Chapter 22 – Tessa
Chapter Twenty-Two
Tessa
Isnuck away.
Technically, I went to “walk Waffles,” which is only partially a lie because he did need to pee, but mostly, I just couldn’t take one more minute of trust falls, paddle instructions, or Chad screaming about teamwork. I especially couldn’t take Rowan and his almost kisses.
So, I bailed.
By the time I reach the suite, Waffles is already waiting by the door, tail thumping against the door. He looks up at me expectantly, and for once, I’m glad someone in this building wants something simple.
“Come on,” I say, clipping on his leash. “Let’s take a walk before I lose what’s left of my patience.”
The hallway is quiet except for the soft thump of my shoes on the floor. The sound is steady and familiar, and I make it halfway down the hall before I hear another rhythm join mine.
I don’t need to turn around to know who it is. My body reacts before my brain catches up. My shoulders tense, and my jaw sets tight.
“Mind if I join you?” Rowan’s voice breaks the quiet. It’s calm, even, too careful to be casual.
Of course, he followed. He always does.
I don’t slow down. “I didn’t realize you asked permission.”
He falls into step beside me, close enough that I can feel the heat radiating off him but not close enough to touch. Waffles trots between us, tail flicking back and forth, oblivious to the tension hanging in the air.
“Don’t forget, you promised you’d stick this out,” he says.
“I said I’d fake date you,” I answer. “And I will until we drown or the weekend ends, whichever comes first.”
He exhales through his nose, steady but irritated. “Don’t be cute.”
“Too late.”
The silence that follows isn’t peaceful. It hums beneath my skin. Every step echoes off the hardwood, filling the space between us with a rhythm that feels too loud.
Waffles stops to sniff the edge of the baseboard, completely unconcerned with the argument happening above him. I keep my eyes ahead, focused on nothing.
Rowan’s stride matches mine. I can feel his attention and his temper. It presses close without ever touching.
I tell myself to ignore it. To keep walking.
But my pulse is already betraying me.
The almost mistake I can’t stop replaying. The moment I let myself lean back into him when I should’ve stepped away.
I should say something.
He should say something.
But we don’t.
Not until we’re outside.
The path runs along the bay, narrow and lined with damp wood planks. Waffles pulls on the leash, nose to the ground, happy to exist without pressure or pretense. I envy that.
Rowan walks beside me, hands in his pockets, face unreadable. He’s too calm, the kind of calm that means he’s holding something back.
“You almost kissed me,” he says finally.
I let out a short, sharp laugh. “Pretty sure you almost kissed me.”
“You didn’t stop me.”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” I say, stopping short and turning toward him. “Was that your idea of a test? See how far you could push before I remembered you’re the same arrogant bastard who used to circle my class notes in red pen?”
His jaw tightens. “It wasn’t a test.”
“No? Then what was it?” My voice rises before I can stop it. “Strategy? Some power play to remind me who’s in control?”
Waffles tugs at the leash, ears flicking. I bend to give him more room, mostly so I don’t have to look at Rowan.
“I shouldn’t have done it,” he says quietly.
“Great,” I say. My voice comes out flat. “Thanks for the post-game summary.”
He drags a hand through his hair, the movement tight. “You think this is easy for me?”
I straighten. “You think I care?”
His eyes lift to mine, and the air shifts.
We’re standing too close. The wind off the bay cuts through the space between us, but it doesn’t cool anything. His eyes are dark and unreadable. I can’t tell if he’s angry or fighting something else entirely.
“You left me,” he says quietly. “Don’t act like I’m the villain.”
“I’m not,” I lie. “I’m indifferent. There’s a difference.”
“No, Whitmore.” His voice drops again. “There’s not.”
My chest aches.
I hate him.
I miss him.
Waffles sneezes and starts eating a stick.
“Can we go back?” My voice comes out thin.
Rowan nods once then starts walking. His steps are long and even, and impossible to keep up with. I fall in beside him because that’s what we do—move together even when we shouldn’t. He doesn’t touch me, but his silence presses against every nerve in my body.
By the time we reach the main house, my jaw hurts from keeping it shut. My pulse hasn’t settled since he said you almost kissed me. His expression hasn’t changed, but something about him feels harder now—sharper, quieter.
The floor echoes under our steps, each one sounding louder than it should. The air inside is cooler, and cleaner. Waffles trots ahead, tail swinging.
I focus on him. The leash in my hand. The rhythm of his paws against the floor. Anything that isn’t Rowan’s breathing beside me.
At our door, Rowan slides in the keycard.
The moment we step inside, the space feels tight. The suite isn’t small—it just feels that way now. There’s nowhere to stand that isn’t too close.
The door shuts behind us, and the silence gets heavier.
“Do you want to fight or just sulk in silence?” I ask. My tone’s steadier than I feel. “Because I can do either. I just don’t have the energy to guess.”
Rowan bends to untie his shoes. “You’re the one who ran off,” he says. “Don’t act like I’m the one causing a scene.”
I turn to face him. “Was I supposed to stay and sit through another round of forced fun while Camden talked about his crypto portfolio and you pretended you didn’t almost shove your tongue down my throat?”
His jaw flexes. “I didn’t pretend anything.”
