Chapter 25
Alexis
Last night was… yeah, last night was a lot.
I turn onto my side, stretching slowly as Marvel nudges closer, his warm body pressing into mine like he knows I’m awake. A small smile pulls at my lips before I can stop it.
The memories come back in pieces, slow and vivid.
The rain.
His hands.
That kiss.
God .
I press my face into the pillow for a second, letting out a quiet breath.
I never knew a kiss could feel like that, good and exciting, yes, but more than that… consuming. Like it reached inside me and rewired a part of me I didn’t even know was there.
I get up, shower, and dress for my shift, but my mind keeps drifting back to him. To the way he looked at me, like I wasn’t temporary, like I wasn’t something that would disappear the moment things got hard.
When I stop in front of the mirror, my fingers hover over my lips.
Still a little swollen.
Heat creeps up my neck as my stomach flips at the memory.
Marvel is already waiting by the door, tail wagging, ready for breakfast, but when I reach for the handle, I hesitate.
What if he changed his mind?
What if last night was just… heat?
What if I tell him I’ve never… and he looks at me differently?
I close my eyes briefly and shake my head.
No.
I can’t run from something before it even begins.
I open the door and the smell hits me first.
Coffee. Something sweet.
Then I see him.
Dex stands at the stove, flipping pancakes, his back to me, hair still damp from the shower. His shoulders shift with easy strength, muscles moving under his skin with each motion, controlled and effortless in a way that pulls my attention before I can stop it.
I shouldn’t stare.
I do anyway.
There’s something about him like this, quiet, focused, completely unaware of me for just a second, that settles something in my chest.
He turns. His eyes find mine instantly.
And just like that, everything from last night crashes back into me so hard my breath catches.
“Hi,” I say softly.
That smirk forms slowly, like he knows exactly what he’s doing just by looking at me.
His gaze drifts over me, unhurried, taking his time in a way that makes my skin warm under it before returning to my eyes.
He turns the stove off without breaking eye contact.
Then he walks toward me like there’s no stopping him now.
My breath slows as he stops in front of me, close enough that I can feel the heat of him, his scent wrapping around me again, already familiar in a way that shouldn’t be possible after just one night.
“Hello, Tinker.”
His voice is low, rough in a way that settles deep in my chest.
“Hello, Pan,” I answer, trying for a smirk even as my pulse picks up.
He huffs a quiet laugh, but his eyes don’t leave mine. Not for a second.
His hand comes up slowly, brushing a loose strand of hair from my face, his fingers lingering just long enough to make my breath hitch.
Like he’s making sure I’m still here.
Then he leans in and kisses me.
There’s no urgency, no desperation… just heat and intention.
My hands come up instinctively, settling against his chest, feeling the steady rise and fall beneath my palms as his hand slides to my waist, grounding me there.
When he pulls back, it’s only slightly, his forehead resting against mine, both of us breathing a little heavier than we should be for something so slow.
“Morning,” he murmurs.
A soft smile tugs at my lips.
“Morning.”
The moment lingers.
Dex pulls back just enough to look at me, his thumb brushing over my cheek like he hasn’t quite decided he’s done touching me yet.
I don’t move. I’m not even sure I could if I tried.
“You gonna keep staring at me like that all morning?” I ask softly, aiming for teasing but missing by a mile.
His mouth curves.
“Depends,” he says, voice still rough with sleep and something deeper. “You gonna keep looking like you did last night?”
Heat blooms under my skin instantly.
“You’re impossible,” I murmur.
“Yeah,” he says easily. “But you like it.”
I don’t even try to deny it.
He steps back then, finally putting space between us, but the air doesn’t settle. If anything, it stretches tighter.
“Sit,” he says, nodding toward the counter. “Before I forget I was making breakfast.”
I slide onto the stool, tucking one leg under me, watching him move around the kitchen like he belongs there.
He plates the pancakes, pours coffee, and sets everything in front of me like it’s second nature. And the whole time, I feel it. That awareness. The way his attention keeps drifting back to me, like he’s checking I’m still there.
“You gonna eat,” he says, “or just sit there thinking about last night?”
“I’m eating,” I say quickly.
His brow lifts. “Uh-huh.”
“You’re staring again.”
“And you’re blushing.”
“That’s your fault.”
“Yeah,” he says, quiet now. “I’m starting to notice that.”
I take a bite just to give myself something to do, but it doesn’t help. Not when I can still feel him watching me.
“You always this quiet in the morning?”
“No.”
“Then what is it?”
I hesitate, staring at my plate.
