Chapter 29
This man is insane.
I drop my phone onto the bed and start pacing in circles around my room. Clearly, I am insane too, for agreeing to this in the first place.
The first time we’re going to be alone in his apartment? Who even am I?
I’m still pacing, hands tangled in my hair, when Marianna bursts in.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” she demands, eyes narrowing.
“I just agreed to go have dinner with Rogue,” I say, voice high and panicked. “At his apartment.”
Her eyes go wide. “What? When?”
“Like … now. In an hour.”
“Oh my God!” she yells, spinning on her heel. “Briana!”
Her voice echoes down the hall. “She’s going to Rogue’s apartment! We need all hands on deck!”
Two seconds later, they are in my doorway, firing questions like rapid fire.
“When did this happen?”
“When are you going?”
“Is he picking you up?”
“What are you wearing?”
“When was the last time you shaved your legs?”
I stop dead at that last one. “Wait, what do you mean shave my legs?”
Marianna grins, too pleased with herself. “Well, you see, Cat, when two people love each other—”
“Shut up. I’m already nervous enough!”
Briana, ever the voice of reason, raises her hands. “Okay, okay, let’s reset. Start from the beginning. What did he say?”
I take a deep breath. “He asked what I was doing. I said I was about to shower and eat dinner. He said same. Then he asked if I wanted to come have dinner with him, we could order takeout.”
Marianna gasps dramatically. “Do we think ‘takeout’ is code for something?”
Briana smirks. “Maybe she’s the takeout.”
“Hello!” I yell, waving my hands. “Nervous, panicking person over here! Can we focus?”
Marianna tries to suppress a laugh. “Fine, fine. When is he coming over?”
“He’s not.”
They freeze. “What do you mean he’s not?”
“I mean I’m going over there.”
Their expressions of disbelief are almost identical.
“I knew he lived on Ocean Ave, so I figured I’d just drive, right? But then he sent me his location and”—I grab my phone from the bed and shove it toward them—“look. He’s literally right around the corner.”
Marianna whistles low. “Oh, wow. That fancy building? He probably has the entire top floor.”
They’re peering into my phone, zooming in on the map like amateur detectives, when Briana squints.
“Wait. Did he just … send you two hundred dollars?”
Marianna grins like a cat who got the cream. “That’s a cheap service, sis.”
“It’s for dinner!” I protest.
“And he told you to keep the rest for your coffee addiction?” Briana adds, reading over my shoulder. “Oh my God, that’s—”
“Adorable,” Marianna finishes for her. “Absolutely disgustingly adorable.”
They “Awww” in unison, and I groan.
“Will you two stop being the world’s most unhelpful cheerleaders and actually help me figure out what to do?”
“Yes, dummy,” Marianna says, grinning as she pulls me into a quick hug. “Go shower. We’ll find you clothes.”
“And I’ll order the food,” Briana adds. “You’ll thank us later.”
I groan again, throwing my hands in the air. “I hate you both.”
“Liar,” Marianna says, rifling through my closet. “You’d die without us.”
She’s right. Without them, I’d be lying on the floor hyperventilating. Instead, I’m halfway to the bathroom, heart pounding so hard I can feel it in my throat, thinking—What the hell am I doing?
An hour later, I’m driving into the parking garage of one of the most expensive buildings on Ocean Avenue.
It’s barely a block from my place, but walking through the front doors of Rogue Gallagher’s building would be far too bold, so here I am, pulling into his world in my little car, heart in my throat.
Dinner sits in the passenger seat, still warm from the restaurant Bri ordered from. When I texted to say I was on my way, Rogue replied with a code for the gate and instructions to park on the fourth floor, the penthouse level. Of course he lives in the penthouse.
As I circle up, I spot him leaning against a concrete column near the reserved spaces. Gray sweats, black T-shirt, damp hair falling over his forehead. The kind of casual that looks like sin.
