CHAPTER 19 #2
I clench my jaw, every instinct telling me to back away, to shut him out before he gets under my skin any more than he already has. But my body doesn’t agree, and my pulse races, and suddenly, I’m not sure which of us is winning this little game.
“Trust me, I do,” I insist, but the words feel hollow, even to me. “Half the time, I want to fucking hurt you,” I say, my voice barely steady.
“And the other half?” he asks, his voice softer and calm, shutting my brain down with the simplicity of the question. His eyes are locked on mine, as if he’s daring me to say what we both know I won’t.
I swallow hard, my defense slowly crumbling down. I want to look away, but I can’t, not with the way he’s staring at me. Like he wants to grab me and kiss me, and maybe let his hands explore every inch of my body.
I hate that I may like it. I hate that every part of me is dying to know what Hayes would taste like four years after I let him steal my first kiss. I hate this. I hate him and I hate how he makes me feel after everything he’s done to me.
I hate that my heartbeat quickens whenever he is close to me.
I hate how, no matter how much I tell myself that I despise him, my body betrays me—how I feel this magnetic pull toward him, like he’s some unshakable force I can’t escape.
I hate the way his gaze lingers, dark and intense, as if he knows exactly what he’s doing to me, how he’s messing with my head, making me question everything I thought I felt.
I hate that he remembers. That he knows I haven’t forgotten the kiss we shared years ago, that maybe he hasn’t either. I hate the way his presence consumes me, filling every corner of my mind, making it impossible to breathe, to think of anything but him and that damn smirk.
And I hate that he knows how much I want him.
And the other half, he’d ask.
The answer is right there, hanging between us, and somehow, he knows it as well as I do. He tilts his head, studying me, and I can feel my defenses crumbling with every second that he holds my gaze.
And then, before I can figure out what’s happening, he shifts.
Moves a little closer. Just enough that I feel his heat, feel the way the air between us seems to hum with something I can’t name.
My breath catches, and suddenly, it’s like the world narrows down to just the two of us sitting by this lake.
The trees, the water, the night—they all fade into the background.
His eyes lock on mine, dark and intense, and I can’t look away. My pulse is roaring in my ears, my heart pounding against my ribs. Everything about this is wrong. It’s Hayes. I should shove him away, remind him who we are to each other. But my body isn’t listening.
Then, just as fast, Hayes leans in. Not all the way, just enough to make me freeze. His breath is warm against my lips, so close I can feel it. And his gaze drops—just for a second—to my lips.
I should pull back. Hell, I should be halfway to the bike by now. But I can’t move. I can’t stop thinking about how close he is, how easy it would be to just—
No. No way.
I jerk back, breaking the moment, my breath coming too fast. “Don’t,” I snap, my voice harsher than I mean. “Don’t fuck with me, Hayes.” I stand up at once, putting some distance between us as I glare at him.
For a second, something flickers in his eyes—surprise, maybe. Or something deeper. But then he smirks again, though it’s softer this time.
“I’m sorry.”
“You’re sorry?” I scoff, not believing what he just said. “Were you going to kiss me, Hayes?”
“Yeah?” he replies casually, like it’s no big deal.
“Yeah?” I scoff, running my fingers through my hair. “Why, Hayes? Why the fuck were you going to kiss me?”
“Because…” he shrugs nonchalantly, like it’s something we usually do. I can’t read the look on his face and that just pisses me off.
“Because?” I’m speechless, not sure of what I’m supposed to do with him. “My fucking God. You always do this,” always mess with my head and then act like it’s nothing. I want to tell him that but I don’t.
“Always do what?”
“You fucking kissed me four years ago after treating me like shit. And then you lied to everyone that I came onto you when you were the one who kissed me. Do you get off from playing games with me?” I ask, my voice sounding more vulnerable than I intend to.
Why did I come out here with him?
Hayes is standing now, not saying a word even though I desperately want him to say something, anything to explain why he’s always been like this—why he keeps pushing me away only to pull me back in again.
His silence grates on me, like an answer in itself, and it only makes me feel like a fool for agreeing to come here with me.
“Wow. You are a real piece of shit.” I manage to say, hating how the words sound in my ears; weak and vulnerable.
“Come on, Dakota. Don’t be like that,”
“Go fuck yourself.” I laugh, the sound sad and humorless as I step away from him.
My heart’s still racing, and I hate how shaky I feel. I hasten my footsteps, desperate to get away from this, from him. “We should go,” I mutter, the words sounding weak in the night. “Before someone noticed we’ve left.”
Hayes doesn’t argue, his eyes still on me, but there’s something unreadable in them now. “Alright,” he says, his voice casual.
I don’t answer. I can’t. My mind’s still spinning from what almost happened. I tell myself it was nothing—a mistake. But deep down, I know it’s not that simple.
We walk back to the bike in silence, the tension between us still thick in the air.
I climb onto the back of the motorcycle, gripping the edge of Hayes’ jacket tighter than I should.
As the engine roars to life and we speed down the road, I feel his body pressed against mine, the warmth of him burning through my skin.
And all I can think about is how close I came to crossing a line I’m not sure I can ever come back from.