Chapter 20 Illicit Affairs
Illicit Affairs
Ali
The concrete was rough against her butt. Still, she couldn’t move. Her chest felt too tight. Her head too loud.
She tried to count backwards. Tried to remember the grounding tricks from therapy. Name five things you can see. Four you can touch. Three you can hear—
The sound of cicadas somewhere nearby.
Two—
Footsteps. Quick, steady.
Then silence.
She didn’t lift her head. She couldn’t. But through the curtain of her hair, she caught a glimpse of worn gray New Balances stopping just inches from her curled-up body.
Her stomach dropped. Her throat burned.
No.
Please no.
Then he dropped into a squat, forearms braced across his knees.
“Ali.”
Her name in his voice undid her. Low. Gentle. Shaky in a way Dylan McKenzie never was.
She was too scared to look up. Too scared to see the regret on his face. But if she ignored him… she couldn’t do that to him. He didn’t deserve that. So she peeked. Just barely.
His eyes were wide and terrified, scanning her face like he was trying to read her every thought, every hurt.
“I’ve got you,” he said softly. “You’re okay. Just breathe.”
But she couldn’t. Her lungs refused. Her brain screamed. Her fingers clenched at her dress like it could anchor her to something real.
He sat beside her— close but not touching— and started breathing, slow and deliberate.
“In… and out,” he whispered. “You’re safe. I’m here. You’re not alone.”
She wanted to tell him to leave. That she didn’t want him to see her like this. That he should forget about what happened outside the building. That it meant nothing.
That she meant nothing.
That he didn’t have to baby her or pretend out of guilt. He could just go back to the party. To that perfect woman waiting on him. His agent who looked like she should be walking the runway.
But the words wouldn’t come. Just breathless, panicked gasps that sounded too much like crying.
Still, he stayed.
Matched his breaths to hers. Called her baby like he used to. Waited like he always did when she was scared— never pushing, never demanding.
Her heart shattered right there on the pavement.
She blinked, tears streaking hot down her cheeks.
Then everything cracked open.
She folded forward, collapsing into his arms like her body had decided for her. He caught her instantly. Wrapped himself around her like armor. His hands moved over her back, her shoulders, her hair. Soothing. Familiar. Safe.
“You’re okay,” he murmured into her hair. “You’re okay. I’ve got you.”
She didn’t fight him. Didn’t want to.
Didn’t pretend she was fine.
Didn’t pretend she didn’t still love him.
Didn’t pretend that being held by him didn’t feel like the first time she could breathe in years.
She didn’t know how long they sat there— wrapped in the quiet hum of the parking lot, the cooling pavement beneath them, her body slowly unwinding from the grip of panic.
Eventually, her breathing steadied. The tightness in her chest loosened enough to let air in without pain. Her fingers unclenched from the fabric of her dress. She didn’t move from his arms, though. Not yet. She couldn’t.
Dylan shifted first, just enough to ease back and tilt her chin with the gentlest pressure from his fingers.
“Hey,” he said softly, coaxing her gaze up.
But she kept her eyes down, or to the right, anywhere but on him. Her face was still blotchy, hot from the aftershock of the panic attack— and worse, from the embarrassment. She hated that he’d seen her like this. Again.
“Ali,” he said again, firmer this time. “Look at me.”
She did, finally. Briefly. Then her lashes dropped again, like her body betrayed her.
He stilled. And then she saw it— realization dawning in his eyes. The soft click of understanding.
“It’s not just the panic, is it?” he murmured. “You’re embarrassed.”
Her lips parted, ready to lie. To deny it. But she was too tired. Too raw. So she just gave a tiny shrug, her cheeks flaming hotter.
He moved closer, ready to reassure her— his eyes already gentle, his voice gearing up to soothe.
But she cut him off.
“What about her?”
He blinked. “Who?”
“Cali,” she said, “or whatever.”
A pause. Then he chuckled. Just a puff of air through his nose, but it was something.
“It’s Kay-Lee,” he said, smiling softly. “She’s my agent. And one of my closest friends. Nothing more.”
Ali arched a brow, skeptical. “You sure? She looked pretty comfortable following you around all night.”
Dylan huffed. “She’s actually half in love with my teammate, but they think they hate each other, so that’s gonna implode one day.”
Ali blinked. “Wait— seriously?”
He nodded. “I give it two months before someone throws a drink or they get married in Vegas.”
A surprised laugh bubbled out of her before she could stop it. She covered her mouth, cheeks still pink, but it felt… good. Lighter.
His expression shifted— softer again. Reverent, even.
“There she is,” he said, like he’d been holding his breath just to see her smile.
And for one fragile second, she let herself hold his gaze.
Let herself remember how much she used to love him looking at her like that.
Let herself wonder if maybe… he never really stopped.
Ali hesitated, chewing the inside of her cheek.
“Can I ask you something?”
Dylan nodded. “Always.”
She looked down again, picking at a loose thread near her knee. “Did I… completely screw everything up?”
“What do you mean?”
“Like you know,” she said quietly. “Back there. I shouldn’t have— I just… I didn’t know you’d follow me, and I freaked, and then you were you, and then it happened, and I ran, and—”
“Ali.”
His voice stopped her. Steady. Sure.
“You didn’t screw anything up.”
Her eyes flicked to his again, uncertain. “You’re not… seeing anyone?”
He shook his head. “No. There’s no one.”
She exhaled, tension loosening from her shoulders.
“And you?” he asked, casually at first. But his tone sharpened just slightly, revealing the truth under it. “Are you dating that guy you were with?”