The air snaps between us. “You almost kissed me,” I say, my chest tight. “You had no right.”
He steps forward. “I almost kissed you because I wanted to.”
“Oh,” I say. “Well, then, I guess that makes it fine.”
Another step. The space between us shrinks. My pulse jumps.
“Don’t act like you didn’t want it, too.”
I stop breathing.
Because he’s right.
And I hate that he’s right.
My heartbeat fills the quiet, steady and loud enough that I know he can hear it, too. I can’t look away from him, and I don’t know if it’s defiance or something much worse.
Everything in me feels pulled tight. My body says step back, but my heart says don’t.
“That’s not the point,” I say, quieter now. “Wanting something doesn’t mean it’s not a mistake.”
His eyes flicker enough to set off the part of me that still reads him too easily.
“Then maybe we should stop making the same one.”
It’s not what he says. It’s how calm he sounds saying it.
Something in me breaks. Not loud—just a small, quiet snap that leaves me too aware of every inch between us.
I move first.
Maybe to prove him wrong. Maybe because I’m tired of pretending I can.
My fists curl at my sides, nails pressing into my palms. I lift my chin and step into his space. “Then stop looking at me like that.”
“How?” His voice is lower now, rougher.
“You know how.”
His eyes drop to my mouth and stay there. I feel the air shift, the space between us shrinking until every breath feels borrowed.
“Tessa,” he warns, voice tight. “Don’t.”
But I’m already too close.
And he’s already too far gone.
His hand finds my waist, firm and unrelenting. My back hits the wall, and the sound is softer than the rush in my chest. Then his mouth is on mine.
The kiss isn’t gentle. It’s everything we’ve tried not to say, shoved into motion. My hands go to his shoulders, fingers digging in. His grip tightens at my hips, pulling me closer until I stop thinking and start feeling. He kisses me like he’s mad at himself for wanting to.
When we break for air, we stay close.
“This is stupid,” I whisper, but I don’t move.
“Completely,” he mutters, his nose brushing mine.
“You don’t even like me.”
“Doesn’t mean I don’t want you.”
The sound that leaves me is small and humiliating. He hears it, and growls, catching my mouth again, but rougher this time.
I fist his shirt, feeling the steady pulse under his skin. He lifts me easily, his hands sliding to my thighs. I wrap my legs around him before I can think about it.
“I hate this,” I say against his mouth.
“Same,” he breathes, and kisses me again.
This time, there’s no pretending. Just heat, surrender—all tangled together until I can’t tell which of us gave in first.
His grip shifts with one hand sliding under my thigh, the other up my back.
My legs tighten around him. The wall is cold against my shoulders, but his body is heat and pressure.
We kiss like we’ve run out of other ways to fight.
It’s not careful. It’s rough. It’s the kind of contact that burns straight through every excuse we’ve been using to stay apart.
His hands move before I can answer. One slides under my shirt, fingers finding skin and heat. The other grips my thigh, squeezing hard. He breathes against my neck, jaw tight, every muscle fighting restraint.
I arch against him, not because I mean to, but because I can’t not. His mouth finds mine again, deeper this time. His tongue brushes mine, patient at first, then demanding. He knows exactly how I respond—what sound I make when he presses harder, how my breath catches when he changes the angle.
I pull his hair. He bites my lip. The noise that leaves me isn’t a gasp—it’s a surrender I didn’t plan.
He growls against my mouth.
I hate that I still want him. I hate that I remember the way he used to touch me, and what it meant, and what it didn’t. My body doesn’t care about any of it. It just moves, desperate to close the gap his words always leave open.
He presses his hand flat to my stomach, his fingers dragging upward. “You sure you want this?” he asks, voice rough, almost begging for me to stop.
“No,” I whisper, tugging him closer anyway. “But I’m already halfway gone.”
He kisses me again, harder and less patient. My back hits the wall with more force, and I don’t care. All I care about is the sound of his breath and the way his body moves against mine. His hips grind once, and I lose every coherent thought I had left.
“This is a mistake,” he says, mouth still on mine.
“Absolutely.”
But neither of us stops. His hand finds my breast, thumb brushing once, twice. The sound I make isn’t polite. My fingers twist in his shirt, pulling him closer until I can’t tell which heartbeat is mine.
He kisses me like he’s starving.
And just when it starts to spiral, when it’s too much to take back—
A knock sounds at the door.
We freeze.
Breathing hard. Skin flushed. Still close enough that one wrong move would start it again.
He lowers me slowly, and when my feet touch the ground, my legs barely hold. Another knock, this time louder.
I look up at him, chest heaving. “What now?”
Rowan runs a hand through his hair, his other hand still balled in a fist at his side. He looks wrecked. Controlled, but wrecked. If he opens that fist, I know exactly where it’ll go—back to me.
“Fuck me,” he says under his breath.
The knock comes again.
“Rowan…”
He turns toward the door, but I catch his arm. “Wait, I—”
It’s not about the door. It’s about the line we just blurred again. About how fast we fall into this no matter how many times we swear we won’t. If someone’s at that door, this ends, and we go back to pretending we’re fine.
His eyes meet mine—dark, and still hungry.
“We fucked up,” he says quietly.
His voice says one thing, but his body says another.
And right now? I don’t know which one I believe.