21. Chapter 21
Chapter 21
T he TV flickered in the dim room, casting a dull glow against the walls, but Rosie had stopped paying attention an hour ago.
She’d done what he asked. Stayed put.
And waited.
And waited.
Now, she was curled up on the couch, tucked under one of his oversized blankets, her body sinking into the plush cushions.
It was strange, being here.
Comfortable, but not.
Familiar, but foreign.
Isaac’s house wasn’t a bachelor pad, not really. Not how she’d always expected. Now how he sold it to be. It was lived-in, steady, with little touches that felt unexpectedly domestic—a surfboard leaned against the hallway wall, a well equipped kitchen, family pictures on the fridge, a record player stacked with old vinyls, books tossed around like they actually got read.
And she was here.
Like she belonged.
Except—she didn’t.
Because she still didn’t know where she stood. Where they stood.
She was still trying to figure out if this fit into the life she wanted.
If Isaac fit.
Her stomach twisted.
She never even told him about Greg Taylor.
Or the new developments with her show.
Or the updates from Amy.
And Isaac?
He hadn’t asked.
But she was trying not to get angry. Trying to be patient. Trying to give him the benefit of the doubt.
Even if it was hard.
Even if her heart still ached from what happened last night.
She blinked slowly, her eyelids growing heavier, the sounds from the TV fading into background noise.
She barely registered the click of the front door unlocking.
Barely stirred at the sound of boots on hardwood.
Then—
A warm hand brushed over her cheek.
“Hey, Coco,” Isaac’s voice was low, rough, exhausted.
Her eyelashes fluttered, her body shifting instinctively toward the warmth.
She opened her eyes to find him kneeling beside the couch, his dark gaze softening as he took her in.
His hair was still damp from a post-training shower, his jaw rough with stubble, his body still radiating the day’s exhaustion.
Rosie blinked at him, groggy, her brain struggling to catch up.
He grinned slightly, brushing a stray strand of hair from her forehead.
“You look so cute in my shirt,” he said.
It was unfair, how effortlessly charming he was, even when he looked like he’d just gone through hell.
Rosie couldn’t help it.
She grinned sleepily.
Isaac’s lips tugged at the corner.
Then, he straightened, rolling his shoulders, glancing toward the kitchen.
His brows lifted. “You cooked?”
Rosie motioned toward the stove, said drowsily, “Figured you’d be hungry. You always are.”
Isaac exhaled, rubbing his hand over his jaw, looking at her like she’d just knocked the air out of him.
“Hell, Coco,” he muttered. “What am I gonna do with you?”
And for the first time all night—
She had no answer as she watched him disappear into his bedroom, pulling his uniform shirt over his head. Within minutes, Isaac emerged from his bedroom, freshly showered, barefoot, in a worn t-shirt and athletic shorts, still rubbing a towel over his damp hair as he stepped into the kitchen.
Rosie watched from her spot on the couch, tucked into the corner of the sectional, legs curled under her.
She was pretending to be absorbed in the TV, but really, she was watching him.
Watching as he lifted the lid on the one-pot pasta she’d made earlier, inhaling deeply, groaning in approval.
“When did you become so domestic, Coco,” he muttered, grabbing a bowl and serving himself a heaping portion.
Tomatoes, spinach, chicken, pasta, all wrapped up in a creamy, garlicky sauce.
She knew it was good.
She’d already had two bowls.
Isaac plopped down on the opposite end of the sectional, balancing the bowl in one hand, digging in immediately.
The first bite barely had time to hit his tongue before he let out a deep, satisfied groan.
“Fuck, that’s good,” he said around a mouthful. “Maybe I will keep you.”
Rosie smirked, watching as he practically inhaled it.
“You eat like you’ve been starved for days.”
Isaac just pointed his fork at her, still chewing. “You ever try MREs? This is a goddamn luxury.”
She laughed softly, shaking her head, watching as he continued to shovel it in, barely pausing to breathe.
When he was finally done, he set his empty bowl aside, leaning back against the couch, stretching his arms over the back of it, looking like he could pass out.
Rosie shifted slightly, folding her arms over her stomach.
The silence stretched between them.
And then, finally, she broke it.
“So…” she started slowly. “Are we going to have that conversation now?”
Isaac tilted his head slightly, dark eyes locking onto hers, a slow, knowing smirk pulling at the corner of his lips.
Except—
He still looked hungry.
And not for food.
His gaze dragged over her, lazily, appreciatively, like he was savoring every inch.
Rosie’s stomach tightened.
Isaac hummed, shifting slightly, the muscles in his thick thighs flexing under the fabric of his shorts.
“Yeah,” he said, his voice dropping a notch. “But with you sitting in my lap.”
Rosie rolled her eyes immediately.
“Not a chance.”
Isaac grinned, already shifting forward slightly, arms outstretched like he was going to pull her over.
“Come on,” he coaxed, his voice low and persuasive, hands curling slightly in invitation.
