3. Chapter 3
Chapter 3
I saac moved fast.
Rosie moved faster.
She was already halfway down the block, heels clicking sharp against the pavement, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. Like she was holding herself in. Like she could disappear into the dark if she just walked fast enough.
Yeah, no.
Not happening.
Isaac caught up easily, his stride longer, looser. Drunk enough to feel the hum in his veins, the reckless kind of invincible, but sober enough to know something wasn’t right.
Something had been off with Rosie from the second he walked in that bar.
And he didn’t like that.
Didn’t like that she didn’t look at him.
Didn’t like that she ran the second she could.
Didn’t like that Vlado fucker’s hand had been anywhere near her.
Not that it mattered. Not that he cared.
But still.
He didn’t like it.
“Rosie,” he called again, voice low, coaxing.
Nothing.
She kept walking, tight, tense, determined.
So he picked up his pace, moving into her space just enough—not touching, not forcing, but close enough that she had no choice but to react.
And she did.
She stopped, spun—right into him.
Isaac caught himself before he actually made contact, one hand bracing against the wall behind her.
Close.
Closer than they’d been in a long time.
And suddenly, it was just her.
Rosie Quentin.
Glasses perched on her nose, big blue eyes sharp with irritation, mouth soft and pink but pressed into a stubborn line.
Her dark hair framed her face, slightly messy from the night air, from moving too fast and hoping she could get away from him.
The dress she wore was one of those floaty things, something soft and patterned, the kind of thing that swayed when she moved. The heels gave her a little more height, but she was still small compared to him.
Still him.
Still his ride-or-die.
Except not.
Not right now.
She shoved her glasses up her nose and leveled him with a look he didn’t like.
“Jesus, Isaac,” she muttered. “Can’t you take a hint?”
Isaac smirked, slow, easy. “I’ve had a few, Rosie. Hints don’t work.”
She exhaled hard, shaking her head. “You were drunk before you even found me.”
“Yeah,” he said, tilting his head slightly, letting his gaze drop just long enough to unsettle her. “And you ran before I even said hi.”
Her lips parted, but nothing came out.
Gotcha.
Isaac shifted, his fingers dragging along the wall behind her, slow, casual, like he had all the time in the world.
“What’s your deal?” he asked, voice low, soft in a way that always got under people’s skin. “You don’t return my texts. You’re out with some fucking hipster bitch. And now you’re looking at me like you wish I’d drop dead.”
Rosie lifted her chin. “I don’t—”
“—Yeah, you do,” he said, watching her carefully.
She clenched her jaw, eyes flashing.
He could see it, the tension in her shoulders, the way she wanted to say something but wouldn’t.
It was infuriating.
He leaned in a fraction more, voice dipping. “What’s going on?”
Nothing.
No answer.
Just a flicker of something behind her eyes.
Isaac’s smirk flattened.
He reached out, not quite touching, just lifting his fingers like he was about to tilt her chin up—and she flinched.
Barely. A tiny, almost imperceptible movement.
But he saw it.
And for the first time tonight, something cold slid down his spine.
Rosie never flinched from him.
His stomach tightened.
“Rosie,” he said again, quieter now.
Still nothing.
A heartbeat.
Two.
Then, finally—
“I have to go.”
Her voice was too even, too controlled. She slipped out from under him before he could even register it.
Or tried to.
Isaac reacted without thinking, without stopping, without questioning the fire burning in his gut as Rosie twisted past him, her body moving fast, her heels clicking sharp against the pavement.
Not this time.
His hand shot out, catching her wrist, yanking her back before she could disappear again.
Rosie gasped, stumbling, eyes flashing wide behind her glasses.
But Isaac was already moving, spinning her, backing her into the wall—
Pinning her there.
His hands caged her in, his body close enough to trap her, to press the heat between them until there was nowhere else for her to go.
Her chest rose and fell too fast.
So did his.
“You’re not going anywhere,” Isaac said, his voice low, rough, slurred at the edges with whiskey and something deeper, something raw.
She swallowed hard, her throat working around the words she wouldn’t say.
His gaze dropped, tracked it.
The delicate slope of her neck. The way her pulse fluttered just beneath her skin.
His grip tightened.
“What the fuck is going on with you?” he demanded, his mouth too close to hers, his voice too thick with everything he didn’t understand. “Talk to me, Rosie.”
Nothing.
