Chapter 14
Nikolai
The engine purred beneath my hands as I guided us away from the café, the steady rhythm of the tires a dull hum against the road. The silence between us wasn’t awkward—it was warm, familiar. Like we were both catching our breath after something good.
Mina sat in the passenger seat, her head turned toward the window, the streetlights dancing across her skin in soft gold. She was humming—off-key, quiet, but with conviction. I didn’t recognize the song, but it didn’t matter. The sound did something to me. Settled in my chest and stayed there.
Her laughter back at the cafe played on repeat in my head—how easily she’d slid into the chaos, tossing barbs like she’d been raised on locker room chirps. She held her own with Asher and Kellen, even threw a jab at Weston that made Wyatt choke on his cocoa.
And me?
I couldn’t stop watching her.
Couldn’t stop wondering how in the hell someone like Mikel could be ashamed to bring her around.
“Are you always this charming?” I asked, the words slipping out before I could stop them. It was half a joke. Half something else.
She turned, a smirk tugging at her lips. “Only when I’m surrounded by emotionally stunted man-children.”
I snorted, more amused than offended. That smile—it was dangerous. Disarming. The kind that slipped past armor and embedded itself somewhere deeper. I looked back at the road, jaw tight, pulse off-kilter.
The truth was, she didn’t just fit—she lit the place up. And the more time I spent with her, the harder it became to remember the lines I was supposed to be holding. This wasn’t supposed to matter. She wasn’t supposed to matter. But she did.
Too much.
“You’ve gone all broody,” she said, still watching me. “You okay?”
I didn’t answer right away. Just let the engine fill the space between us. I didn’t know how to say what I was thinking—that this thing between us, this thirty-day agreement, wasn’t feeling temporary anymore. That it had started to feel like something I didn’t want to give up.
“Just thinking,” I said finally, eyes still on the road.
She let it go, but the air changed. Heavier. Charged. Her silence said everything her mouth didn’t.
And I wasn’t sure how long I could hold back the words forming at the edge of my tongue.
I eased the wheel through the last curve, letting the quiet between us stretch—not awkward, not heavy. Just easy. But still, I could feel the weight of her gaze like heat against my jaw. Curious. Patient. Like she was waiting for me to say something that mattered.
“Got a road trip coming up,” I said finally, my voice steady but quieter than usual. “We leave the night after next. Gone five days.”
Her head tilted toward me, the movement slow and smooth like she was cataloging each word before responding. “You going to miss me or something?” she asked with a teasing lilt, but the question hung heavier than it should have.
I gave a short exhale—close to a laugh, but not quite. “I think you already know the answer to that.”
She went quiet for a second, fingers playing with the hem of her sleeve the way they always did when she was trying not to show nerves.
“I want you to come to the game before I go,” I said.
"You… do?"
“Yeah.” I glanced over, catching her profile lit up by the passing streetlights. “I do.”
Her eyes stayed fixed on the windshield, but her posture shifted—straighter, like she was bracing herself. “Really?”
“It’s not just about the game,” I said, keeping my eyes forward. “It’s about having you there. With me.”
I didn’t look at her after that. I couldn’t. Saying it aloud made it too real, too exposed. I wasn’t sure what scared me more—admitting I wanted her close, or knowing that five days away from her already felt too long.
She finally turned to look at me again, her voice softer now. “You don’t think I’ll be in the way?”
I shook my head, jaw tight with conviction. “You couldn’t be in the way if you tried.”
Her smile broke through slowly, tentative but warm. “You’re going to miss me,” she said, like she was trying it on just to see how it felt.
“You’ll miss me,” I countered, smirking slightly.
“Will not,” she shot back with a quick laugh that sent something skipping through my chest.
“Uh-huh.” I kept my eyes on the road, but I could feel the weight of her grin aimed squarely at me. “I’ll be gone five days. You’ll be climbing the walls.”
“Maybe,” she said, suddenly quieter. “Maybe I will.”
The silence that followed was soft around the edges, less like a pause and more like a space we filled with every heartbeat, every unspoken thought. And when we stopped at a red light and I glanced over again, her eyes were already on me—open, sure, steady.
