Chapter 26
Alexis
A week has passed since that first kiss, and Mason stayed with us for two days, crashing on the couch like he belonged there all along.
I loved having him here. The apartment felt fuller somehow, lighter, and the way he and Dex clicked so easily still surprises me. They’ve been texting and calling ever since, like they’ve known each other longer than a handful of days.
It does something to me, seeing that. The way Dex, and the Hawthornes, didn’t hesitate, didn’t question it, just folded Mason into their lives like family. Like that’s simply who they are.
It’s Friday, and Dex gave us both the day off. Somehow, he managed to call in an old waitress to cover the weekend just so he could take me out on what he called a proper date. His words, not mine.
I still don’t know where he’s taking me.
The only thing he told me is that we’re going on his bike, so I dress for that.
Jeans that hug just right, a soft pink top with fringes along the shoulders that catch the light when I move, tiny flecks of glitter woven through the fabric like it’s holding onto pieces of sunset.
I throw my leather jacket over it, worn and familiar, and pull on my boots to match. My bangs are braided back, simple and out of my face, and I keep my makeup light. Nothing too much. Just enough.
Still, butterflies stir low in my stomach, warm and restless at the thought of spending hours with Dex right next to me, no interruptions, no distractions. Just us.
I don’t even care where we’re going. Not really.
As long as I get to be close to him.
Ever since Mason left, we’ve been working nonstop.
Long shifts, early mornings, late nights, barely any time to breathe, let alone be together.
What we’ve had instead are stolen moments.
A brush of lips behind the counter. A hand at my waist when no one’s looking.
Breakfasts that turn into lingering kisses and quiet smiles we don’t quite explain.
It’s not enough.
But it’s everything at the same time.
I step out of my room, the soft creak of the door barely cutting through the quiet, and find him standing in the living room like he’s been waiting there a while. Like he knew exactly when I’d come out.
He looks up.
And he doesn’t look away.
His gaze drags over me slowly, deliberately, starting at my boots, moving up my legs, lingering just a second too long at my waist before settling on my face. A smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth, something low and satisfied in it that makes heat rise to my cheeks before I can stop it.
“You’re all mine tonight, Tinker,” he says, his voice rough around the edges, like he’s holding something back.
My breath catches for half a second.
He’s dressed simple. A white T-shirt stretched across his chest, a black leather jacket thrown over it, jeans worn in all the right places, black cowboy boots grounding him in place like he belongs exactly where he stands.
There’s something unfair about how easily he pulls it off. Something dangerous in how good he looks without trying.
I’ll never get tired of looking at him.
“Finally,” I murmur, stepping toward him, unable to keep the smile from slipping into my voice.
The moment I’m close enough, his hand finds mine, warm and sure, and he pulls me into him like it’s instinct.
Like it’s already a habit. His other hand comes to my waist, steadying me as his lips find mine, and just like that, the world narrows.
Sound fades, time slows, everything else falling away until it’s just him and the way he kisses me like he’s been thinking about it all day.
Maybe he has.
“I can’t resist tasting your lips every chance I get,” he murmurs against them, his breath warm, his voice softer now, almost teasing.
I feel it all the way down.
“But we need to go,” he adds, brushing his lips over mine one last time before pulling back just enough to look at me. “I want you on my bike, holding me close while we ride into the sunset.”
Something in my chest tightens, not heavy, not painful. Just full.
He presses a quick kiss to the tip of my nose, gentle in a way that doesn’t match the rest of him, and then he takes my hand again, lacing our fingers together as he leads me out of the apartment.
The evening air greets us the second we step outside, cool and crisp, carrying the faint scent of dust and distant fields.
The kind of air that still remembers winter but is starting to soften at the edges.
The sky is shifting, blue bleeding into streaks of gold and pink as the sun dips lower, stretching shadows long across the ground.
His Harley is parked in the driveway, dark and solid, chrome catching the last light of the day.
He grabs a helmet and hands it to me before pulling his own on, movements easy and practiced.
I climb on behind him, the leather seat still warm from the sun, and this time there’s no hesitation. My arms slide around his waist naturally, my body fitting against his back like it’s already learned the shape of him.
Like it knows where it belongs.
