Chapter 10 #4
I stood there shirtless under the buzzing streetlamp, boots planted, blood still flaking off my knuckles from the punch I’d thrown for her earlier.
The taste of lime and chocolate was still on my tongue from that kiss, but it soured fast under the weight of her glare.
Guilt chewed at my gut like bad whiskey.
She was right. I’d been so caught up in the heat of her, in the way her mouth had opened for me and her hands had grabbed on like she needed me, that I hadn’t thought twice about cracking that balcony door.
Just wanted the wet shirt out of the way, wanted air, wanted her without all the complications crashing in.
“I’m sorry,” I said again, quieter this time.
No grin. No deflection. “I fucked up. Should’ve thought.
He’s your cat. Your home. I get it.” I took a half-step toward her, hands loose at my sides, not crowding.
Not yet. “But I wasn’t blaming him. Not really.
I was just... trying to cut the tension.
You were already lighting me up in there, and then he went full tornado. I didn’t mean it like that.”
She stopped pacing. Looked at me sideways, chest still heaving, that thin shirt of hers clinging to her curves from the run and the sweat.
The envy on Rylee’s face from a minute ago flashed in my head again—how Sienna had turned it around, made me feel like the prize instead of the trash—and it twisted something deep in my chest. Made me want to pull her back against me, kiss her until the hurt smoothed out.
But she was hurting now, and it wasn’t about my ex or the bar fight or any of that.
It was about the gray furball who’d just reminded her how much she’d already lost.
“I know he hates being locked up,” she muttered, voice smaller.
“I know it’s my fault for taking him in the first place, thinking I could.
.. I don’t know, give him stability after everything.
But he’s out there alone, Mason. And I’m here with you, doing.
.. this.” She waved a hand at the space between us again, but this time it landed on my bare chest, palm flat like she couldn’t decide if she wanted to push me away or pull me closer.
Her fingers curled in, nails scraping lightly over one of the scars low on my ribs.
“God, I’m so mad at you. And I still want to climb you like a damn tree. What the hell is wrong with me?”
A rough laugh escaped me before I could stop it. Couldn’t help it. She was a goddamn storm—pissed, hurt, fiery as hell—and it only made the pull between us stronger. I caught her hand on my chest, held it there, thumb brushing her knuckles.
“Nothing’s wrong with you,” I said, voice dropping low.
“You’re allowed to be mad. Hell, I’d be pissed too.
We’ll find him. I’ll help. Flashlight, the bike, whatever it takes.
But first... you gonna let me make it up to you?
Or you want me to keep standing here shirtless while you yell some more?
‘Cause I can take it. Long as you’re looking at me like that while you do. ”
Her eyes flicked up to mine, still shiny with unshed tears but sparking again. That mix of irritation and fire I couldn’t get enough of. She didn’t pull her hand away. Instead, her fingers spread wider, tracing down the center of my abs slow enough to make my stomach tighten.
“You’re impossible,” she whispered. But she stepped in closer anyway, body brushing mine, the night air suddenly not so cool anymore. “And if Bandit gets hurt because of this...”
“I know,” I cut in, forehead dropping to rest against hers. “I’ll own it. All of it. Just don’t shut me out yet, darlin’. Not when you feel this good right here.”
She exhaled shaky against my mouth, lips inches from mine, and for a second I thought she might kiss me again.
Or slap me. With Sienna, it could go either way.
But she didn’t do either. She just stayed pressed there, the fight still humming under her skin, the hurt still raw, and me—bare-chested idiot that I was—holding on like the road ahead might actually let us figure this mess out together.
The knot in my chest? It wasn’t gone. But with her this close, mad as hell and wanting me anyway, it felt like something I could ride through. For once.
We stood there under the streetlight for another long beat, foreheads pressed together, her hand still warm on my chest. The anger and hurt over Bandit still simmered in her eyes, but so did that other thing—the pull neither of us could seem to shake.
She was a mess of fire and vulnerability, and damn if it didn’t make me want to wrap her up tighter even while she was glaring daggers at me for the whole damn night.
“Come on,” I said, voice low. “Let’s head back. We’ll grab a flashlight from your place and do another loop around the complex. He can’t have gone that far.”
Sienna nodded stiffly, but she didn’t pull away immediately.
We started walking back toward her apartment, my arm draped around her shoulders again like it belonged there.
The silence between us felt charged, heavy with everything unsaid.
Every few minutes she’d call Bandit’s name softly into the shadows, voice cracking with worry.
I hated that I’d caused it—hated the guilt chewing at my gut more than the dried blood still flaking off my knuckles.
By the time we made it back to her building, we still hadn’t found the little bastard.
The complex was quiet now, just the hum of AC units and the occasional distant car.
She let us into her apartment, the mess from Bandit’s earlier rampage still scattered across the floor—dirt from the cactus, mail everywhere, fresh claw marks on that brand-new couch.
Without a word, she walked out to the balcony, grabbed my Henley that had been drying over the railing, and thrust it at my chest.
“Here. Your shirt.”
I took it, our fingers brushing. The fabric was dry now, the blood stain mostly gone thanks to the quick scrub earlier.
I pulled it over my head, the cotton still carrying a faint trace of her scent from when she’d been pressed against me earlier.
It felt like a shitty consolation prize after the way the night had spun out.
I looked down at her, chest tight. The night had been a whirlwind—bar fight, that kiss that still burned on my tongue, her raw confession about feeling wanted, the cat escape, Rylee’s face when Sienna claimed me like I was hers.
Through all of it, one thing kept circling back in my head like a bad engine knock.
“Save me a dance at the wedding,” I said, the words coming out rough but sincere. “I’ll see you there. Just... save me one or two.”
Sienna crossed her arms, that stubborn fire flashing in her eyes again. She lifted her chin, a small, almost satisfied glint crossing her face.
“I’m already bringing a date.”
The words hit me like a sucker punch straight to the ribs.
I felt the color drain from my face, my jaw tightening as my fists clenched hard at my sides.
Jealousy roared through my veins hot and ugly, the same kind that had me swinging at that pink-polo asshole earlier.
Who the fuck was she bringing? Some clean-cut coworker like the ones from the bar?
Another guy who didn’t come with baggage and blood on his knuckles?
The thought of her on someone else’s arm—at Tank’s wedding, no less—made my stomach twist worse than the desert sun at noon.
I stepped closer, crowding her space just enough, my voice dropping into a low growl.
“Date or not, you’re still gonna save me a dance or two.”
She didn’t flinch. If anything, her expression turned a little sharper, more pleased—like she was savoring the way I’d just handed her the upper hand.
Good, let him stew, let him wonder who I’m bringing.
I didn’t have to tell him it’s my best friend, who’s a woman.
She just let it hang there between us, that secret little smirk telling me she knew exactly what she was doing.
And damn if it didn’t make me want to kiss her stupid all over again just to wipe it off her face.