22. Chapter 22 It’s Complicated
Dylan: December
The memory of Jenna lying naked and exposed plays on a loop in my head, torturing me in the best and worst ways. Every detail, from the beautiful tattoo on her silky skin to how she bit her lip when she moaned, is all branded in my mind.
But the closer I get to her, the harder it is to remember why I’m supposed to stay away. Our connection terrifies me. It’s a fucking volcano waiting to erupt, and instead of running, I keep stepping closer.
No more, Dylan, do you hear me? Her words from yesterday repeat in my head but my desire is more persistent.
I heard you, Jenna. That doesn’t mean I’ll obey. Frustration twists in my gut, knowing I have no right to her, but my fingers type anyway.
Only this time, I lie to myself.
Dylan: Can I record your voice so I can replay the sound of your sexy moans over and over again? Fuck, Jenna, what you do to me.
I straddle my bike and hit the throttle hard, but it’s not enough to outrun her. She’s always with me—her piercing green eyes, that green dress clinging to her curves, that cute, flustered smile when she juggles too many things in her hands. And her legs. God, those sexy long legs.
But it’s more than just physical. It’s the way she sees beyond my cocky smile and hard muscles.
Like she sees the cracks I’ve tried so hard to hide.
And somehow understands the weight I carry beneath it all.
It’s the kind of connection I’ve spent my whole damn life running from—deep, real, impossible to fake.
And now? I can’t stop messaging her when my heart wants to be seen. When it’s begging me for more of her.
Lost in thought, I miss my exit and find myself driving past Jenna’s work. My heart clenches as I park in front of the bakery across the street, pretending I’m here for the coffee and not hoping to bump into her.
My phone dings, and I jump to open it.
Jenna: What did you do to me? I can’t stop thinking about you. Wanting you. And you were right. I am unhappy. I’ve been unhappy for a long time. But I have no right to feel this way. Jacob gives me everything I need. I shouldn’t want you…
Her words rip through my chest, raw and unfiltered.
Me: I can’t stop thinking about you either. If it makes you feel any better, you left me with a goddamn boner for the last twenty-four hours.
Jenna: It does not help. Every time I close my eyes, I imagine you touching me… your hands sliding up my thighs, teasing me, making me beg. Dylan fucking Hayes. Come inside me. Right. Fucking. Now.
Jesus Christ, Jenna. Torture. Instant hard-on. I shift uncomfortably, cursing the universe for not making her mine.
Me: Fuck, you’re killing me. Cock’s throbbing. I dream of you riding me all the time. Currently bending you over in a bikini by the ocean.
Without thinking, I call her. Ten rings. She finally picks up, breath shaky.
“Meet me,” I demand, my voice rough. The need to see her burns through every nerve ending.
Silence stretches. My stomach twists, bracing for rejection.
“Meet you where?” she murmurs. “I love our friendship. And maybe I take advantage of how you make me feel like no one else, but…” Her voice breaks, and my grip hardens on the handlebars.
“I’m not an idiot,” she continues. “I know how this story ends. You win your challenge. You have sex with me. Probably a lot. And then you leave. Or worse, my family finds out and I destroy them.”
She’s right. I’m not the guy who settles down. And one night with her? It would never be enough. Because it’s not just about sex. I care about her—more than makes any goddamn sense. I’ve never felt this connected to anyone. Not like this.
But I can’t be what she needs. Not with my history. Not when I’ve never even dated the same woman long enough to meet her parents. She deserves better than me. Better than her husband. Better than the shit hand life’s thrown her way.
I steady my breath. “Let me be clear, Jenna. You’re not some challenge to conquer.
And you’re so much more than a beautiful body.
You’re fucking incredible. Your heart, your mind, your soul.
Exactly as you are.” I pause, letting it sink in.
“And for whatever reason, I talk to you more than anyone in my life. So no, I don’t want to hurt you. We can be friends. Let me prove that.”
