Chapter 13 #3
“You didn’t have to come all the way over here to clear your name,” she said.
“Maybe not.”
I leaned forward slightly on the counter.
“But I didn’t like the idea of you thinking that about me.”
She held his gaze for a second longer this time.
And something in the room shifted again.
Her shoulders softened.
Just slightly.
Like something inside her had loosened.
She set the burger back on her plate and wiped her fingers with a napkin before looking at me again.
“Thank you,” she said quietly. “For clearing the air.”
I nodded once, watching her.
She took a sip of her beer and shifted on the stool across from me.
“I just… look, we’re not actually—”
“Don’t remind me.”
The words came out before I could stop them.
Her eyes widened a little.
“Excuse me?”
I leaned forward slightly on the counter, resting my forearms on the cool marble.
“What if I don’t want it to be pretend?”
She stared at me for a second like that answer had caught her completely off guard.
Then she leaned back slowly on the stool, folding her arms loosely.
“Jalen,” she said carefully, “we can’t seriously be together.”
“Why not?”
“Because we’re from two completely different worlds.”
She gestured toward the living room, toward the city outside the windows.
“The lounge proved that.”
I shook my head.
“That’s not my entire lifestyle.”
“I know,” she said quickly. “But it’s still part of it.”
I studied her face, trying to figure out what she wasn’t saying.
“I just don’t think it’s a good idea,” she added.
Something about the way she said it felt rehearsed.
Safe.
Like she’d told herself the same thing a hundred times already.
I tilted my head slightly.
“What are you running from?”
“Nothing,” she said immediately.
Too fast.
Then she grabbed a fry off her plate like the conversation wasn’t affecting her at all.
“I just don’t mix business and pleasure.”
A slow smile pulled at the corner of my mouth before I could help it.
“So you think of pleasure when you think of me?”
Her eyes rolled, but the hint of a smile tugged at her lips.
“You know what I mean.”
Yeah.
I did.
But the way she said it didn’t sound nearly as convincing as she probably hoped.
And the more she tried to play it cool, the more I started to realize something.
She wasn’t pushing me away because she didn’t feel anything.
She was pushing me away because she did.
I stood there for a moment watching her, the way she tried to act calm while putting distance between us with those careful words.
Business and pleasure.
Different worlds.
It all sounded reasonable.
Too reasonable.
I pushed my stool back and stood.
Her body stilled the second I moved toward her.
Not scared.
Just… alert.
Like she knew exactly what I was about to do.
I stopped in front of her and gently took her hand before she could pull it away.
Her fingers were warm in mine.
I lifted her hand slowly and pressed a kiss into the center of her palm.
Then I looked up at her.
“I know you feel what I feel, Amara,” I said quietly. “We don’t have to push it away just because it feels good.”
She didn’t move.
Her eyes softened as they met mine, something vulnerable flickering across her face that she clearly wasn’t used to letting people see.
For a second it felt like the room disappeared.
Like it was just the two of us standing there in the quiet of her kitchen.
I leaned in slightly.
And right before our lips met—
Her phone rang.
She blinked like the spell had broken and pulled her hand back, grabbing her phone off the counter.
I glanced at the screen as it lit up.
Dad.
The background photo was of the two of them hugging, both smiling like they’d just told the same joke.
She let out a small embarrassed breath.
“I’m sorry,” she said quickly. “I have to take this.”
I nodded and leaned back against the counter while she stepped a few feet away.
“Hi, Dad,” she said softly.
I tried not to listen, but the kitchen was quiet enough that her voice carried.
“Yes, I’m home.”
Pause.
“Relax,” she laughed lightly. “I’m fine.”
Another pause.
“Okay. I will.”
She glanced back at me briefly.
“I’ll let someone know you said hi.”
She hung up and walked back toward me, looking a little sheepish.
“My dad says hi.”
I laughed.
“See? Dad’s approval already.”
She raised an eyebrow.
“What?”
I shrugged.
“Minus well just get married.”
She rolled her eyes immediately.
“Hush.”
I smiled.
I liked when she told me to hush.
There was something about the way she said it—half amused, half trying to stay in control—that made me want to hear it again.
She grabbed the whiskey bottle off the counter and nodded toward the balcony.
“Come on.”
We stepped outside into the night air.
The city stretched out beneath us, Houston glowing in the distance, lights scattered across the skyline.
Somewhere along the way we’d switched from beer to whiskey.
Neither of us mentioned it.
We leaned against the railing quietly, glasses in hand.
The breeze moved gently through her loose bun, a few strands of hair brushing across her face.
And the conversation we’d started inside lingered between us.
Unfinished.
But very much alive.