10. Mel Won’t Be Happy About This
MEL WON’T BE HAPPY ABOUT THIS
A full-length mirror stood outside the restaurant entrance—of course there was.
I stopped in front of it, adjusting my shirt like it would somehow fix what I was actually nervous about.
I looked good. That was a fact.
I wore the kind of outfit that said, ‘I didn’t try hard,’ even though I absolutely did. Slightly undone, but intentional.
Short-sleeved, slightly oversized button-down, leaving the top two buttons undone, casual but deliberate, exposing a little skin to suggest confidence.
Muted olive-green pants hugged in the right places.
White sneakers, crisp and almost too clean, grounded the whole thing.
Effortless. Modern. Like I could be going anywhere after this and still belong.
Of course, I knew this getup wasn’t ideal for a date, but I didn’t want Kyle to think I put in effort just for him.
I tilted my head slightly, taking myself in.
I exhaled.
“Relax,” I muttered to my reflection, like that ever worked.
Because this wasn’t just a date.
This was my ex.
When I stepped inside, the warmth wrapped around me immediately.
Brick Wood sat high enough above the city to feel like a secret.
The air was cooler up here—cleaner somehow—like the noise of Southside had been filtered out before it could reach this place.
Warm lights spilled out from the open structure, casting a golden glow over wood, stone, and glass.
It wasn’t trying too hard. Everything about it felt intentional: the low conversations, soft clinking glasses, the hum of people lingering longer than they planned to.
Beyond the edges of the restaurant, the city stretched out below, lights flickering like it was part of the ambiance itself, not something separate from it.
It felt like the kind of place where they want to impress, confess, or pretend they weren’t about to make a mistake.
Which was exactly why I was here.
My eyes scanned the space, already knowing I’d find him somewhere strategic.
And of course, there he was.
At the far edge of the restaurant, seated near the open view, like he owned the dimming skyline.
Kyle.
One arm resting lazily on the table, body angled toward the city like he wasn’t waiting, but he was.
He always had this way of looking like he wasn’t trying, when in reality, everything about him was calculated.
Wait. I paused, realizing that that was what I was trying to do now.
I sighed.
And as if he felt it, he turned.
Our eyes met.
And then he smiled.
Slow. Familiar. Dangerous.
And just like that, my chest—and somewhere down below—tightened in the most inconvenient way.
Annoyance.
Butterflies.
Erection.
The worst combination known to man.
And the moment I reached the table, Kyle didn’t hesitate and pulled me into a hug like it was the most natural thing in the world—like we hadn’t spent years pretending the other didn’t exist.
But it actually caught me off guard.
It was solid and warm. Familiar in a way my body remembered before my mind could protest.
And then, his scent hit me.
Not the one I used to know. Not the one he always wore before.
This was different. Darker. Warmer. Something deeper that settled low in my chest instead of just passing through. It lingered when he pulled away.
I hated that I noticed.
I hated that I liked it.
“Hi,” he said.
I just forced a small smile.
I sat across from him, smoothing my shirt like I needed something to do with my hands.
And for a second…
Nothing.
Just the quiet clink of cutlery around us, the low hum of people talking that had nothing to do with us, and the weight of everything we weren’t saying.
“Thanks for coming,” Kyle said finally.
I reached for the menu, opening it like I was actually interested. “Yeah,” I muttered. “No big deal.”
It was.
My eyes skimmed over the page, yet not a single thing registered.
“How are you?” he asked.
“I’m fine.”
A beat.
“I’ve seen your TikToks,” he added.
I paused, then slowly looked up.
“Have you?” I said flatly.
He nodded, one corner of his mouth lifting slightly. “Your romantic rants.”
I rolled my eyes, closing the menu halfway.
“Is that why you wanted to see me?” I asked. “Because you pity me?”
“No,” he said immediately.
Too quick. Too sure.
“I wanted to see you because I know you.”
Something in my chest shifted.
I hated that sentence, because Kyle had always been good at saying things that sounded simple until they stayed with you for days.
He leaned back slightly.
“And I know you don’t fall apart over just for anyone.”
I let out a quiet scoff.
“If only that were true.”
“No,” he said quietly. “It is.”
I frowned.
Kyle held my gaze.
“James, you’re not the guy who gets attached after three good conversations and a compliment.”
I looked away.
“You’ve always been careful.”
His voice remained calm.
“Annoyingly careful, to be honest,” he added. “Chasing you for six months.”
I hated how accurate that was.
“And that is because you overthink everything.”
“Thank you,” I said.
“You analyze every text.”
“Okay, rude.”
“You ask your friends for opinions before replying.”
I pointed at him. “That is called emotional intelligence.”
“No,” he said. “That’s called being James.”
Damn him.
