, rough, and full of promise.
Her eyes search mine, heat flickering there with something that looks dangerously close to surrender.
Behind us, Mrs. D clears her throat. “Well,” she says brightly, scooping up Olga. “Looks like I should take the dog for a walk.”
Nathan bursts out laughing. “I’m coming too before this turns into something I can’t unsee.”
They disappear out the door, leaving just me and my wife in the middle of her storm of papers, staring each other down.
And for the first time all day, I realize I’m not sure who’s actually winning.
She’s still glaring up at me, chin caught between my fingers, her pulse fluttering against my touch.
The smart thing would be to step back.
To breathe.
To remember we’re standing in a room full of her unpacked life with my friend waiting just outside.
But then she whispers, “You wouldn’t,” and that flicker in her eyes dares me to prove her wrong.
Something in me snaps.
I dip my head, brushing my mouth against hers—barely there at first. She freezes, then melts, her breath catching as my thumb drags along her jaw.
Her hands fist in my shirt, and that tiny act of surrender lights me up from the inside out.
What starts as a warning becomes something deeper, hungrier. I tilt her head back, kissing her like I’ve been starving for it.
Because I have.
She tastes like defiance and adrenaline. Sweet and sharp.
When I press her back against the wall, she gasps my name, and it sounds like a prayer and a curse all at once.
My hand finds her waist—small, warm, trembling—and I swear the room spins.
Her fingers slide up my chest, over my collar, tugging just enough to make me groan.
“Langston…” she whispers.
I lean in until my lips hover just above hers. “You drive me insane, you know that?”
Her eyes glint up at me. “Good.”
That single word breaks whatever restraint I had left. I kiss her again—deep, slow, claiming—until neither of us remembers what we were arguing about.
Her heartbeat pounds against my chest, perfectly in sync with mine.
And then—
A sharp knock at the door shatters the moment.
We both freeze, breathing hard. I rest my forehead against hers, laughing quietly.
“Saved by the knock,” I murmur, even as she blushes and pushes at my chest.
When I straighten, she’s still trying to catch her breath, lips swollen, eyes wild.
God, she’s beautiful like this.
I force myself to step back, scrub a hand over my jaw, and head for the door—because if I don’t, we’ll never leave this apartment.
When I open it, Nathan’s grinning ear to ear, and Matthew’s behind him holding two rolls of tape, a stack of folded boxes, and an energy drink.
“Delivery,” Nathan says cheerfully. “The cavalry has arrived.”
Sabrina’s brows knit together. “What is this?”
I step aside, letting the guys in, and lean against the doorframe with a slow smile.
“Your moving party.”
Her jaw drops. “Excuse me?”
Matthew sets the boxes down like he’s unloading a mission kit. “Where are we starting? Closet or kitchen?”
Nathan’s already heading toward the couch. “I’ll handle the fragile stuff. Which, judging by this mess, is everything she’s ever owned.”
Sabrina spins toward me, eyes wide with disbelief. “You didn’t.”
“I did.”
“You wouldn’t.”
“Oh, sweetheart,” I say, lowering my voice until it’s a quiet drawl meant just for her, “I absolutely would.”
Nathan whistles low from across the room. “Damn, she looks like she’s about to throw that vase at you.”
“Wouldn’t be the first time a woman’s aimed something at my head,” I say without breaking eye contact with Sabrina.
She folds her arms. “You can’t just barge into my apartment and—”
“Married,” I interrupt smoothly. “Half mine.”
Her glare could kill a man. “We agreed to one year.”
I shrug, stepping closer. “I didn’t.”
Matthew coughs to hide a laugh, busying himself with the boxes. Nathan’s definitely not hiding his amusement.
“Man,” he says, shaking his head, “I don’t know whether to film this or get popcorn.”
“Neither,” I shoot back. “You’re packing.”
Nathan groans dramatically. “You’re no fun.”
Sabrina huffs, throws up her hands, and stalks toward the bedroom. I follow, leaning on the doorframe as she opens her closet.
She glares over her shoulder. “You’re enjoying this way too much.”
“Because you make it too easy.”
Her fingers tighten on a hanger, knuckles white. “You’re insufferable.”
“Maybe,” I say, taking another slow step closer, “but I always get what I want.”
She spins around, fire flashing in her eyes. “You can’t just—”
I close the distance, grip her chin gently but firmly, forcing her gaze up to meet mine.
“I can.”
The air shifts instantly—thick, charged, quiet.
For a moment, neither of us breathes.
Her pulse jumps beneath my thumb, her defiance flickering into something else—something that feels a hell of a lot like want.
Then, from the other side of the room, Nathan’s voice cuts through the tension.
“Uh, Lang? Found her underwear drawer.”
Sabrina’s head snaps toward the sound. “NATHAN!”
He bursts out laughing.
I can’t help the smirk tugging at my mouth as she storms past me to yell at him.
Because for all her fire and fury… she’s still packing.
And by the end of the night, she’ll be coming home.
And I wouldn’t trade it for a damn thing.