Chapter 50 Rules Etched Into My Ribs
KADE
AMANDA
I need a ride home.
I look up at the building, then back at my phone. She doesn’t know I never left. I’ve been lying on my bike across from Raven’s building for the last hour and a half, just watching the lit windows and waiting.
Amanda emerges from the building, and fuck, she’s gorgeous.
Always has been, but she’s luminous now.
Less tense. The rigid set of her shoulders has loosened, and she’s not moving like she’s ready for a fight.
She stops a few feet away from me. Studies my face.
Christ, I’ve missed this. Just looking at her with her looking back at me.
“Hey,” I say.
She doesn’t respond. Just continues studying my face. Then she pulls out her phone. I glance down at the Obsess AI notification, confused. She’s standing right there. We’re having a conversation. Why is she—
I’m messaging you here from now on.
I look up at her, raising an eyebrow. “What gives?”
She doesn’t answer. Just types another message.
I’m going to give you the shot you want. One chance to start over and do this right.
Fuck. Really? She’s actually giving me a chance?
I have to grip the bike’s handlebars as the words sink in so I don’t do something stupid like falling to my knees in relief.
I want to grab her, spin her around, kiss her until she’s breathless and convinced that this is the right choice.
I want to promise her everything, swear I’ll never fuck this up again, tell her she won’t regret it.
There will be ground rules.
“Yeah, sure. Ground rules. Totally. What are they?”
She types for a while, clearly composing something comprehensive.
Rule 1: You only get to use “baby doll” five times per day. Choose wisely.
I almost laugh.
Rule 2: No showing up at my apartment uninvited. No matter how good your excuse is.
Fair.
Rule 3: You get to keep exactly one camera in my apartment. ONE. And I get to know where it is.
It’s gonna take hours to get them all down.
Shit.
Rule 4: No motorcycle rides unless I specifically ask for one. No “coincidental” right time, right place when I need transportation.
Rule 5: We take this slow. Like glacially slow. Like continental drift slow. I’m talking weeks before anything physical happens that isn’t accidental contact.
I frown at that one. Weeks? “Weeks seems a little excessive,” I say.
She glares at me and starts typing aggressively.
This isn’t a negotiation.
I hold up my hands in surrender. “No, you’re right. No worries. I fold. Whatever you want.”
She seems satisfied with that response.
Rule 6: You have to actually talk to me. Out loud. Like a normal human being. No more mysterious silent treatment.
Rule 7: If I say stop, we stop. No questions, no pushing, no trying to convince me otherwise.
Rule 8: You tell me the truth. About everything. No more lies, no more omissions, no more “protecting” me from information I have a right to know.
“Done,” I say. “Anything else?”
Rule 9: No elaborate surveillance-based romantic gestures. No renting out places I frequent, no surprise setups that require you to hack into something.
I wince. She’s calling out every romantic move I’ve made since I’ve been back in her life. “Okay, that’s fair,” I say. “But for the record, the theater didn’t require hacking. I just knew a guy who knew a guy.”
She gives me a look that clearly says that’s not better.
That’s still surveillance-based romance, Kade.
“What if I ask permission first? Like, ‘Hey, Amanda, would you be okay if I used my questionable connections to do something nice for you?’ ”
That defeats the purpose of a surprise.
“So no surprises?”
You can surprise me with normal things. Flowers. Coffee. A text that doesn’t make me question your mental health.
I can’t help but grin at that. “But my mental health is questionable at best.”
I’m aware. Moving on.
Rule 10: You have to prove that you can respect my choices even when you don’t like them. This is a trial run, not a guarantee.
“I can do that,” I say quietly. “All of it.”
Good. Right now, I want to go home, crawl into bed, and let tomorrow bring what it brings.
“Got it. Hop on, baby doll.”
That counts against your quota.
I can’t help but grin. “The reset happens tomorrow.”
She rolls her eyes but takes the helmet anyway.
The familiar ritual of her climbing onto the bike behind me feels like coming home and starting over all at the same time.
As she settles against my back, her arms wrapping around my waist, I let myself enjoy the weight of her.
The way she fits against me. The trust it takes for her to let me drive her home, even with all her rules and boundaries.
I rev the engine and pull away from the curb, but I don’t take the direct route.
I can’t help myself. I take the long way, winding through streets that add an extra ten minutes to the ride.
Every turn is an excuse to feel her lean into me, every red light a moment for her grip to tighten slightly.
She doesn’t call me out on the longer route.
Maybe she knows what I’m doing. Maybe she doesn’t care.
When I dare to graze my fingers against her hands where they’re clasped around my waist, she doesn’t pull away. When I pull her arms a little tighter against me at the next stoplight, she lets me.
It doesn’t matter how long this takes. Even if it’s another eight years, one of these days she’s going to climb onto this bike and wrap herself around me because she wants to, not because she needs transportation or because it’s convenient or because she’s giving me a chance out of some sense of fairness.
She’s going to do it because she’s mine and I’m hers and nothing else matters.
I finally pull up outside her building, killing the engine. She climbs off and hands me the helmet as I pull off mine, and for a moment we just look at each other.
Then I take a breath. “Amanda, let me take you on a real date. Tomorrow. Sunrise to sunset.”
“Kade…”
“I know we’re taking things slow. I know we’re starting over. But I also think…” I run my hand through my hair. Shit, I’m actually nervous. “I think we could have something even better if you’d give me the chance.”
“I’ll… think about it,” she finally says.
I nod slowly. “Okay, that’s fair.”
“I’m not saying no,” she blurts out quickly.
“I know.” My lips quirk in a small smile. “You’re saying you’ll think about it. Which means there’s hope. Have a good night,” I say. “Don’t forget your bedtime routine.”
She pauses, and I can see her deciding something.
Then she takes a step closer. Close enough that I can smell her perfume and see the way her lipstick has worn off except for the edges, leaving her mouth soft and natural.
I lean in, slowly, giving her every opportunity to step away.
When she doesn’t, I press my lips to her cheek.
“Good night,” I whisper against her ear.
I feel her shiver, just slightly, before she steps back. I watch her walk into the building, noting that she doesn’t look back. Noting the way she holds herself—straighter, more confident, like she’s made a decision she can live with.
As I ride home, I’m already planning. How to use my five “baby dolls” strategically. Which camera to keep and where to put it so she’ll feel safe. How to prove to her that I can follow her rules without losing myself in the process.
How to show her that the man she’s giving a chance to is worth the risk.