I pulled into the driveway, easing the car to a stop as the engine fell quiet. The porch lights cast soft amber shadows against the clean lines of the house, the kind of glow that usually welcomed silence and solitude. But tonight, something felt different.
I glanced at Mina. Her hands were folded in her lap, fingers fidgeting like they didn’t know what to do with stillness.
“We’re home,” I said quietly.
She didn’t answer right away. Just sat there for a moment, her expression caught between curiosity and caution.
Then, finally, she opened the door and stepped into the afternoon.
I followed, the crisp air brushing against my neck like a warning.
We walked side by side to the front door.
Her steps were slower now, like she was absorbing every second.
Inside, I flipped on the lights—soft, warm, functional.
She slipped in beside me, her eyes scanning the space like she was mapping the edges of something new and unfamiliar. My space. Now… maybe ours.
“Thanks for taking me,” she said softly, not quite looking at me.
I let out a slow breath. “Don’t thank me for doing the bare minimum.”
She blinked. Not hurt, exactly—more like she hadn’t expected that answer. But she didn’t back down, didn’t soften either. Her gaze held mine, steady and sharp. Something passed between us in that look—defiance, maybe. Or understanding.
Then, without a word, she turned and headed for the stairs, cardigan sleeves tugged over her hands.
I watched her go, something tight winding behind my ribs.
There was a pull in her—something magnetic and maddening.
She was in my space, in my head, and I hadn’t figured out how to guard myself from that yet.
I lingered at the door longer than I should have. The silence wasn’t hollow, but charged—alive with everything we hadn’t said. I could have stayed there all night, sorting it out in my head, but instead… I moved.
Up the stairs. Quiet. Steady.
And when I reached the landing, I saw her again—paused in the hallway, silhouetted in the glow spilling from the bedroom. Still. Waiting. She didn’t speak, and neither did I.
But my feet kept moving toward her like there was nowhere else I belonged.
“Mina,” I said softly, my voice barely more than a breath as I leaned in the doorway. The syllables tasted unfamiliar—gentle. Careful.
She turned, her eyes catching mine like a hook in the chest. There was surprise in her face, sure, but layered beneath it was something raw.
Not fear. Not hesitation. Just… openness.
Her gaze flicked to my mouth, then back up, and her lips parted slightly like she wanted to say something but couldn’t quite form the words.
I took a step closer, slow and deliberate, closing the space between us inch by inch. My fingers twitched at my side, then lifted—drawn to her without permission. I brushed a knuckle along her cheekbone, soft and tentative. She didn’t flinch. Didn’t pull away. If anything, she leaned in.
That was all I needed.
I dipped my head. Not rushed. Not hungry. Just… drawn. And when my lips found hers, everything stilled.
Her mouth was warm, and the kiss was nothing like the ones I’d known before—those had been games, weapons, distractions.
This was something quieter. A breath shared in the dark.
Her hands found their way to my chest, not pushing me away, but curling into the fabric of my shirt like she needed something to hold on to.
I pulled back a fraction, enough to see her face again—her lashes fluttering, her lips slightly parted, her cheeks tinged pink. A breathless beat passed.
“What was that for?” she asked, voice hushed and disbelieving.
My answer came without thought, carved from somewhere deep in my chest. “Because you’re here,” I said. “And I want you here.”
She stared at me for a long, heavy second. I could see the questions swirl behind her eyes—the ones she wouldn’t ask yet. But she didn’t need to. Not now.
Instead, she stepped in, almost touching. Her breath ghosted against my jaw. “You really mean that?” she whispered.
“Yeah,” I said, steady as a vow. “More than you know.”
She didn’t answer with words. Just leaned into me again, closer than before. And in that charged stillness, where nothing else existed but her hands against my chest and the weight of all the things we hadn’t said, I knew one thing for certain:
This wasn’t pretend anymore.
The moment our lips met again, the world around us faded. There was no arena, no bet, no ghosts from my past whispering warnings in my ear. Just Mina—soft, warm, real. Her hands gripped my shirt tighter as I deepened the kiss, pouring everything I felt into that one moment.
I’d never been good at this—letting someone in.
But with her, it felt almost natural, like breathing.
My heart raced as I savored the taste of her; a hint of cocoa and something sweetly intoxicating that was entirely her own.
The softness of her mouth against mine sent jolts through me—an electric charge that ignited something I’d buried for too long.
