Chapter 15
FIFTEEN
Jesse
The sound of the bathroom door opening draws my attention, and when I see her, I swear I forget how to breathe.
Madeline steps out in a towel, her hair tied up in a bun on the top of her head, chin lifted like she’s daring herself not to think twice about getting into the jacuzzi with me.
I can see how nervous she is in the way she clutches the towel to her chest, the rise and fall of her shoulders as she takes a steadying breath.
She hesitates for half a second, clearly second guessing her decision, then squares her shoulders and crosses the room.
I still can’t believe she said yes. Madeline, who color-codes her sticky notes. The champagne must have gone to her head, because the woman I know would never willingly step this far out of her carefully built comfort zone.
But there she is.
The towel slips a little as she moves, revealing a hint of the smooth skin of her thigh. My fingers tighten on the rim of the tub. She toys with the edge of the fabric, twisting it once before taking a breath and then letting the towel fall away.
For a beat, all I can do is stare at her.
She’s stunning. I let my gaze rake down her body and back again, eyes tracing the smooth line of her shoulders, the soft curve of her waist. She’s wearing a black lace bra and panty set that leaves little to the imagination.
It’s unexpected. For some reason, I pictured her in something softer, paler, safer.
But this? This is confident and sexy. A little dangerous. And holy fuck, do I like it.
My throat goes dry. Every muscle in my body tenses up. I didn’t think it was possible for her to knock the air out of lungs any more than she already has—but here we are.
I’m embarrassingly growing hard at just the sight of her so I adjust my erection in my briefs before she can see the tent forming in my trunks. I am so out of my element with Madeline, but fuck, am I enjoying myself.
It hits me how different this feels. I’ve dated plenty of women, but none who have made my pulse skip like this by just being here.
Usually, I’m the guy who keeps things light and easy.
“You don’t take anything seriously, Jess,” one of my exes said as she packed up the things she had strewn around my apartment.
“You treat life like it’s a vacation.” She probably wasn’t wrong.
It’s the reason my relationships have never lasted.
It’s not that I’m not a monogamous guy, or that I can’t commit—I can.
I just don’t take things as seriously as I probably should.
Not in the way most women want me to. At first, it’s fun, but eventually they start saying that I joke too much, that it feels like I always have one foot out the door.
I’ve also been working my ass off. I’d been doing that since the day our dad stopped showing up and Ford decided the only way we’d survive was to make something of ourselves.
Nothing came easy for any of us, but we learned early that hard work and a little stubbornness could get you a hell of a lot farther than luck ever would.
People call Cove an overnight success, but that’s not true.
It started with Ford’s vision, Noah’s discipline, and my ability to sell anyone on a dream.
We poured everything we had into it—sheer determination, late nights, the contents of our bank accounts.
There were more arguments than I could count, but we made it work.
We didn’t want to build just another apparel company.
We wanted it to mean something. To be remembered.
Now, it’s more than a brand. It’s a lifestyle. We’ve got storefronts across North America, contracts with athletes, influencers, celebrities. The kind of people who used to be worlds away from guys like us now wear our logo like it’s a badge of honour.
Years of grinding, designing, convincing people to believe in what we were building—that’s what got us here.
And I’m proud of it. But if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that success like this doesn’t come cheap.
Somewhere along the way, the rest of my life—the dating, the settling down, the real connection—it all fell through the cracks.
But sitting here now, watching Madeline tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear, I hear the echo of something I’ve recently started to want—something I haven’t admitted even to my brothers.
I want someone to share my life with.
Yeah, I’ve got the dream job, the house not far from the ocean, the kind of money I used to only dream of.
I’ve got freedom, success, and the satisfaction of knowing my brothers and I built every inch of it with our own hands.
But sometimes, when I walk through that big, quiet house at the end of the day, it doesn’t feel like success—it just feels empty.
I’m tired of nights that end in silence.
I’m tired of pretending that work is enough.
I don’t want someone who just floats on the surface of it all.
