Chapter Nineteen
Hayden
Tennessee Whiskey
Chris Stapleton
I hold out a hand. “Come on.”
She slips her fingers into mine without hesitation. “Where are we going?”
“Outside.”
“It’s cold.” She shakes her body in a mock shiver.
“I noticed.” I grin before tugging her into my arms. “I’ll keep you warm.”
“You always do.”
I kiss her once, and then bundle her up with one of my scarves over her coat before I lead her toward the door.
The lakefront wind hits hard when we step outside, cutting sharp enough that Vanessa pulls her coat tighter around her body.
I shift closer without thinking, blocking the worst of it as we start walking along the path.
She notices. I know she does. But this time, she doesn’t call it out.
Instead, she moves closer, and that feels like a victory I haven’t earned but claim as one anyway.
We walk for nearly an hour, the city stretching around us in late October color with bare branches beginning to show through thinning leaves.
Waves break hard against the concrete edge of the lake.
Other couples bundled up in heavy coats.
Dogs pulling at leashes. And the sky darkening into the evening gray that comes too early this time of year.
Conversation comes and goes. We talk about music, the museum, her cat, the band and have an intense debate over whether good deep-dish pizza is truly a thing here in Chicago or if it’s just a tourist trap.
She insists it’s amazing and worth any amount of money one comes here to spend on it.
“It’s not.” I shake my head firmly as I oppose her belief. “It’s a casserole with ambition.”
“That’s offensive.” She scoffs, tugging at my hand in mock anger.
“It’s accurate.” I laugh out loud, surprised by her passion on this subject.
She looks over at me when I do, something warm and startled crossing her face. I notice and stop mid-laugh, my brow furrowing. “What?”
“It’s nothing.” She assures me with a gentle smile.
“That wasn’t nothing.”
Her smile turns soft enough to make me nervous. “I like when you laugh.”
The words hit me square in the chest and I look away to stare out at the lake. Not because I don’t like hearing it, but because I realize I like it too. I squeeze her hand as we continue walking, unable to form a verbal response.
We find a small restaurant tucked a few blocks from my building, warm and narrow, with low lighting, a good wine list, and food that makes Vanessa close her eyes for half a second after the first bite. I watch her do it.
She opens one eye. “Don’t.”
“I didn’t say anything.” I defend on a crooked smile.
“You look awfully smug.” She points her fork at me.
“Just admit that I chose well.”
“You chose pasta, Hayden.”
“And yet.” I cock my head knowing I’m correct.
She grins over at me and shakes her head. “You and that dangerous confidence.”
“You like confidence.”
“I like it in controlled doses.”
That smile again. That terrifying ease.
By the time we walk back to my building, the sky has gone fully dark, city lights reflecting against the windows above us.
I should take her upstairs. I know that.
I’ve been aware of it since halfway through dinner, since she licked wine from her bottom lip and nearly ended my ability to behave in public.
Instead, when the elevator opens, I press the button for the amenity floor.
Vanessa glances at me. “Not your apartment?”
“Not yet.”
Her brow arches. “That sounds ominous.”
“It’s recreational.”
“And that sounds dangerous.”
The game room is empty when we step inside, all dark wood, leather seating, a wall of backlit bottles, and a pool table centered beneath a low-hanging brass fixture. The city stretches beyond the windows, lights glittering against the black reflection of the glass.
Vanessa stops in the doorway, taking it in. “Of course, your building has this.”
“Jealous?”
“Of the pool table? No.” She turns to me and grins. “Of the whiskey wall? Slightly.”
I cross to the bar and pour two drinks from one of the nicer bottles, handing one to her before selecting a cue from the rack.
“Do you play?”
She takes the glass, eyes moving from the cue to me. “A little.”
“That means no.”
“Or it means I’m about to hustle you.” She flashes me a wicked smile.
I almost smile back. “Rack them.”
She does know enough to make the first game interesting. Either that or she’s pretending not to know more. With Vanessa, it could be either.
The whiskey warms the room around the edges, turning the day into something slower, heavier. She misses two easy shots, sinks one impossible one, and gives me an innocent look afterward that tells me exactly how innocent she isn’t.
“You lied.”
She leans over the table to line up another shot, dark hair sliding over one shoulder. “About what?”
“Playing a little.”
“I said a little. I didn’t specify how much of a little.” She shrugs like it’s nothing.
“That’s not how words work.”
“It’s how mine work.”
She misses. Deliberately. I know it before the cue ball even stops rolling.
“You missed.” I observe, sliding my thumb across my mouth.
“I know.”
My gaze lifts to hers. She’s smiling. Not wide. Not obvious. Just enough to make every muscle in my body tighten.
“You’re doing that on purpose.”
“Doing what?”
“Distracting me.”
Vanessa straightens with slow, deliberate precision, her cue resting against her hip. “Is it working?”
“Yes.”
She doesn’t even bother to hesitate, and her smile deepens into something more sinister. Christ. I set my glass down and move behind her as she bends to take her next shot and slide one hand over hers on the cue and the other against her hip.
Her body stills into awareness as I whisper into her ear. “You’re holding it wrong.”
