Chapter 3
SAXON
The clang of weights hitting the floor mixed with sneakers squeaking against the turf, and someone had music pounding through a speaker that had seen better days.
Normally, I could shut all that out and focus on the rhythm of my reps, but today, every sound scraped against my nerves. My focus was shot.
I had been half in my head all afternoon, thinking about how Ivy had mentioned taking the train back to Manhattan after her shift.
She’d said it like it was nothing—just a passing comment between light banter about the PR day.
But now I couldn’t stop picturing her in that oversized coat, stepping onto a dim platform, surrounded by strangers, heading into the city at night.
The image stuck in my chest like a thorn.
It had me even more on edge than usual, which meant I was pushing harder than I needed during a light conditioning workout. I was taking out my frustration on the heavy bag.
Raiden tossed a football across the gym, hitting me square in the shoulder. “What crawled up your ass today?” His voice carried over the thrum of music pumping through the speakers and the grunts and groans of our teammates. “You look like you wanna burn the building down.”
I caught the ball with one hand and shot him a look that would have made most people shrink back in fear. Raiden just smirked.
Huck snorted as he chalked his hands. “That’s just his normal face.”
“I’m fine,” I grunted, planting my palms against the padded metal and driving into the turf.
“No, you’re broodier than usual,” Micah piped up, because the asshole liked to poke the bear.
I shot him a look. “Drop it.”
But trying to shut him down only encouraged him.
“Maybe he’s just tired.” Micah grinned. “You old now, Sax?”
I ignored them and bent to grab the sled handles, my muscles flexing as I pushed it down the length of turf. It should’ve cleared my head. But it didn’t. Every stride just wound me tighter.
When I reached the end of the line, Nixon was leaning against the wall, watching me like he was trying to figure out what was going on with me. “You’re somewhere else today.”
“Nowhere important.” I turned the sled around, ready for another run.
“Bullshit,” Nixon retorted with a short laugh. “I know that look. That’s not game film running through your head.”
Huck grabbed a towel and wiped his face, smirking. “Seriously. You’ve been pacing like a damn tiger since we started. What gives?”
“Nothing,” I muttered, setting my stance.
“Nothing?” Raiden echoed. “That why you missed your rep count on bench?”
Nixon’s smile was slow and knowing. “He’s thinking about a woman.”
Micah paused mid-stretch, eyebrows up. “Seriously?”
“Yep.” Nixon tapped the side of his head. “I can see it. He’s got that laser focus, but it’s not football. It’s definitely a woman.”
I didn’t respond, mostly because they weren’t wrong. And I wasn’t in the mood to pretend otherwise.
Micah grinned, tossing the football from one hand to the other. “Saxon? Twisted over a woman?”
Huck barked out a laugh. “No way. Sax doesn’t get twisted. The man barely talks.”
Nixon chuckled and pushed off the wall. “That’s exactly how you know. When the quiet ones start acting off, it’s always a woman.” He tipped his head toward me. “She’s under your skin, huh?”
I didn’t respond, just shoved the sled harder, putting my weight into it until my quads ignited.
Nixon smirked. “Thought so. You’ll figure it out. Just don’t blow a hamstring trying to impress her.”
I grunted, focusing on the sled instead of the heat crawling up the back of my neck.
It wasn’t embarrassment—it was restraint.
If I opened my mouth, I’d probably tell them to fuck off, and that would only further convince them that they were on the right track.
I wasn’t in the mood to deflect their shit anymore.
I didn’t want to talk about Ivy. I wanted to see her.
After the workout, I showered and changed in the locker room, barely hearing the tail end of their banter as they left.
My reflection in the mirror looked the same as it always did—cool, collected, and sharp-edged.
But inside, I was restless. I’d already decided what I would do before I even grabbed my keys.
I was going back to the salon.
By the time I reached the parking lot outside, the sky was painted in streaks of navy and burnt orange. The frigid winter air bit against my skin when I stepped out of the facility, but tonight, it felt good. Cooling the fire licking at my skin whenever I thought about my Ivy.
I drove toward town, stopping about a block away from The Color Loft and parking in a shadowed spot where I could see the front windows without being obvious.
Through the glass, I saw Ivy moving around inside—her dark hair swept up and head bent as she cleaned her station. Even from this distance, I could see the line of her shoulders, the way she moved with a mix of focus and grace.
I watched the light in the salon shift as the other stylists left, until she was the only one still inside. When she finally headed to the front desk, checking something on the computer, I pulled out of my spot, circled the block, and parked right in front.
The bell above the door chimed when I stepped inside. She looked up, startled, then smiled—small but real.
“Saxon.” My name sounded good on her lips.
I let a slow, easy smile settle on my mouth. One I rarely used. For some reason, it came easily when it was for her. “You’re still here.”
“Just closing up.” She reached for her coat, and I saw the fatigue in her face, the faint slump of her shoulders, and the way her jaw relaxed when she thought no one was looking. “What are you doing here?”
“I’m heading back to the city.” I walked closer until we were only a few feet apart. “It’s late. Ride with me.”
Her brows drew together, soft confusion in her expression. “You don’t have to do that. I take the train every day.”
“I know.”
Her lips parted, and a faint flush rose in her cheeks. “You remembered that?”
“I remember everything you tell me.”
