Chapter 17
Hadley
Rob Cray just fucked me stupid.
He ruined me. In the best way, of course, but still.
There are no other words for it.
My body is humming, still buzzing, like every nerve ending got flipped on and hasn’t figured out how to shut off yet.
I feel loose and heavy and alive in a way I don’t think I’ve ever felt before.
And it’s all because of him.
The way he touches me.
The way he looks at me.
Like I’m something worth taking his time over.
Like I’m not something he settled for.
Not something to rush through or get past.
I press my palms against the cool marble of his bathroom counter, staring at myself in the mirror—and it’s almost disorienting.
Because I know what I look like.
I’ve always known.
Soft.
Full.
Curves that don’t hide.
Skin that moves when I do.
And right now?
That same skin is flushed, marked in places where his hands lingered, where his mouth traced, where he held me like I was something he didn’t want to let go of.
And I—I don’t look wrong.
That’s the part that gets me.
Because I’ve spent years being told—sometimes outright, sometimes in those quiet, cutting ways that linger longer—that this body was something to fix.
Too much here.
Too soft there.
Too… something.
Never just right.
I have two sisters.
Tall. Thin. Effortless.
The kind of beautiful that doesn’t get questioned. The kind people expect. The kind my mother wears like a badge of honor.
They take after her.
Perfect posture. Perfect smiles. Perfect lives.
And me?
I’ve always felt like the outlier. The one who didn’t quite fit the mold no matter how hard I tried to squeeze myself into it.
I stare at my reflection, my throat tightening as old memories creep in, uninvited and unwelcome.
When I found out Judd was cheating on me, I didn’t call a friend.
I called my mother.
God, I was so stupid.
I can still hear her voice—calm, measured, like she was discussing the weather instead of the fact that my heart had just been ripped out.
“He probably needed something different to keep his interest.”
Like it was reasonable.
Like it made sense.
Like it was… my responsibility.
“You should forgive him, Hadley. And maybe put a little more effort into your appearance.”
I squeeze my eyes shut for a second.
Yeah.
My mother said that.
And the worst part?
For half a second…
I believed her.
I stood there in my apartment in New York, holding my phone, feeling like everything inside me had just collapsed.
And I thought—maybe she’s right.
Maybe there is something wrong with me.
Something fundamental. Something unfixable.
Something that makes it impossible for anyone to stay.
Because who would choose this?
Who would choose me when there are easier options? Prettier options? Less complicated options?
My chest tightens, and I press my hand against the counter to steady myself.
But then I remember.
I left.
I left Judd.
I left the apartment.
I left the life that was slowly convincing me I was something to settle for instead of something to be chosen.
And I stopped answering my mother’s messages.
Because I deserved better than that.
I knew I did.
Even if I didn’t fully believe it yet.
Now I’m here.
In this house.
In this bathroom that looks like something out of a dream, all blue glass tile and light and reflection.
And I’ve just been with a man who looks at me like—like I’m not something to fix.
Like I’m something to want.
And he sure wanted me. I mean, we had sex.
Really good sex.
Twice.
My lips part slightly as that realization settles in.
Twice.
And not once did he hesitate.
Not once did he look at me like he was settling.
Not once did he rush past me like I was something to get through instead of something to experience.
My Bear stirs, pleased.
Mate, she whispers, full of certainty I don’t share.
I swallow hard.
Because I don’t know.
I don’t know if Date to Mate is real.
If the Fates actually got it right.
If Rob is it.
My Bear thinks so.
But she’s been wrong before.
And I—I don’t think I could survive being wrong again like that.
I drag in a shaky breath, my gaze dropping, then lifting back to the mirror.
To myself.
To the woman I’m still trying to understand.
“Get it together,” I whisper.
Because this?
This is dangerous.
Not the way he touches me.
Not the way he makes me feel.
But the way I might start to believe him.
Because if I let myself lean into that, even a little—I might not be able to stop.
Not the physical part.
That? That I can handle.
It’s the rest.
The way I feel.
The way my chest tightens when I think about how he looked at me.
Nope. Not going there.
Not tonight.
I straighten, lifting my chin a little, trying to shake off the swirl in my head—and that’s when I hear it.
A knock.
Soft.
Followed by the door opening before I can answer.
I freeze.
I see him in the mirror first.
Standing there in the doorway.
Big.
Solid.
And, oh Gods—gulp—naked.
Completely at ease in his own skin.
His gaze lands on me—and doesn’t move.
It drags.
Slow.
Intent.
Taking me in like he’s memorizing me all over again.
And the way his eyes go heavy?
Hooded?
It sends a fresh wave of heat through me that I absolutely do not need right now.
I swallow.
Because suddenly I’m hyper-aware again.
Of my body.
Of how I look.
Of everything I just tried not to think about.
“I was just—” I start, gesturing vaguely, immediately hating how unsure I sound.
He doesn’t let me finish.
“Shhh,” he says quietly.
Just that.
One word.
But it stops me cold.
His gaze lifts, locking with mine in the mirror.
“You don’t have to explain why you took long, Cookie. But I wanna know why you’re looking at yourself like that,” he adds, voice low but firm.
My brows knit.
“Like what?”
“Like you’re—fuck.” He exhales, shaking his head slightly like he’s searching for the right words. “Like you’re anything less than the perfection I just had in my bed, on my lips, in my arms.”
My heart stumbles.
Because—that shouldn’t hit me the way it does.
But it does.
Hard.
I let out a small, disbelieving laugh, crossing my arms without really thinking.
“Rob, I know what I look like.”
He steps closer.
Not fast.
Not aggressive.
Just steady.
Certain.
“Yeah,” he says. “You do.”
He stops behind me, close enough that I can feel the heat of him, but he doesn’t touch me yet.
Doesn’t crowd me.
Just stands there.
“You just don’t see what I see.”
My throat goes tight.
Because that?
That’s exactly the problem.
I don’t.
I’ve never had a reason to.
My gaze flicks back to the mirror.
To him.
To the way he’s looking at me like I’m not something to question.
But something to want.
And that’s where this gets dangerous.
Because it’s not just physical anymore.
And I can feel it.
Creeping in.
Soft.
Insistent.
Real.
I shake my head slightly, like I can physically push it away.
“Don’t do that,” I say quietly.
“Do what?”
“Make this,” I gesture between us, struggling for the word. “More than it is.”
His expression shifts.
Something darker flickers there.
Not angry.
Not exactly.
But not backing down either.
“Hadley,” he says, my name low and steady, “I’m not the one pretending this is something it’s not. And I know you’re not ready to talk about it. So we won’t. Not now.”
I swallow.
Because he’s right.
That part is on me.
And that’s what scares me the most.
So I lift my chin again, forcing a small smile, even if it feels a little shaky.
“Okay,” I say. “Now what?”
There’s a pause.
A long one.
And then—he moves.
Slow.
Controlled.
Until the front of him is pressed against my back.
“Now,” he says, his voice lower than before—rough, deliberate—“I want to show you what I see when I look at you.”