“Am I?” her voice a little breathless.
I lean closer, chest brushing her back as I adjust her grip, my mouth staying close to her ear. “You don’t sound concerned.”
“I’m trying to focus.”
“I don’t think it’s working.”
Her breathing changes. It’s slight, but it’s enough for me to know what I’m doing to her.
I guide her into position, my hand still over hers, my body aligned with hers as she bends lower.
It would be easy to turn this into something more, so damn easy.
But I don’t. I wait and let her make the choice.
Vanessa’s head turns just enough for her cheek to almost brush mine. “You’re being very restrained.”
“I’m trying something new.”
Her laugh is soft, but carries the slightest tremble to it. “How’s that working out for you?”
“I’m not sure it is.”
She purses her lips and then takes the shot. She misses. Again. And this time, I don’t think it was on purpose. I straighten, but I don’t move away. Vanessa turns within the cage of my body, her back up against the table, eyes bright and dark all at once.
“Your turn.”
I look down at her mouth. “I think I want to play a new game.”
“What about this one?”
“I forfeit.” I concede the loss because I know ultimately, it will be a win for me.
“Well, that’s a shame.”
“Not really.” I arch a brow.
“Why’s that?” Her curiosity peaking as I take a step closer, her chin lifting so that she can keep her eyes locked on mine.
The teasing fades. Not because the mood breaks, but because it deepens. I lean in even closer, lifting a hand to grasp onto her chin to angle her head more. “Because the winner gets whatever she wants.”
Her fingers slide up the front of my sweater, curling into the fabric. “I think you know exactly what I want.”
That’s all it takes. I kiss her against the edge of the pool table, slow at first, then not slow at all once her mouth opens beneath mine and her hands slide into my hair. I lose myself in the taste of the whiskey and the warmth of her. The cue clatters somewhere behind us. Neither of us cares.
By the time I lift her onto the edge of the table, her legs are wrapped around my waist and her laughter has turned into something softer, breathier, more dangerous.
“Hayden.”
My name from her lips that still threaten to ruin me. I drag my mouth down the side of her neck, hands gripping her thighs as she arches into me.
“We should go upstairs.”
“We should.” I don’t stop the trail of kisses I’m currently peppering up her neck, and she laughs against my mouth when I kiss her again, and the sound is so easy, so happy, so completely unguarded that something inside me goes still.
This. This is what I didn’t know how to give her before. Not the desire or devotion, but the room and space she needed to make her own choices. I pull back enough to look at her. Her smile fades as she reads whatever has changed in my face.
“What?”
I brush my thumb along her cheek. “Nothing.”
“Hayden.”
I shake my head once, soft. “I’m just happy.” The words come out before I can stop them.
Vanessa’s expression breaks open in the smallest way, emotion flickering through her eyes before she leans in and kisses me again. It’s gentler this time, like she knew how hard it was for me to admit that.
The elevator ride upstairs is unbearable, and charged with a tension that’s just short of sparking into an inferno.
Vanessa stands close enough that every shift of the elevator feels like another excuse for her body to brush mine, whiskey still warm between us, her lipstick smudged from my mouth against hers.
My hand rests low against her back. Possessive by instinct. Gentler by choice. She glances up at me once as the elevator climbs, and whatever she sees in my expression makes her mouth curve up.
“You’re staring again.”
“I’m thinking.” I advise with a smirk.
“That’s always dangerous.”
“You’re about to find out how dangerous.”
The elevator doors open before I can show her more. I grasp her fingers in mine and lead her down the hallway toward my apartment while both of us pretend there’s still a shred of restraint left between us.
There isn’t. The second the apartment door closes behind us, Vanessa’s mouth is on mine again.
Hungry in that slow deliberate way that destroys my ability to think.
My hands slide into her hair while I walk her backward through the apartment, kissing her hard enough that her laugh catches somewhere between breathless and wrecked.
Her coat hits the floor first. Then mine. Boots abandoned near the hallway. My sweater dragged over my head while she kisses down my throat, fingertips already working impatiently at the button of my jeans, her hand wrapping around my length in a tight grip. God help me.
“Bedroom,” I manage roughly against her mouth.
“Yes.” Her word a single pant as she nods. We make it halfway down the hallway before I press her against the wall again. Because apparently, I’ve lost all remaining self-control tonight.
Vanessa laughs when I kiss her neck, fingers curling into my hair while my hands slide beneath her shirt, skin warm and impossibly soft beneath my palms. Clothing disappears piece by piece after that, scattered behind us in a trail through the apartment like neither of us can move fast enough anymore.
My t-shirt. Her sweater. Jeans. A flash of lace.
And then, bare skin. Every inch of her I uncover feels like rediscovery all over again.
By the time we reach the bedroom, both of us breathing harder now, Vanessa’s legs wrap around my waist the second I lift her.
Like she remembers exactly how we fit together. Like maybe she never forgot either.
I lower her onto the bed, city lights spilling silver-blue through the windows behind her while her hair fans across my sheets. Her eyes stay locked on mine with that same terrifying openness that keeps undoing me over and over again.
For one suspended second, neither of us moves. Then she reaches for me.
And I go willingly.