“God, the things you do to me,” she whispers. “Am I an idiot? I believe you. I believe every word you say. You make me feel things I can’t explain. But how can you possibly prove we can be just friends?”
I smile like a damn fool. She feels it too . No matter how hard we try to fight this… our connection keeps winning. It’s like I’m seventeen again, desperate to impress the prettiest girl in school. Except this one’s married. And I’m not some kid anymore.
“Jenna…” My voice catches. “I know I’ve been sending mixed signals. But my signals are as fucked up as my past. Some days I want to walk away. Do the right thing. Other days, I just want to forget everything—forget who I was and just spend time with you.”
But not if her life goes up in flames and I’m the one holding the fucking match. Not when I have no idea if I’m even capable of being in a committed relationship.
“I know this is complicated but—”
“Complicated?” she cuts in, bitter. “It’s impossible. It’s wrong. I can’t even believe we’re having this conversation. You’re not my husband.”
The words hit hard. Because she’s right.
“No, I’m not,” I mutter. “But can you seriously look me in the eye and tell me you’re okay walking away from this? From us. Whatever the hell this is?”
She doesn’t answer.
“Because I’m not,” I say, my voice steady. “Yesterday, yeah, I was imagining being deep inside you. No strings. But today…” I breathe out slowly. “I just want more time with you. Even if it’s wrong. Even if it makes no damn sense.”
I pause, searching for more words. “So, here we are.”
“So, here we are,” she repeats, her breath heavy. “This is so messy. I hate how much I want you. But I don’t know how to stop. Fuck, I don’t even know if I want to or how to deny this pull I have towards you.”
Something in my chest twists.
“And meeting someone who feels this right? Like cosmic-level right? That doesn’t happen in real life.” She lets out a soft laugh that wrecks my heart. “You’re a freaking unicorn, Dylan.”
She swallows hard, her voice aching. “Tell me how to stop wanting you.”
Fuck.
I don’t want her to stop. I don't want to hurt her either or be the reason her life falls apart. And I don’t want to ruin her family. But I don’t know how to stop wanting her.
I try to lighten the moment and shove the ache away with a light joke. “Wait—can I be a dragon or a cobra instead?”
“Don’t.” Her voice wavers. “Don’t be cute right now. None of this makes it right. You’ve got me questioning everything—my marriage, my choices… my whole damn life.”
Emotions bleed through her words. “How do I justify that? How do we justify this?”
I get it. I feel it too. The tug of war between right and wrong. Caught between the addiction to her and the voice screaming at me to run the fuck away.
“I don’t know,” I say quietly. “I know it’s selfish, and this is probably unfair of me to ask.
But when I’m with you, the world just feels…
right. You feel right. So, don’t stop this,” I exhale.
“Meet me. No complications. No guilt. No over-analyzing. Just two people who like being near each other.”
Silence.
My stomach twists. I know I don’t do relationships. But I can’t let her go.
Finally, she breathes, “Okay.”
Raw nervous energy runs through me. “Bring your appetite. See you in an hour.”
I hang up before she changes her mind and shoot over details.
Excitement hums through me as I head to the store, like it’s my damn birthday.
I toss a few things into my basket, but doubt creeps in as I head to checkout.
By the time I get back to my motorcycle and pack everything into the saddlebags, I’m rethinking my plan, and texting her.
Me: Are you sure you want to meet?
Guilt claws at my edges, followed by father’s voice in my head, and the weight of every fuck-up I’ve ever made.
The person I could become if I cross that line.
I’ve walked this road before—obsessed, dependent.
And when it crashes, it crashes hard. But she’s a drug I don’t want to quit.
And the scariest part, I don’t even want to try.
I hold my breath, staring at the screen, waiting for her reply.
Jenna: I think that’s the wrong question…
The dots appear and my pulse hammers.
Jenna: Do I want to? Fuck yes. Really bad. Should I? Probably not. But I’ll see you soon.