23. Chapter 23
twenty-three
Diesel
Ifollowed behind her back towards her place, keeping a respectful distance until she gave me the green light, if she gave it.
Then and only then, I'd show her all the ways she’d been living in my head.
Her apartment, as I probably should’ve guessed, was every color of the damn rainbow. A red kitchen, turquoise living room, and a pink couch right in the middle of it all.
It was so her.
Wild, chaotic, unapologetically bright.
And it made me smile.
“What?” she asked, catching the look on my face.
I shook my head. “This is just… so you.”
Her cheeks flushed pink, and she dipped her head. “You probably hate it.”
I stepped closer and tilted her chin up gently. “No, I don’t. Do you know how white, sad, and empty my place is? This feels warm. It feels like you.”
“Even without glitter floors?”
She grinned, that wide one that hit me like a sucker punch every time.
My damn heart flipped.
“I knew something was missing.”
She sank into the pink couch and patted the cushion beside her.
I sat carefully, leaving space.
I wasn’t here to invade her world.
Not unless she asked me to.
She tucked one leg under the other, curling toward me with a nervous little bounce of her knee.
“I usually offer guests cookies,” she said, glancing toward the kitchen. “Or at least something homemade and full of butter. But I didn’t really plan on—uh—company. So… I have water?”
The way she said it made me laugh. “Sadie, you don’t have to feed me every time I show up.”
“Are you sure? It’s kind of how I express affection,” she said, then froze slightly. “I mean—not affection affection. Just like general fondness. Acquaintance-level fondness. That’s a thing, right?”
Her eyes widened like she wasn’t sure if she wanted to laugh or bolt. And damn if it weren’t the most adorable thing I’d ever seen.
I leaned back a little, letting the smile tug at the corners of my mouth. “Well, I feel very honored to receive your acquaintance-level fondness.”
She groaned and buried her face in her hands. “I swear I’m usually better at being normal.”
“You think I want normal?” I asked softly.
That got her. She peeked through her fingers, then dropped her hands and gave me a lopsided smile, sheepish but sweet.
“Okay, fair.”
She hesitated, picking at a loose thread on the couch cushion between us. Her voice was soft when she spoke again.
“You know,” she said, not quite looking at me, “I always thought when I finally let someone into my space like this—my real space—it would feel terrifying. Like I’d want to hide everything about it. About me.”
I stayed quiet. Let her say what she needed to.
“But right now?” She peeked over at me. “It doesn’t feel scary. It just feels… like the air smells different.”
My brow lifted. “That’s either really poetic or you’re about to tell me something’s burning.”
That made her laugh, high and breathy. “No smoke. Just... feelings.”
She took a breath, like she was bracing for impact.
“There’s something I should probably tell you,” she said, then immediately added, “Not because I think you expect anything to happen tonight, because I don’t think that. And I’m not saying it so it’s a thing, I just…”
She trailed off, clearly debating with herself.
I turned toward her more fully, trying to meet her where she was, open, but not pushing.
“Sadie,” I said gently. “You can tell me anything. Or nothing. Whatever you want.”
She looked down at her hands in her lap.
“I’ve never…” Her voice dropped. “I mean, I’ve done things. Just not… all the way. Not with anyone. Not yet.”
She glanced up like she was waiting for me to flinch or make it weird.
I didn’t. I wouldn’t.
Instead, I nodded. “Okay.”
Her brow furrowed. “That’s it?”
“That’s it.”
A breath slipped from her like she'd been holding it tight. She gave me a shy little smile, one that tugged at the edges of my heart.
“I was worried you’d think it was weird.”
“It’s not weird. It’s honest. And I like honesty.”
She let out a laugh, softer this time. “Okay. Good. Just felt like something you should know. In case.”
“In case,” I echoed. And I let it sit between us, safe and soft and steady.
She nodded, then immediately filled the silence.
“Because I’m not saving myself or anything, like—not for marriage or whatever. It’s not a purity thing. God, no.”
She waved a hand, as if shooing that thought away. “I’ve just… I always thought I’d know when it was right, you know? When someone made me feel like I could show up as myself and not get trampled for it.”
Her hands moved as she talked, like she was physically trying to untangle the years of silence she was making up for.
“But instead, I dated guys who wanted me to be convenient. Sweet and quiet and grateful. Like, ‘Oh wow, thank you for finally noticing me, mediocre man.’” She paused and winced. “Okay, that was mean. But also accurate.”
I didn’t say a word. Just let her go. But I couldn’t keep the tick of my lips from happening. This open, pure Sadie-ness was perfect.
“I think I kept waiting for someone to see me. Not just the parts I package nicely with a red lip and a punny pastry. But the messy stuff. The stuff I usually hide because it takes up space and maybe sounds needy.”
Her voice caught a little at that.
“And I got really good at pretending it didn’t matter. That it didn’t hurt when they left or lost interest or started trying to mold me into whatever shape fit their life better.”
She looked at me then, really looked. “So yeah. I’ve done things, but never with someone who made me feel safe and wanted.”