“No.”
“Rosie.”
“Isaac.”
He sighed, tilting his head back, rubbing a hand over his jaw, exhaling dramatically.
And then—
His dark gaze flicked back to her, sharp and heated, already hardening in his shorts, barely trying to hide it.
“Baby,” he said, voice thick with amusement and something darker, “you can’t sit over there in my shirt and expect me to have a serious conversation while I’m like this. All I can think of is whether or not you’ve got panties on under there.”
Rosie snorted, grabbing a pillow and launching it straight at his face.
“Knock it off.”
Isaac just chuckled, catching the pillow midair, eyes still lazily tracing over her body like he wasn’t even pretending to be ashamed of himself.
He gripped the pillow in one hand, setting it aside. Then he licked his lips, leaning forward slightly, eyes burning into hers.
“Isaac,” she started. “Let me make myself absolutely clear—I am not, under any circumstances, having casual, no-commitment sex with you. Stop trying. The answer is no.”
“You sure?” he asked, voice laced with deliberate arrogance. “Hm.”
Rosie’s face flamed, but she kept her composure, standing her ground. “Yes,” she said firmly. “One hundred percent sure.”
Isaac tilted his head, studying her. “Not even a little bit?”
“Not even slightly.”
He grinned, lazy and wicked. “I think you’re lying.”
Rosie let out an exasperated breath, grabbed another pillow, and smacked him over the head with it.
Isaac laughed, blocking the second hit, catching the pillow in midair. And before she could arm herself with another—he lunged forward, grabbed her by the waist, and pulled her straight into his lap.
Rosie let out a startled squeal, hands bracing against his chest as he tugged her flush against him. His arms locked around her waist, his body heat bleeding into her, and suddenly, she was straddling him, face inches from his.
“Isaac—”
He cut her off with a slow, deep kiss, his lips warm, possessive, unapologetic.
Rosie made a small noise of protest, but he just deepened it, one hand curling around the back of her neck, the other gripping her waist.
And she…
She melted.
Just for a second.
Just for one small, traitorous moment, before she snapped herself back to reality.
She pulled back slightly, lips parted, breathing uneven.
Isaac’s gaze was hooded, knowing, satisfied.
“Still sure about that?” he said.
Rosie huffed, pressing her hands against his chest, trying to push away.
He didn’t let her.
Instead, he tightened his grip, pressing his forehead against hers, voice dropping to a rough whisper.
“Because I don’t believe you, baby.”
Rosie’s breath hitched, her fingers curling into the fabric of his t-shirt.
This man was infuriating.
But God, he knew exactly how to make her weak.
And the worst part? Rosie’s head was spinning again. From the way Isaac was kissing her like he meant it, like she was the only thing in the world worth focusing on. From the way his hands gripped her waist, broad fingers possessive and sure, holding her **exactly where he wanted her—**straddling his lap, caged against his body, helpless against the heat of him.
His tongue swept into her mouth, slow, teasing, coaxing her into deeper, softer submission.
She almost gave in. Because Isaac Rayleigh didn’t just kiss. He devoured. He worshipped. He convinced. Every slow drag of his lips, every flick of his tongue, every little nip at her lower lip—all calculated. Designed to melt her.
And he was **saying things—**low, said, words meant to slip under her skin.
“Missed you like this, baby.”
Kiss. Bite. Soothe.
“You know you want this.”
Lick. Suck. Groan.
“Just us, Rosie. You and me.”
His hands curled against her hips, rolling her just slightly, just enough to remind her how hard he was beneath her.
And for a second—**one small, weak second—**she almost let him win.
Because this was Isaac.
Her Isaac.
The boy she’d grown up with. The man who had held her through so many nights of loneliness.
And now, he was here, kissing her like she was everything he wanted.
But she knew better.
She knew him.
Knew his games, his tactics, the way he used his body and his charm to get what he wanted.
And tonight, what he wanted was sex.
Not a conversation. Not clarity. Not the truth.
He wanted to fuck his way past the part where they had to define what this was.
Rosie’s heart clenched.
Because she couldn’t do that.
Not with him.
Not when it had never been casual for her.
She broke the kiss, breathing hard, feeling her lips swollen, her body traitorously aching.
Isaac’s hands tightened on her waist, his gaze burning with hunger, with amusement.
Like he thought he had her.
Like he’d already won.
Rosie swallowed hard.
Then, with everything in her, she pushed out of his lap.
Rosie felt his hands slip away as she rose to her feet, stepping back, putting space between them.
And fuck, she needed that space.
Because every inch of her body was still screaming for him, still heated from his touch, still traitorously aching for the one thing she knew she couldn’t have.
But this wasn’t about what her body wanted.
This was about what her heart couldn’t take.
Isaac watched her carefully, his dark gaze unreadable, lips still swollen from their kisses, his breath just the slightest bit uneven.
She knew that look.
That lazy, cocky smirk, like she was playing hard to get.