I pulled back just enough to catch her gaze. Her eyes sparkled with surprise and warmth, like she couldn’t quite believe what had just happened. I didn’t want to think about how much courage it took to stand there—to be this close without fear creeping back in.
She looked up at me like she was still catching up to her own heartbeat, lips slightly parted, cheeks flushed. I could see it—the war waging behind her eyes. Hope and disbelief. Want and hesitation. It mirrored everything I felt down to the marrow.
I lifted a hand, brushing my thumb gently along her jawline, grounding myself in the softness of her skin. “You okay?” I asked, voice low, careful not to shatter whatever fragile magic we’d just built between us.
She nodded slowly, eyes not leaving mine. “Yeah,” she whispered. “Just… trying to remember how to function.”
That made me smile—an actual, real one. Not smirk. Not amused exhale. A quiet, reluctant smile that tugged from some place I didn’t know existed before her.
“Really,” I said.
She took a breath, and for a moment, neither of us moved. I could feel her hands still clutched in my shirt, not pulling away. Like maybe she needed that anchor just as much as I did.
“We’re in trouble, aren’t we?” she asked softly, her words feather-light but razor-sharp.
I let my forehead rest against hers, barely touching. “Yeah,” I murmured. “But I’m not running.”
And in the space between that promise and the next breath, something settled between us—quiet, powerful, and terrifying in its truth.
I pressed my lips gently to the curve of her neck, letting the warmth of her skin seep into me.
She gasped—just a breath, just enough—and it lit something inside me I hadn’t realized I was holding back.
My hand slid up, brushing the fabric of her shirt away from her shoulder.
One kiss. Then another. Slow, reverent. Like a promise I hadn’t spoken aloud yet.
Then her voice cut through the haze, quiet but certain.
“Wait.”
I stilled instantly. My heart thundered, but I stepped back, giving her space without hesitation. Her gaze dropped, breaking the spell we’d spun between us.
“I… I shouldn’t,” she murmured.
The words weren’t rejection—but they weren’t surrender either. I searched her face, jaw tight with restraint. “Because of him?” I asked, sharper than I meant to be. Mikel’s name burned on my tongue like poison.
“What? No,” she said quickly. “It’s not that.” She hesitated, voice trembling with something far more vulnerable. “It’s because… I’m not the kind of girl who sleeps with the guy who won her in a bet.”
The air left my lungs in a quiet exhale. Not because she was wrong—but because she was right. She deserved better than the way this had started. She deserved something that didn’t carry shadows.
I nodded once, slow. “You think any of that matters now?”
Her eyes met mine—uncertain, but fierce. “I don’t know. I just… don’t want this to be something I regret.”
I stepped in close again, brushing my fingers through her hair with the gentlest care I could offer. “Then we wait,” I said. No frustration. No pressure. Just truth.
The weight between us shifted. Not gone—but understood.
“I’m not going anywhere,” I added quietly. “Not unless you ask me to.”
She didn’t say anything right away. But the way her body leaned into mine—tentative, trusting—was answer enough.
And in that moment, I wasn’t the Reaper. I wasn’t the guy who made the bet.
I was just a man trying to be worthy of her hesitation.
“For thirty days?” she asked, her voice a breath against my chest—half challenge, half vulnerability.
I cupped her jaw gently, my thumb brushing her cheek. “For however long you want me to wait.” Her lips parted just slightly, breath catching. I leaned in, letting the space between us hum with tension before I whispered, “But I’d like to kiss you again.”
A pause. Her eyes searched mine, wide and soft and unguarded. “I think…” she whispered, voice trembling with something new and dangerous, “I think I’d like you to.”
That was all I needed.
I kissed her like I meant it this time. No holding back.
My mouth claimed hers with aching precision—slow at first, then deeper, until our tongues tangled in something that felt like a fight and surrender all at once.
She met me halfway, fingers curling in the fabric of my shirt, pulling me closer as if the space between us was too wide, even with only inches left.
My hands slid along her waist, finding the dip of her spine, the curve of her hips. Every part of her I touched sent fire racing through my veins. She wasn’t just kissing me—she was letting me in. And it undid me.
God help me.
Because thirty days? Thirty days weren’t going to be nearly enough.