Her words hung in the air like sugar in the heat—heavy, sticky, true.
“And I’m not telling you because I think we’re headed for the bedroom right now. I’m telling you because you’re not like them. And it felt wrong not to be honest.”
I nodded, slow and sure. “Thank you for telling me.”
She blinked, maybe a little stunned. I hadn’t tried to joke or brush it off. “That’s it?”
“Sadie,” I said softly, “what you just gave me? That kind of honesty? That’s not small. That’s everything.”
She let out a breath, half relief and half nerves, and tried to smile.
“Cool. Cool, cool, cool. Okay. Great. This is me, being brave and awkward and probably talking way too much.”
“You’re doing perfectly.”
And when she smiled for real that time, it was the kind that made my ribs ache.
Sadie
I could feel the warmth from his body. I wanted to lean in, to absorb it, but… that’s weird, right?
We weren’t anything. Not really. Not yet.
Just talking.
Just processing.
Just becoming something new.
“Sadie,” he murmured, eyes closed, head leaned back like he belonged here. Like he was at ease next to me. “I can hear your brain working.”
“I was just thinking…” I hesitated, then shrugged. “Would it be weird to cuddle?”
One of his eyes cracked open, amusement sparking in the gray depths. Then he hooked an arm around me and pulled me to his side without hesitation.
“Like this?”
“Yeah.” I let myself melt into him a little, resting my head on his shoulder. He smelled like sweat and motor oil and something warmer underneath—something him. Comforting, grounding. But also… a little rough around the edges.
I wrinkled my nose before I could stop myself.
He huffed out a sound, almost a laugh. “Sorry.”
He started to pull away, but I didn’t let him get far. I went with him, leaning in again, trying to keep the moment from slipping.
“It’s not your fault. I kind of ambushed you, didn’t I?” I bit my lip, then added, “Do you want to shower?”
He stilled. Stood. Headed toward the door.
Panic bloomed sharp in my chest. “Did I say something wrong?”
He turned back to me, something soft and uncertain in his expression. “No. I just… I was gonna go home. Shower. Change. But I’ll come back.” His hand hovered near his neck like it always did when he was unsure. “If you want me to.”
I stood too quickly. “No—I don’t want you to go.”
I hesitated, heart pounding. “You can shower here. If you want. I mean, there’s a bathroom. With a shower. Obviously.”
His brows lifted slightly, like I’d just suggested something wild.
“You don’t have to!” I rushed to add, waving my hands like that would make the awkwardness evaporate. “I just thought maybe you’d rather not leave. That’s all.”
“Sadie…”
“No, you’re right. Weird.” I stepped back, wrapping my arms around myself. “I can wait until you get back. If you want to get freshened up.”
He didn’t move. Just stood there watching me like he was weighing every word, every breath.
“That’s not what I meant,” he said quietly.
My cheeks burned. “It’s okay. I didn’t mean to make it weird.”
“You didn’t.”
I gave him a tight smile, trying to hold the line I’d drawn for myself. “It’s fine, Diesel. Really.”
He exhaled hard and scrubbed a hand over his face. “I’m not used to this.”
“To what?” I asked, even though I already knew.
He glanced at me, then looked away. “Being wanted for anything but what I can give someone. And I don’t want to screw this up. You—” He paused. “You matter.”
I swallowed, my chest tight. “So don’t go.”
His eyes flicked to mine.
“You can shower here,” I added, softer this time. “If you want.”
A beat. Then another. Then he nodded, slow, deliberate. “Okay.
Diesel disappeared down the hall toward the bathroom, and I suddenly realized something very important.
I didn’t have any clean clothes for him.
I had stuff to make cookies. I had coffee. I had a vintage apron with embroidered peaches. But I did not have spare jeans in a man’s size, "grumpy mechanic with tree-trunk thighs."
Panic fluttered in my chest. I stared at the closed bathroom door like it might give me answers. Or pants. Or at least a time machine to go back and think this through.
The water shut off far too quickly.
Oh no.
A moment later, the door opened with a lazy creak, and Diesel stepped out, hair still damp, towel slung low around his hips, water glistening on his chest like the universe hated me personally.
He scrubbed at his hair with one hand and looked at me with the other, gripping the towel. “Uh… got any clothes?”
I blinked. Spoke in tongues, maybe. Rebooted my entire personality.
“Nope.” My voice came out high-pitched and a little breathless. “Not unless you want a peach-print apron and a blanket with cats on it.”
His mouth twitched. “Might be a little drafty.”
I spun around, mostly to save myself. “I can… uh… throw your stuff in the dryer! It’ll just take a few minutes. Or! Or you could wear the towel and… suffer?”
He laughed, low and rough. “I’ll suffer.”
I made a sound that might’ve been a whimper and escaped to the kitchen, nearly tripping over my own feet. This was fine. Everything was fine.
Except for the nearly naked man now sitting at my kitchen table.
Waiting.
Dripping.
Smirking.
I don’t think he was the one suffering.