The thought settles somewhere deep in my chest, warm and unfamiliar, spreading slowly like something I don’t quite trust yet.
For a second, I let myself sink into it. Into him. Into this… whatever this is that feels too steady, too real to be taken away.
And then, just as quickly, something colder slips in.
Not a full thought. Just a shadow of one.
Russel .
It’s enough to make my grip tighten around Dex, my fingers curling into his jacket as a chill skims down my spine, sharp and unwelcome against the warmth of his body in front of me.
I swallow it down before it can grow, before it can take shape into something louder.
He hasn’t found me.
Not yet.
And I’m not losing this.
The engine roars to life beneath us, low and powerful, vibrating through the frame and into my bones. His hand comes back, covering mine where it rests against him, giving it a firm, grounding squeeze.
“Ready, Tinker?” he calls over his shoulder.
I smile against the back of his jacket, tightening my hold just a little.
“Always.”
And then we take off, the wind rushing past us, carrying us forward into whatever comes next.
? ? ?
Dex slows the bike as we pull up in front of a building that does not look like a bar at first glance.
It’s older. Weathered brick softened by time, tall arched windows stretching up the front, their glass catching the last of the fading light. A flickering sign hangs above the entrance, the kind that has probably been there for decades, the letters worn but still proud enough to hold their place.
A theater.
Or at least it used to be.
I glance at him as I slide off the bike, pulling off my helmet, my brows knitting slightly. “You’re taking me to a show?”
He just smirks, that knowing look tugging at his mouth again, and takes the helmet from my hands. “Somethin’ like that.”
Before I can ask anything else, he takes my hand and leads me inside.
The moment the doors open, the world shifts.
Warmth wraps around me first, thick and golden, carrying the scent of aged wood, whiskey, and something faintly sweet I can’t quite place. Music spills through the space, rich and full, the kind that settles into your chest instead of just brushing past your ears.
I step in slowly, my eyes adjusting to the low light, and then I see it.
The theater is still there.
But it has been transformed.
Where rows of seats should be, there are tables now, small, round, scattered across the main floor, each lit by soft amber lamps that cast flickering shadows across polished wood.
People sit close together, drinks in hand, heads tipped toward the stage like they’ve all been pulled in by the same invisible thread.
The balcony above curves around the room, railings lined with more tables, more low lights glowing like stars caught indoors. The high ceilings stretch overhead, painted details just visible in the dimness, remnants of what this place used to be.
And at the center of it all, the stage.
A band is already playing, guitar strings humming, drums steady, a voice carrying through the room like it belongs there. Like this place was built for it.
Maybe it was.
I don’t realize I’ve slowed to a stop until Dex’s hand tightens gently around mine, grounding me.
“Told you it wasn’t just a show,” he murmurs, close enough that I feel the brush of his voice against my ear.
Before I can respond, a man steps toward us from the side, wiping his hands on a cloth, his grin wide and easy like he’s been expecting us.
“Dex Hawthorne,” he calls out over the music, his voice carrying with practiced ease. “’Bout time you showed your face in here again.”
Dex huffs out a quiet laugh beside me, giving the man a quick nod. “Been busy.”
The man’s gaze shifts to me, sharp but not unkind, taking me in for just a second before his smile deepens.
“This the reason?” he asks, amusement threading through his tone.
Heat creeps up my neck, but Dex doesn’t even hesitate.
“Yeah.”
Something about the way he says it, easy, certain, makes my stomach flip.
“Well then,” the man claps his hands together once, satisfied. “Good thing you called ahead. Got your table ready.”
He jerks his chin toward the staircase winding up along the side of the theater. “Best seat in the house. Top floor. Secluded enough you won’t be bothered, but still got the view.”
Dex glances down at me, something softer slipping into his expression now. “C’mon, Tinker.”
We follow him up, the sound of music softening just slightly as we climb higher, the glow of the lights dimmer, more intimate the further we go. By the time we reach the top, the space opens into a smaller section of the balcony, tucked away from the rest.
Our table sits near the railing, just far enough to feel private, but close enough that the stage below stretches out perfectly in view. The lights flicker low around us, casting everything in warm gold, the kind that makes the world feel slower, softer.