“I’m just… trying to figure out if this is real.”
“It is.”
Simple. Certain.
My fingers tighten slightly around the fork.
“There are things you don’t know about me yet.”
“Then tell me.”
I exhale slowly.
“You know what Russel tried to do to me.”
His posture shifts, subtle but sharp.
“Yeah.”
“I’ve dated. I’ve kissed people. But…”
I swallow.
“I never trusted anyone enough to let it go further.”
Silence.
“I’m still a virgin.”
The words hang there.
He doesn’t react right away, doesn’t flinch, doesn’t look away.
Then he steps closer.
His hands come up, warm and steady, cupping my face and making me look at him, his thumbs brushing lightly over my cheeks.
“That’s nothing to be embarrassed about.”
My breath catches.
“And it doesn’t change a damn thing.”
Something in me finally loosens.
“And until you’re ready…” His hand runs over my neck, soft, caring. “I’m more than good right here.”
My chest tightens. “I’m sorry I have all this baggage,” I whisper.
“Don’t.” His voice is immediate. Firm.
“Don’t apologize for that. Ever.”
His forehead rests against mine again.
“You fought,” he murmurs. “And you’re still here.”
My throat tightens.
“And I’m not going anywhere.”
Something settles deep inside me.
When he kisses me again, it’s soft… and I feel it all the way through me.
The bar is slow this morning.
Sunlight pours through the front windows in long golden streaks, catching on dust motes and the polished wood of the tables. It feels quieter than usual, like the whole town decided to take advantage of the weather instead of sitting inside with coffee and eggs.
I don’t mind.
It gives me space to breathe.
I move between tables, dropping off plates, refilling coffee, wiping down surfaces that don’t really need it just to keep my hands busy. But even like this… I feel it.
That awareness.
It’s what makes me look up.
Dex is behind the bar, leaning back against the counter, arms crossed loosely over his chest. That smirk is already in place, like he’s been watching me longer than I realized.
His eyes move over me slowly, not even trying to hide it.
I raise a brow.
His smile deepens.
Heat curls low in my stomach as I turn away, grabbing a cloth and heading behind the bar, pretending I’m focused on anything but him.
I barely make it around the counter before his hand catches my waist. I don’t even have time to react before he pulls me into him.
“Dex…”
But the protest dies the second his mouth finds mine.
It’s quick, but it still steals my breath just the same. His hand slides into my hair, tilting my head just enough to deepen it for a second before he pulls back, his lips brushing mine as he murmurs, “I needed some sugar.”
My fingers curl into his shirt without thinking, my eyes lifting to his, and for a second I forget where we are.
This man…
“Get your hands off her!”
The words hit like a shot, and I jump back, my heart lurching into my throat as I turn toward the door and find Mason standing there, shoulders squared, jaw tight, his eyes locked on Dex.
“Who the fuck are you?” Dex’s voice drops, rough and sharp, his body already shifting in front of me in a way that feels instinctive, like he’s putting himself between us without even thinking about it.
“Mason!” I step forward quickly, placing myself between them before this can turn into something worse, and even without looking, I can feel Dex behind me, still, watching, waiting.
“Her brother,” Mason growls, his eyes running over Dex, taking in everything, the way he stands, the way he holds himself, the hand that had been on my hip, and I see his jaw tighten.
I lift my hand and press it lightly against his chest before he gets too close.
“Mason… let’s talk, okay?”
His gaze flicks from me to Dex and back again, something sharp and protective settling there.
“Rocket,” he mutters.
“Not now,” I say softly.
“You got some explainin’ to do, Rocket.”
Yeah… I do.
I guide him to one of the tables, the scrape of chairs louder than it should be in the quiet bar as we sit, and before I can even ask anything, Dex is there, setting down sodas and a plate of nachos without a word, like he’s already decided Mason belongs here because he belongs to me.
Mason notices.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, really looking at him now, at the way he’s changed, broader, sharper, older.
“I missed you, Rocket.”
My chest tightens.
“I missed you too.”
He leans back, but the tension doesn’t leave him.
“Yeah, well… imagine getting a call at one in the morning from our mother telling me you’re whoring yourself out at a rodeo bar.”
The words land hard.
“Mase, you know not to trust a word that comes out of her mouth.”
“I do. But you’re all I’ve got left.”
That hits deep.
“When did you grow up and become someone I’m actually proud of?” I murmur.
He exhales.
“She saw you, didn’t she? Something happened.”
“She came by last night.”
“Where do you live?”
“Above the bar.”
“With him?”
“Yeah.”
“I want the whole story.”