Thank every saint I decided on sweats too. After my shower, Bri and Anna had laid out outfit options, ranging from cozy loungewear to the glitter bustier I wore one Halloween. Convincing them this wasn’t a date-date took effort.
I park, cut the engine, and before I can even reach for the handle, he’s opening my door, and for a second, all I see is the flat plane of his stomach and the pull of fabric that makes it clear he’s … built. Then he bends, eyes catching mine as he slides something onto the visor.
“Remote for the gate,” he says, voice low and amused.
We’re face-to-face, the closest we’ve been since New York. His gaze lingers, then he leans in and presses a soft kiss to my forehead. Sweet, disarming. My chest goes molten hot.
He straightens, offering his hand, and I take it. When I step out, he closes the door and pulls me into him, no hesitation, just strong arms wrapping around me, his chin resting on my head. He breathes me in.
“You smell so good, kitten,” he murmurs into my hair.
I smile against his chest. “So do you.”
He smells clean and warm, like soap and something darker underneath, something that’s just him.
For a moment neither of us move. Then he whispers, “Should we go up?”
I nod, pointing to the passenger side. “Food’s right there.”
He releases me long enough to grab the bags. I collect my purse and hoodie, and we head for the elevator.
“How long have you known we live this close?” I ask as we walk.
He glances over, that small smile tugging at his mouth. “Since I walked you to the building after I caught you dancing at the beach.”
“You’re very smiley lately,” I tease.
He shrugs. “Maybe I have a reason.”
My pulse skips. “Oddly convenient.”
The elevator arrives, and he presses the penthouse button. As we rise, I steal a glance at him, tall and broad, still damp from the shower, and suddenly I’m hyperaware of every place our arms brush and somehow, the air gets heavier with every floor.
When the doors open, it’s to a private hallway. Only one door. He pulls out his phone, scans it against a reader, and the lock clicks open.
“I’m glad there’s a door,” I say as I step inside. “Elevators that open straight into the apartment freak me out.”
He chuckles behind me. “How many penthouses have you been to, kitten?”
I stop mid-stride. The view steals my answer, the living room lined with floor-to-ceiling windows, city lights melting into the dark Atlantic beyond.
“Not many,” I breathe.
He sets the food on the counter and comes to stand beside me, his body heating mine.
“Not many?” His voice is low now, teasing.
“None,” I admit. “Unless Netflix counts.”
He laughs softly and tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. The gesture is small, but it lands like a spark.
Before I can overthink it, I grab the front of his shirt and tug him down to me. The kiss hits like a match to kindling—instant, consuming. My fingers slide up the solid line of his back, his hands find my hips, following the same paths his gaze has lingered on for weeks.
He groans against my mouth, deep and rough, and it vibrates straight through me. His palms cup my ass, gripping just enough to make my knees weak.
“Lass,” he whispers between kisses, breathless. “This arse will drive a man mad.”
I laugh against his mouth, which only seems to undo him more. He catches me by the waist and lifts me easily, and I gasp at the sudden motion and the strength in him.
“Rogue, stop,” I whisper against his mouth, pulling back slightly. “You’ll hurt your back.”
He only grins, lips still brushing mine. “Shh, lass.”
“I’m serious,” I say, breathless. “I’m like two hundred pounds on a good day. Please, just—”
He cuts me off with another kiss, softer this time. “Over two hundred,” he murmurs, dropping back onto the couch with me still in his arms. His laugh is deep and full, shaking through both of us. “Are you mad, woman?”
I freeze, startled—not just because he lifted me like I’m lighter than air, but because he’s laughing. Really laughing. And the sight of it steals the air from my lungs. It’s a kind of joy I’ve never seen on him before, boyish and unguarded, and I’m too stunned to do anything but stare.
“Two hundred pounds is nothing, kitten,” he says, voice still rough with laughter. “I bench three hundred on a slow day. You’re not heavy. You’re perfect. And if I couldn’t lift you, I’d just work harder at the gym until I could.”