I want someone who gets it, who can handle the chaos and still want to be part of it.
Someone who doesn’t look at me and see “Jesse Winters, cofounder of Cove,” but just… me.
And hell, I want a family one day. A house that doesn’t echo.
A reason to come home to. Something other than unfinished projects and half-empty whiskey bottles.
Watching Ford with Landyn and Poppy has made that pretty damn clear.
I’ve seen the way his whole world settles when they’re in the room, the way he softens when Poppy laughs, how Landyn looks at him like he’s her entire universe.
That kid has my entire heart, and I’m not ashamed to admit it.
Every time I see her run straight into Ford’s arms, something in my chest aches in the best way.
I want what he has—a home that feels alive, a family that’s mine.
But right now, I am focused on what’s right in front of me.
I’m sitting here in a hotel suite, tipsy as hell, staring at the woman across from me wearing nothing but black lace.
I look away, but not fast enough. The image burns behind my eyes.
The water suddenly feels hotter, the air heavier.
I sink deeper into the bubbles, praying it hides the reaction I can’t control.
“Come on in, Mads.”
Her lips twitch, a hint of a smile breaking through before she climbs into the water on the opposite side.
Steam rises between us, curling through the low light, blurring the edges of everything but her.
She sinks in with a soft sigh, eyes falling shut for a second as the bubbles reach her collarbone.
“Okay,” she murmurs, exhaling. “I’ll admit it. This was a good idea.”
I lean back, trying to look relaxed, when in reality, I’m fighting the urge to say something stupid—something honest. That she looks incredible.
That I can’t even remember what the hell we were talking about ten minutes ago.
That there is nowhere else I’d rather be.
Instead, I go with what I know best, because it’s comfortable and I don’t want to risk ruining this moment.
“I have been known to have some great ideas” I say, stretching an arm over the edge of the tub. “There are more where that one came from.”
“I’m sure there are.” She sighs, with a smile tipping the edges of her lips. I tilt my head, watching the faint color rise in her cheeks. “What?”
She lifts one brow. “Are you always this way with women or is it just me who gets the cocky, unserious side of you?”
“I’m pretty much like this one hundred percent of the time,” I admit with a shrug. “It’s part of my charm.”
“Well,” she says, swirling her hand through the water, “I’m surprised that it works.”
“Why’s that?” I ask. I’m genuinely curious now. If charm and confidence don’t do it for her, I want to know what does.
“Because I can see it coming a mile away,” she says, meeting my gaze steadily. “The lines. The charm. The act.”
I laugh, but inside, something twists. She sees right through me.
It’s always the same thing with the women I meet—the jokes are charming at first, the confidence is a little intoxicating.
But give it time, and they realize the humor is just armor, a way to keep people from getting too close.
Madeline figured that out in under a month.
I can’t decide if I should be impressed or terrified.
“Then enlighten me.” I tilt my head, looking at her.
I want to know what she likes in a guy. What actually gets through that cool, perfectly composed exterior.
Because I’m into this girl. It’s not just the way she looks—though, hell, that’s part of it.
It’s the way she thinks, the way she calls me out without hesitation, like she’s not even slightly intimidated.
Most people don't do that. They let me coast, and she doesn’t.
“If charm and confidence don’t do it for you,” I continue, watching the water ripple between us, “what does?”
She looks at me, meeting my gaze straight on. “I like honesty. Not a guy who’s trying so hard to be liked that he forgets how to actually be someone real. A guy who says what he means, who looks at a woman like she’s the only person in the room and isn’t afraid who sees it.”
I consider that, letting her words sink in. “So…less charm, more honesty is what you’re saying?”
“Something like that,” she says with a small smile.
“Don’t get me wrong, Jesse. Your charm is one of the most endearing things about you.
And your quick wit is impressive. But I think most women — me included —don’t need the performance.
We just want to feel something that’s real, not rehearsed or perfect. Just…honest. Like you were earlier.”