Chapter 2
Cal
The woman beside me laughed softly as I leaned closer, feeding her some half-interested story while my attention strayed everywhere except where it belonged. That happened a lot lately. People assumed because I was good at talking, I was actually engaged. Most times, I wasn’t.
Being the face of Houston's biggest sports podcast came with a certain level of performance. Somewhere along the way, you learned how to entertain, how to charm a room, and how to make people feel like they had your full attention even when your mind was somewhere else entirely.
And mine was definitely somewhere else tonight.
I glanced around the bar lazily, taking in the crowd while the woman beside me traced her fingers against my arm. Then, I saw her.
Nia was making her way toward the bar. She wore a pair of heels that seemed to command attention with every step, and judging by the number of men subtly straightening up as she passed, I wasn't the only one watching.
They always did. Nia possessed the kind of beauty that naturally drew the eye—tall and slim, with curves in all the right places and big curls framing her face.
She could stop conversations without even realizing it.
But more than her looks, it was her confidence that people responded to.
She carried herself like she belonged wherever she was, as though the room adjusted to her presence instead of the other way around.
The guy sitting next to her stood as she approached, and I found myself studying him immediately.
He seemed nice enough, but that was part of the problem.
Everything about him felt polished, measured, and easy to predict.
Nia was the exact opposite. She was spontaneous, stubborn, passionate, and entirely too comfortable turning a quiet night into an adventure.
She needed someone who could keep up with her.
Sitting there watching them, I couldn't help thinking this guy looked more like someone who'd spend his evening watching her than actually running beside her.
I smirked to myself.
“What’s funny?” the woman beside me asked.
“Hm?”
“You keep smiling at something.”
I leaned back slightly. “Nothing important.”
But it was. Because now Nia was laughing at something her date said, and I could already tell she was entertaining herself more than him.
I knew her too well. Many people wouldn't have noticed, but I could read her smallest habits: the slight tilt of her head when she was only half-invested, the polite laugh she used when she was trying to be nice, and the way her attention kept wandering around the room instead of settling on the man she was supposedly there to see.
Nia leaned a little closer to her date, laughing harder than whatever he said deserved while resting her hand against his chest. I nearly laughed out loud. There she was, turning the charm all the way up and putting on a performance she knew damn well I was watching.
The second she stood and headed toward the restroom, I knew I was following her.
The woman beside me touched my arm lightly. “You leaving?”
“For a second.”
Her lips curved knowingly. “Will you be back?”
I glanced toward the hallway where Nia had disappeared. “Don’t wait on me.”
By the time I reached the hallway, Nia had almost made it to the restroom. I caught her by the waist and pulled her gently off to the side. Her body melted into mine for half a second before she caught herself—a reaction that almost made me smile.
“Come on, Nia Kingsley,” I murmured near her ear. “You can do better than him.”
She rolled her eyes immediately, though she couldn't quite hide her smile. “Move, boy. I’m on a date.”
“Your date seems pretty busy.”
We both glanced back just in time to see him leaning toward another woman at the bar. Nia laughed softly.
“I don’t even know that clown’s name,” she admitted, “but I’m still not leaving with you.”
“Why?”
“Cal, we agreed months ago we couldn’t keep doing this. Did we not?”
I held her gaze. God, she looked good tonight. Annoyingly good. “I was foolish.”
That earned a soft laugh under her breath. “Whatever. Goodnight, Cal.”
She brushed past me into the restroom before I could say anything else. I leaned against the wall, waiting anyway. Because I already knew how this ended.
A few minutes later, she stepped back out. Her lip gloss was fresh, her curls fluffed slightly. And there it was—that specific look she got whenever she was trying not to give in to me.
“You're still here?”
“Obviously.”
“Persistent.”
“You like that about me.”
She rolled her eyes, but she didn’t leave.
“Ready?” I asked calmly.
She stared at me for a second, looking as if she were debating making a better decision. Then, she sighed. “Come on.”
By the time we pulled into my driveway in separate cars, the tension between us was thick enough to touch. She climbed out first, her heels clicking against the pavement while I watched her walk toward the front door like she’d done it a hundred times before. I got out and trailed behind her.
The second we stepped inside, she turned toward me. That was all it took.
I grabbed her face and kissed her hard enough to make her stumble back slightly into my chest. She kissed me back instantly with a familiarity that caught me off guard, as though whatever had been simmering between us all night had finally boiled over.
If I was being honest with myself, it had been building for much longer than that.
My hands settled at her waist while hers slipped beneath my shirt, sending a shiver through me as her fingertips brushed my skin.
In that moment, I was reminded of everything that made Nia so impossible to forget—from the way she challenged me to the way she always kept a part of herself just out of reach, no matter how many times we found our way back to each other.
That’s what made her different. Most women eventually wanted something from me, whether it was more attention, more time, exclusivity, or a clearer definition of where things were headed.
Nia never asked for any of it. Somehow, her ability to simply exist in my life without demands made me want to give her the things she never requested.
I pulled her closer, breathing in the familiar scent of her perfume as I brushed slow kisses along the side of her neck. The way her hands gripped my shoulders made it impossible to think about anything else.
“You always act like you don’t want me,” I muttered against her skin.
She laughed softly. “Stop being dramatic.”
We made our way upstairs slowly, stopping every few feet because neither of us could keep our hands to ourselves long enough to actually walk straight. By the time we reached my bedroom, her curls had fallen around her shoulders and my shirt had long since been abandoned downstairs.
The rest of the night slipped away in a blur of stolen kisses, quiet laughter, and lingering touches.
Everything with Nia felt intense without either of us trying to make it that way, and that was the dangerous part.
It had never really been just about the physical connection.
It was the way a simple conversation could steal hours without either of us noticing, the way one look could completely shift my mood, and the way she occupied space in my mind long after she was gone.
Hours later, she finally lay against my chest, her breathing slowed while my fingers traced absent circles against her back. I stared up at the ceiling quietly.
I already knew what tomorrow morning would look like.
I could practically see the sunlight creeping through the curtains, feel the cool, empty sheets beside me, and wake up to the familiar reality of finding her side of the bed vacant again.
I could already hear the phantom sound of my front door clicking shut before I even opened my eyes, signaling another quiet exit before sunrise.
That was our pattern. It always had been. But as I stared into the dark, listening to the steady rhythm of her breath, I wondered how much longer I could keep pretending it was enough.