16. Time’s Up
TIME’S UP
TESSA
The moment Saul’s eyes find mine, everything else fades—the music, the laughter, the heat of the crowd pressing in on every side. His gaze locks on mine with an intensity that makes my breath catch. His deep brown eyes, dark as aged whiskey, don’t just look at me; they claim me. They strip me bare, peeling away every layer of distance and resolve I’ve spent the last year building.
And then—he smiles.
That slow, deliberate curve of his lips is nothing short of lethal. It’s not just confident—it’s possessive like he already knows how my body betrays me when he’s nearby. That smile is the one he likely used when he used to whisper across the wall at night, teasing and coaxing confessions and orgasms out of me. Those lips promised forever before leaving me with nothing but questions.
I should turn away. I should pretend he’s nothing but a ghost from a past I refuse to resurrect. But my feet carry me forward, up the stairs, toward him, toward the thousand-dollar check that no longer matters. The closer I get, the harder it is to breathe. My eyes track every inch of him—the powerful cut of his muscles beneath his Crescent Hall T-shirt, the thick ropes of his biceps flexing as he shifts. Tattoos trail down his arms, ones I’ve never seen before, and the urge to trace them with my fingertips makes my stomach clench.
He smirks, and I know he sees the war raging inside me.
“Tessa,” he says, his voice sliding over me like warm honey. “That yellow bikini is iconic, love. You wear it well.”
The way he drops the “o” in love—turning it into luv—weakens my knees. It shouldn’t. I hate him.
I swallow the lump in my throat and step forward, my hand reaching for the envelope. But Saul doesn’t just hand it over. He grips my fingers in both of his large, warm, and entirely too familiar hands. The second our skin connects, a jolt of heat zips up my arm, stealing my breath.
“Hi, sweetheart.” His voice is so soft, so intimate, that my chest aches.
I want to yank my hand away. Demand answers. Scream at him for vanishing without a trace. But I don’t. I stand there, trembling like some lovesick fool, my throat tight with a year’s worth of unshed tears.
Then I snap back into reality.
I will not fall for this man so quickly again.
He’s here. He’s safe. Maybe I can sleep again now.
And once I cuss him out, I’ll finally have my closure. But I’m in no state to do that now. With the way my body is heating up, I’d sooner ride his strong, beautiful ass to exhaustion than give him a piece of my mind.
I can’t have that,
“Don’t touch me,” I bite out, my voice sharper than I feel, and I rip my hand away. The pearls throw a bite of heat at my neck, but I ignore them. I didn’t realize how angry I was until I saw him, and honestly, my ancestors and him can go to hell for the night.
Deep and rich, his laughter follows me as I stomp down the stage, sending another wave of anger straight through me. I whirl around, scowling, only to find his gaze still on me, drinking me in like I’m the only thing in this room worth looking at.
“I’ll see you soon, sweetheart,” he calls, his voice dripping with amusement.
I hate him. I hate how my body reacts to him. I hate that he still has the power to make my thighs clench just by existing.
And yet… I can't believe he's been here, in my city, all this time.
Selene’s voice cuts through my swirling thoughts. “Yes, I cannot believe you won! Drinks are on you tonight.”
I scoff, waving the check in her face at the bottom of the stairs. “You have to be kidding me. Aren’t you the one who said this wasn’t even a real costume? That I was just using it as an excuse to be a thot?”
Selene rolls her eyes, clearly unbothered. “Yeah, yeah. Meanwhile, you got eye-fucked by the finest man I have ever seen, and I don’t even think you blinked.”
I glare at her. “Never mind all that. Let’s go. We came, we saw, and”—I shake the check in her face again—“I conquered.”
Selene giggles, then nudges me toward the VIP lounge. “Nope, we just got here. And I have a surprise for you.”
I pause mid-step, side-eyeing her. “I hate your surprises.”
She grins, ignoring me. “Remember Antoine Dupree?”
Oh. Hell. No.
I spin to face her. “Of course, I remember that arrogant, pushy asshole. He spent most of our senior year trying to get in my pants and never took no for an answer.”
Selene waves a dismissive hand. “He’s the new Chief of Police now. He’s matured. Besides, I may have told him you’d stop by the VIP lounge to say hi.”
I snap my head back so fast I almost give myself whiplash. “You what ?”
She groans, grabbing my wrist. “Come on , Tessa. Live a little. He’s fine as hell, and he’s been asking about you. Plus, that fine-ass man I was talking to is his frat brother. I need you with me.”
I dig my heels in, planting myself like a tree. “No. Absolutely not. I don’t need to entertain any man tonight.”
I need to go back to Saul and demand some goddamn answers.
But Selene is relentless. “You’re not seriously still holding out for Mr. Behind-the-Wall .”
My jaw clenches. “Do not talk about things you don’t understand just because you want your way.”
Selene sighs dramatically, but I don’t budge.
Then she pouts.
And against my better judgment, I cave.
“Fine. One hour. One .”
She claps like a damn child. “It’ll be fun. You’ll see.”
I doubt it.
I glance over my shoulder as we climb the steps to the VIP lounge, my gut twisting. Saul is nowhere in sight, but I can feel him watching me. And something tells me that his being here tonight is no coincidence.
“Well, well, well,” a deep, overly familiar voice booms. “If it isn’t Tessa Baptiste.”
I exhale slowly before turning.
Antoine Dupree is precisely how I remember him—too cocky, too pushy, and entirely too pleased with himself. He’s bulked up since high school, his broad frame packed with too much muscle for his own good. His beard is thick and neatly groomed, and I hate that he looks better than I expected.
His grin is pure shit-eating arrogance. “Damn, girl, you look like a Little Debbie snack.”
Jesus.
He stretches his arms wide like he expects me to run into them. I don't move.
Undeterred, he sweeps me into a way too tight hug, and I can barely stop myself from gagging at the overwhelming scent of his cologne—something aggressively masculine, like he bathed in wood chips and regret.
“Come here, girl, gimme some real sugar,” he drawls.
I try to squirm away, but he squeezes tighter, and when his hand lingers just a little too low on my back, I jerk away, eyes flashing.
Selene? Nowhere to be found—probably making out with her Bridgerton lookalike.
Antoine smirks, utterly unbothered by my glare. “What? Ain’t nothing wrong with a little affection between old friends.”
I wipe at my cheek like I can scrub off his Sulfur 8 breath and give him a look that could kill. “Don’t touch me like that ever again.”
He dares to laugh.
“Oh, come on, Tessa. Don’t act brand new.”
I cross my arms. “I will act brand new if it keeps your handsy ass in check.”
He chuckles, eyes raking over me in a way that makes my stomach turn. “You always did play hard to get.”
I grit my teeth. “I’m not playing anything. I don’t want you touching me. Ever.”
He leans in, voice low and full of disgusting confidence. “Bet I could change your mind.”
A deep voice cuts in, smooth and sharp as a blade.
"You couldn’t change her mind if your life depended on it."
The words are calm, too calm—like the silence before a storm, the kind that makes you realize too late that you should’ve run.
I whip around, my pulse leaping into my throat. Saul stands there, towering, every muscle coiled like a predator sizing up his prey. His eyes—usually warm and knowing—are pure steel now, locked on to the man in front of me with a promise of violence.
My night just went to hell in a handbasket.