Like this was just another game he could win if he played it right.
Rosie squared her shoulders.
“This goes no further.”
Isaac’s smirk faltered.
His brows lifted, slow, confused. “What?”
She folded her arms, her voice steady, unwavering. “You can’t charm me into this, Isaac.”
The air crackled, something heavy settling between them.
This wasn’t a game anymore.
Isaac sat back, his jaw tightening, his hands flexing on his thighs.
For the first time, he looked uncertain.
“Rosalie…” he started, but for once, he didn’t have the words.
She shook her head.
“I know you,” she said, her voice calm, quiet, but razor-sharp. “I know exactly what you’re doing. And I won’t let you pull me into something undefined just because it’s convenient for you.”
Isaac’s muscles tensed, his fingers curling against the couch.
But she wasn’t done.
“This isn’t just sex for me,” she continued, her voice unshakable. “And it never has been. So if you want to do this—**really do this—**then it can’t be like this.”
Isaac’s chest rose and fell, his expression dark, conflicted, dangerous.
His voice was hoarse when he finally spoke. “Tell me what you need.”
Rosie let out a slow breath, holding his gaze.
“You want to know what I need?” she asked, her words deliberate, weighted, measured.
“I need to focus on the first real professional opportunity I’ve ever had in my life. I need to make that happen. I need to walk into those rooms, into those meetings, with my head clear, without feeling heartbroken or torn up because you’re toying with me.”
His eyes flashed, something like frustration rippling through them.
“I’m not fucking toying with you,” he said, voice tight.
Rosie let out a bitter laugh, shaking her head. “Aren’t you?”
Isaac’s jaw clenched, his knuckles whitening where they rested against his thighs.
“By a matter of convenience, I’m here,” she continued, voice sharp. “Not because you chose me. Because I was there.”
His nostrils flared. “You’re not here because of convenience.”
“No?” she challenged. “Then tell me how it happened. How I suddenly became the woman in your bed?”
Silence.
Rosie took a step closer, her voice gaining heat, strength.
“I barely heard from you for a year. And then one night, you’re drunk and horny at a bar, and suddenly I’m living with you. Suddenly, I’m sleeping with you. You decided all of it. And one day, you’ll wake up and decide you’re done. And that’ll be that.”
Isaac’s throat worked, like he wanted to argue, but couldn’t.
Her heart twisted painfully.
Because this wasn’t about what had already happened.
This was about what was coming.
“I know you better than you know yourself,” she said, voice thick with emotion. “And I’m bracing myself for the biggest heartbreak of my life when you decide you’re done.”
His hands curled into fists. “You don’t know that.”
Her stomach clenched.
“Then tell me I’m wrong.”
Silence.
Her chest ached.
“Promise me you won’t break my heart,” she whispered.
Isaac’s mouth opened—then shut.
His silence shattered something in her.
Her vision blurred, but she kept going, pressing forward before she could lose her nerve.
“I’ve got Greg fucking Taylor—billionaire investor—offering me something real. Something that could actually change my life.” Her voice gained momentum, every word carrying years of frustration, years of longing, years of pain.
“I’ve got a gallery manager backing me. I’ve got collectors talking about me. This is the week that changes everything. And what the hell am I doing?”
Isaac said nothing.
She laughed, bitter and broken.
“I’m standing here arguing with a man who has never once said he wanted me.”
His breath hitched, his face going completely still.
She wasn’t done.
“The guy I’ve been in love with for twenty goddamn years, who suddenly decided he wanted to try me on for size.”
Isaac stared at her, his eyes dark, unreadable, like he was just now realizing it. “You… in love… with me.”
Rosie’s heart thudded violently. But there was no taking it back. She lifted her chin, eyes burning.
“Isaac,” she said, her voice firm, certain, final. “I appreciate you. And yes, I love you. Whatever, now you finally know. You’ve been too goddamn dense to figure it out so allow me to spell it out for you—I am in love with you. Always have been.”
Isaac exhaled sharply.
“But I’m not this girl. This fuck toy. This easy lay. This casual fling,” she continued, swallowing against the lump in her throat. “Not for you. Never.”
His hands twitched, his face darkening with something unreadable.
“Stop trying,” she said, softer now.
And then—
“If you can’t, then leave me the fuck alone.”
Isaac’s whole body locked up, his chest rising and falling unevenly.
Rosie swallowed hard, her hands shaking, her heart ripping apart inside her.
“That’s the kindest thing you can do for me,” she finished, voice barely above a whisper. “If you truly care about me.”
For the first time in their entire history together—
Isaac didn’t argue.
The silence between them wasn’t just silence.
It was final.
It was the line in the sand.
Rosie stepped back.
“Figure out what you want, Isaac,” she said, voice raw.
His hands flexed uselessly in his lap.
“Because I’m not going to be just another girl to you.”
Isaac exhaled, long and slow.
And for once—
He had nothing to say.