Suddenly, I wasn’t sitting across from an ex. I was sitting across from someone who remembered me.
At the same time, I also realized that none of those things Kyle mentioned ever happened with Victor.
I never made Victor chase me.
I never spent hours dissecting his texts with my friends.
I never overthought whether I liked him.
I just did.
Was it because Victor showed me his wound early? That maybe the savior complex in me saw his broken pieces and immediately decided they were worth protecting? Or was it something else entirely?
Hell, one unearned ‘I love you’ and I practically handed the man the keys to my nervous system.
The thought hit harder than I expected.
Maybe Kyle really did know me better than the man I still couldn’t get over.
And somehow, that wasn’t comforting.
“And I kept thinking…” Kyle rubbed the back of his neck.
“Thinking what?”
“That if you were hurting this much,” he said, “then whoever did it must’ve really mattered.”
Silence settled between us.
Not awkward.
Just honest.
And somehow that felt more dangerous than flirting.
“That guy’s an asshole, though,” he added, breaking the quiet moment.
I tilted my head, picking up my glass of water.
“Funny,” I said before taking a sip. “There’s two of you now.”
Kyle laughed.
And just like that, we were back to our love-hate banter again.
Kyle exhaled, a small smile tugging at his lips—not amused, not defensive. Just… accepting.
“Yeah,” he said. “I probably deserved that.”
“Probably?” I raised a brow.
He let out a breath, rubbing the back of his neck. “Okay. Definitely.”
I leaned back slightly, studying him.
“And yet,” he added after a moment, “you’re still here.”
Silence took over me—because I didn’t like my answer.
He glanced down at the table, then back at me. “So what happened?”
I knew what he meant.
“Nothing,” I said lightly. “Just your typical situationship tragedy.”
Kyle didn’t look convinced.
“Right,” he said slowly.
A beat.
“And us?”
I let out a short laugh, shaking my head.
“Oh, do I need to remind you?” I asked.
That landed.
But this time, he didn’t deflect. Didn’t joke.
He just looked at me.
Really looked.
“I didn’t forget,” he said.
Something shifted in the quiet. Regret, maybe. Or something close enough to it.
But I didn’t soften.
I wasn’t that version of myself anymore.
“Good,” I said, picking up my glass.
Silence settled again—but looser this time. Like something had already been acknowledged, even if it wasn’t fixed.
Kyle leaned back slightly, studying me in a way that felt intense.
“You look good,” he said.
I didn’t react.
“You always did,” he added.
I took another sip. “Don’t start, Kyle.”
“I’m not starting anything,” he said, a hint of grin forming. “I’m just… observing.”
He winked.
“Observe quietly.”
He chuckled under his breath.
God, I hated that sound.
“You still do that thing,” he said.
“What thing?”
“That attitude,” he replied. “Like you’re above everything, but your eyes give you away.”
I stilled for half a second.
“They don’t,” I said flatly—I was trying, okay?
“They do,” he said easily. “You’re doing it right now.”
I looked away, pretending to focus on something across the restaurant.
“Relax,” he added, softer this time. “I’m not here to fight you.”
“Then what are you here for?” I asked.
There was a pause. Just long enough to feel intentional.
“You,” he said.
That was it.
Simple. Direct. Annoying. Heart-racing.
I huffed, shaking my head—but I could feel it now.
That shift.
That subtle pull.
Kyle leaned forward slightly, resting his arms on the table, just close enough to feel like he was stepping into my space without actually touching me.
“Why do you always pretend you’re not affected?” he asked.
“I’m not.”
He grinned.
Slow.
Knowing.
And that… that did something to me.
I looked away again, pressing my lips together, trying to hold back a smile.
“Let me see that smile,” he demanded, but in a soft way.
I tried hard not to. The lord and savior Lady Gaga knew I tried hard not to.
But it slipped.
Just a little.
And he caught it. Of course he did.
“There it is,” he said casually, like he had won a match.
I exhaled, shaking my head, but I didn’t look back at him immediately. Because now, I could feel it—that old, dangerous familiarity creeping in.
And when I finally looked at him again, he was already watching me.
Eyes steady.
Unmoving.
And suddenly, the space between us didn’t feel like a table. It felt like tension. Like memory. Like something unfinished.
“Did you clean?” he asked.
I knew exactly what he meant.
“Kyle stop,” I warned.
I did, actually.
“I wanna fuck you so bad,” he said in a low, sensual voice.
His begging eyes were pure, hot passion—darkened by lust. They were wide and soft in a way that demanded my surrender.
My chest tightened.
Heat pooling low, uninvited, inconvenient.
GOD!
This was a mistake.
And the worst part? I wanted to commit it anyway.
The door barely had time to close before he was on me.