She blinked. “What guy?”
“The Thor-looking motherfucker who held your arm all night.”
She burst out laughing, caught so off guard she actually snorted.
“Jason?” she wheezed. “He’s married to Ashley’s brother. Lanier? He was in your grade in school. He was literally just keeping me grounded. Ash was worried about me coming tonight. We’re all junior partners at Whitestone. I mean me and the group I’m with. We’re all coworkers.”
Dylan let out a relieved breath, shaking his head with a sheepish smile. “Well, good. I didn’t like him.”
“You don’t know him.”
“Doesn’t matter.”
Ali laughed again, this time softer, and nudged his knee with hers. “You really thought I was dating Thor?”
He grinned, his voice low. “Jealousy’s a hell of a thing.”
She smiled at that. A real one. And for the first time in a decade, it didn’t ache.
“Jason is going to freak out when I tell him Mac McKenzie thinks he looks like freaking Chris Hemsworth.”
Her phone buzzed in her lap.
She wiped her eyes quickly and glanced down. A text from Abigail.
Abigail:
We’re looking everywhere for you. You okay? Meet us at the car? We’re thinking about heading back to Honeyshore— it’s a long drive.
Ali sighed and showed Dylan the screen. “They’re ready to leave.”
He nodded, rubbing his hand across the back of his neck. “Yeah. I should probably get back inside. Duty calls.”
But just as he started to shift up from his crouch, he paused and reached for her hand.
“I’m in town for a few days,” he said, his thumb brushing over her knuckles. “Visiting family. I have every intention of seeing you again.”
Her breath caught. She opened her mouth to say no, to protect her peace, to tuck everything back in where it was safe. But something in his eyes— the steadiness, the softness— cut through the hesitation.
“I want to see you too,” she said, before she could change her mind.
She swallowed, fumbling for the next words. “I— um— I changed my number after the hospital. I just… I couldn’t—”
“You don’t have to explain anything,” he said gently, already pulling his phone from his pocket and passing it to her. “Just put it in.”
Ali stared at the unlocked screen, heart stuttering, before slowly typing in her new number. She handed it back, resisting the impulse to apologize again.
She stood up with him, brushing gravel from her palms. “You should probably head back separately. I can wait for my group here. I don’t… really want my coworkers to see us walking up together.”
Dylan’s lips curved into a crooked grin, like he wasn’t surprised in the least. “I get it.”
She turned like she was about to walk away— but he caught her wrist.
And then he kissed her.
Firm and breath-stealing, his hand cradling her jaw like he still remembered exactly how she fit. She swayed into it, heart thudding against her ribs.
When he finally pulled back, he didn’t go far. His lips hovered against hers, his breath warm.
“Goodnight, Ali,” he whispered.
And then he was gone— turning, heading back toward the banquet hall, backlit by golden light and the weight of a thousand memories.
By the time she got home, the adrenaline had worn off and left her nerves frayed and buzzing.
She kicked off her shoes by the door, peeled down her dress in the hallway, and left a trail of clothes in her bedroom. The house was quiet. Ashley must be staying at Brant’s place tonight. Good. She was too drained to talk.
The hot water stung at first, but then it soothed. Steam filled the space like a foggy cocoon as she lathered her skin, rinsed shampoo from her hair, and tried— really tried— not to think about his hands on her hips. His mouth against her throat. His cock pushing inside her.
She went through the motions of her routine. Moisturizer. Hair serum. Meds.
Her phone buzzed again— just Abigail checking if she made it home okay. Ali answered with a thumbs-up and a heart, then sank into bed.
She pulled up her Kindle app and opened the latest romantasy everyone was raving about. A smutty scene about a dark prince and a stubborn heroine and some magic-induced heat of the moment. Usually, she loved this part.
But tonight, the words blurred.
Because she could still feel him.
Dylan’s hands on her waist. His mouth catching her gasp. His body, all hard muscle and desperation, pressing her against that wall like he’d been dying to do it for a decade. She’d never felt anything like that in her life. Not even in college. Not even back then.
It had been so long.
She hadn’t been with anyone since him. Not really. Not all the way. Not like this.
She didn’t trust easily. Didn’t date seriously. She told her friends it was because she was busy. Focused. Selective. And all of that was true. But deep down, she’d always felt like if she moved on, if she gave herself to someone else— really gave herself— it would be a betrayal.
To him.
To what they had. To what they lost— because of her.
But damn… he felt so good tonight. Better than she remembered. Like her body had been waiting, quietly, for him all along.
Ali groaned softly and rolled to her side. One hand slipped beneath the covers to play with her nipples, the other into her panties.
She didn’t tease herself. Didn’t drag it out.
She was already wet. Already aching.
She slid two fingers inside herself, eyes fluttering shut. Her hips shifted. Her breath hitched.
In her mind, it was still him.
His mouth on her neck. His hand fisting in her hair. The low growl in his throat right before he’d thrust into her so hard the breath left her lungs.
Her fingers moved faster, building against the memory. The sharp press of his hips. The taste of his kiss. The way he looked at her like she was still everything.
She gasped his name.
“Dylan—”
And shattered.
Her back arched. Her toes curled. And she came hard, her cry echoing in the quiet bedroom, the sheets twisted around her thighs.
After, she lay still. Chest heaving. Heart pounding.
She didn’t feel guilty.
Not anymore.
Just warm.
Just sore.
And maybe, for the first time in a long time… a little bit hopeful.