Just her sharp, blue stare cutting into him, her lips parting slightly, like she wanted to say something—
And then the tilt of her chin.
That infuriating, impossible stubborn tilt.
She wasn’t afraid of him.
She wasn’t backing down.
And fuck—
His blood went hot.
Isaac felt it hit all at once. The smell of her perfume—warm, light, familiar. The way her glasses slipped slightly down her nose, the way her body curved between his arms, the way her breath shivered in the space between them.
His fingers flexed against the rough brick behind her.
His jaw clenched.
He shouldn’t—
Fuck it.
His mouth crashed onto hers.
No warning. No space.
Just heat, hunger, need.
Just years of ignoring something he’d never let himself feel.
Rosie made a small sound against his lips— soft, startled, something that could have been a protest but melted too quickly.
Her hands shot up— maybe to push him away, maybe to pull him in.
Didn’t matter.
Isaac took.
Took the taste of her. Took the soft, warm press of her mouth, the way she gasped when his tongue slid past her lips.
Took every single fucking thing he hadn’t realized he wanted until now.
Her fingers gripped his shirt.
His hands dropped—curved to her waist, to the slope of her hips, dragging her closer.
Tighter.
Rosie pulled back first.
Isaac barely let her, his lips chasing hers, stealing one last kiss before he let her melt back again the wall, his hands still caging her in.
What the fuck did he just do? Everything was spinning.
Or maybe it wasn’t. Maybe this was just the most real thing he’d felt in months.
Her blue eyes were wild.
Her glasses were crooked.
Her lips were pinker, kiss-swollen.
His cock was hard.
And fuck—
This was bad.
“Isaac—” Rosie started, voice furious, breathless.”What the hell?”
Isaac was still breathing her in. Still caging her against the wall, her scent all over him, her lips swollen from his mouth.
Rosie was panting, her hands clenched in his shirt like she didn’t know whether to shove him away or pull him back in.
And Isaac?
Isaac was fucking drowning in it.
Drowning in the heat, the soft press of her body, the way his blood was still pumping like he was deep in the fight of his life.
Except he had no idea who the enemy was.
Him? Her? This thing between them that never should have happened?
Then—
“Get the hell off her!” Vlado snapped from ten feet away, voice tight, too high for someone trying to act tough.
Isaac laughed.
Actually laughed—low and rough, like he couldn’t fucking believe this guy.
Because first of all, this wasn’t his fight.
Second of all?
He was about to lose.
Vlado swung first.
Bad move.
Isaac sidestepped it effortlessly, like it was a slow-motion training drill, then planted his fist into Vlado’s face—
Hard.
Too hard.
Shit.
Vlado’s head snapped back, his body staggering against the pavement. He went down fast, hand slapping the sidewalk as he groaned.
Isaac exhaled, rolling out his fist, shaking the sting from his knuckles.
Then—
“For God’s sake, Isaac!” Rosie’s voice, sharp and furious. “What is wrong with you?”
His head snapped back to her, and there it was. That fire in her eyes. Not fear. Not shock. Just pure, seething frustration.
He licked his bottom lip, smirking slightly. “What?”
Her jaw clenched. “Are you serious? You just—he’s not—God!”
Isaac tilted his head, stepping toward her again. The wrong move, but he was too far gone to care.
“You mad at me or at yourself, Rosie?” he asked, voice low.
Her breath hitched, her glare darkening. “Don’t.”
“Don’t what?”
Her nostrils flared. “Don’t try to turn this into something it’s not.”
Isaac let out a slow breath, his hands dropping to his sides.
Then he chuckled.
Low. Dry.
“Too late,” he said.
Her lips parted, like she had something else to say. Something that might actually burn him.
But then—
Vlado groaned.
Isaac sighed, raking a hand through his hair, exhaling hard.
“Fuck,” he muttered. “Alright, alright. I’ll let your soy boy live.”
Rosie’s eyes flashed. “You’re a fucking asshole.”
Isaac grinned. “Never said I wasn’t, doll.”
“I’m done with this. I’m done with you.” Her fingers twitched at her sides. Like she wanted to hit him.
Like she wanted to kiss him.
Like she wanted to burn the whole fucking night down and start over.
“Go home, Isaac,” she said finally, voice too soft.
He held her gaze, searching.
Then he sighed, stepping back.
“Yeah,” he muttered. “Me too.”
And then?
He heard a siren in the distance, sobering him. He turned.
And for the first time in a long time, he walked away first.