My throat tightens. I want to say something, anything, but the warmth in his eyes makes words impossible.
He shifts beneath me, one large hand sliding to the back of my neck. “Now, give me that mouth, woman,” he whispers, pulling me back down to him.
My protest disappears the moment he kisses me again, deeper and slower this time. Every movement is deliberate, like he’s trying to memorize the taste of me. My pulse pounds so loud I can barely hear anything else.
I arch against him, breathing deeply through my nose. It’s wild to think we’ve only done this a few times because it feels like we’ve been doing this for years. He knows exactly how to make me melt against him, and no matter how close I am to him, I have the urge to be even closer.
My blood is sizzling, my heart is hammering against his chest, and all I can think about is how the clothes we are wearing are the only thing keeping us apart.
My nipples harden, there’s a heaviness between my legs, and it’s not just him, it’s me.
I’m flushed, I am aching. I am in need of so much more.
Every pull of his lips makes me drown deeper and deeper in him.
When I least expect it, he pulls back slowly, our foreheads touching, and we’re both breathing hard. His voice is a low rasp. “Lass, we need to stop for a minute.”
“I’m sorry—”
He hushes me with another brief kiss.
“Don’t be sorry,” he murmurs. “You’re perfect. I just really want to do very bad things to you right now, and I know I shouldn’t. Not yet.”
The words alone set me on fire. Then he smiles, softer this time, and presses his lips to my cheek, my nose, and my forehead.
“Perfect girl,” he whispers. “Let’s eat before I forget I have manners.”
Rogue’s apartment is perfect. Everything is in its place. The furniture is all soft whites and beiges, so clean and precise it feels more like a model home than a bachelor pad.
Like the perfect host, he’s set the table for us. It’s big enough for ten, but we’ve claimed a small corner near the kitchen with two candles flickering between us. He surprised me with a bottle of sparkling white wine, already chilled.
I thought sitting next to him in his apartment would feel awkward, maybe even overwhelming, but it doesn’t.
It’s easy, like something we’ve done a hundred times before.
We talk, we laugh, and with every passing minute, I’m more certain this man will keep surprising me.
There’s a gentle, genuine side to him that the world doesn’t see, and I can’t believe I get to.
After dinner, he asked if I wanted to watch a movie. I should’ve said no. We have early mornings, and one of the season’s biggest games is just two days away, but how could I? It’s impossible to walk away from him when I want a few more hours of this quiet closeness.
We settle on the couch, side by side. He scrolls through the streaming apps, indecisive, until I spot something familiar.
“Oh, we should watch that baking show,” I suggest. “A friend told me it’s really good.”
He smiles and presses play. The episode that starts is somewhere in the middle of the season.
“You’ve watched this before?” I ask.
“Aye. Sometimes, when I can’t sleep, I put this on.”
“Should we watch something else?”
He shakes his head. “No need, lass. I think you’ll enjoy it.”
I grin. “I might want to finish the baklava if I watch them make sweet things.”
He slides his arm around me and tugs me closer. “I might want to finish you if I watch them make sweet things,” he murmurs against my ear, pressing a kiss to my neck.
Goosebumps scatter across my skin. I curl into him, my heart hammering. When I look up, he’s already watching me, and I kiss him softly. He smiles against my lips.
“I forgot to tell you,” I say, resting my cheek on his chest. “I talked to Liam this week, and I met your friends, Cormac and Aisling.”
“I heard.”
“I hope that was all right. They were so lovely, I didn’t even think to ask if it was okay first.”
“It’s quite all right, lass. They were rather smitten with you.”
“Really?” I tilt my head up, smiling.
“Aye. They think you’re a great catch.”
“I am a great catch, Roger Gallagher” I say, teasing as I shift against him.
He chuckles, low and warm. “Don’t I know it, lass. Don’t I know it.”