That made her blink. She laughed quietly, shaking her head. “I can’t let you go out of your way like that.”
“It’s not out of my way.” I tilted my head, keeping my voice calm and confident. “Come with me.”
She hesitated, eyes flicking toward the door, then back to me. Her instinct was to argue, but the exhaustion in her face told me she didn’t really want to.
“Okay,” she agreed softly. “Just this once.”
I took her coat from her hands and held it open for her to slip her arms into, then turned her around and zipped it up. When my finger brushed her chin, I felt a zing of electricity shoot straight to my core. Fucking hell. There didn’t seem to be a single thing about Ivy that didn’t turn me on.
Inhaling slowly, I stepped back and gestured for her to walk ahead of me.
Following her outside, I waited for her to lock up and led her to my SUV.
I opened the passenger door and held out my hand to help her slide in.
Then I went around and climbed in. The air between us thickened the moment my door closed.
Her perfume filled the vehicle, a light floral scent mixed with vanilla.
I breathed it in as I buckled up, then started the ignition.
The sky was black now, the road gleaming under the streetlights as I pulled away from the curb. She sat angled toward the window for a few minutes, still and quiet. Then, as if realizing the silence was too much for her nerves, she started talking.
“So, um, I grew up in Manhattan. Upper East Side. My parents still live there. In the same apartment I grew up in, actually. It’s a little ridiculous.
” She laughed softly, and I felt the sound hit me low in the gut.
“I’m an only child, which probably explains why I never stop talking when I’m nervous. ”
Her voice was smooth and a little husky, full of warmth. I didn’t interrupt. I just wanted to listen.
She went on, gesturing with her hands as she spoke.
“Most of the people I grew up with have moved away, but I have two friends I’ve known since kindergarten—Jen and Stephanie—who live in the city, too.
We try to get together when we can, but everyone’s busy.
Although it doesn’t really matter how long you’ve known someone for them to be vitally important to you, does it? ”
“No,” I replied in a low tone, glad for the darkness that hid the fierce expression on my face. “It doesn’t.”
“When I first met Lorna, we just clicked. It was like we’d known each other forever, and it didn’t take long for her to become my best friend.
” I could practically hear the smile in her voice as she continued, “Then she had to go and get married, ruining a perfectly good thing.” She paused before sighing.
“It’s weird how fast you can get used to having someone in your space. ”
I nodded slightly, my eyes on the road. “You miss it.”
“Yeah,” she murmured. “But I’m happy for her. She and Cole are so great together.”
I liked hearing her talk. Every little piece of her life she gave me felt like something I could hold on to. Her words painted pictures of the apartment she grew up in, her parents’ voices, and her friends’ laughter. And I wanted to know every part of her life.
Her voice wrapped around me, warm and unguarded, and I couldn’t stop imagining how it would sound when I had her beneath me, gasping for air while she whispered my name, her voice breaking on a moan. I wanted to hear how it changed when I made her come—soft, breathless, completely undone.
My body reacted fast, and my hands tightened on the steering wheel until the leather creaked.
I shifted slightly, trying to ease the pressure against my jeans, but it didn’t give me much relief.
The drive stretched longer than usual for this late at night, so I focused on her words, on every story that tumbled out of her mouth, because I needed to stay composed.
Stay in control. So I didn’t pull over and drag her onto my lap and feast on her delectable mouth.
After driving for a while in comfortable silence, she spoke in a light, teasing tone. “You really don’t talk much, do you?”
I glanced over, caught the flicker of humor in her eyes. “I talk when there’s something worth saying.”
Her lips curved into a grin. “And apparently, I do enough talking for both of us.”
“Works for me.” She didn’t realize I was memorizing every sound she made.
By the time I turned onto her street, the traffic had finally thinned. Her neighborhood was quiet—rows of old brownstones, narrow sidewalks, and a few trees that looked skeletal against the glow of the streetlights. She pointed at a red brick building halfway down the block. “That’s me.”
I parked at the curb and got out before she could protest, jogging around and opening her door.
Her eyes followed me, wide and curious when I offered her my hand again.
She hesitated for half a second before slipping her fingers into mine.
I could feel the heat of her skin, even through her knitted gloves.
The street was still, the kind of quiet you only found on the more residential areas of Manhattan.
Muted sounds of distant traffic, the rustle of leaves in the wind, and someone’s muffled music behind a closed window.
I walked her to the front door, where a small brass number hung crookedly above the buzzer.
The light overhead was dim, catching the shine in her dark hair when she turned to face me.
“Thanks for the ride.” She tucked a loose strand behind her ear. Her smile was small, but it reached her eyes. “You didn’t have to.”
“I wanted to.”
For a moment, we just stood there, the night stretching around us. Then I leaned down and brushed my mouth over hers. The kiss was slow, soft, and deliberate. Her lips parted, her breath catching against mine, and the taste of her hit me all at once. Warm. Sweet. Fucking addictive.
Temptation was riding me, so I pulled back before I lost control.
Ivy’s eyes stayed on mine, dazed and bright. “Good night, Saxon.”
“Night, sunshine.”
I waited for her to be safely shut inside, then forced myself to turn and walk away before I did something I’d regret, like follow her upstairs. When I slid behind the wheel again, I could still taste her.
As I pulled away from the curb, one thought settled in, low and certain. Tomorrow, I would be there to drive her home again.