I stand there, fists clenched, chest heaving, every muscle in my body still burning from her touch. From the ghost of what almost was. My mind races with questions I can't answer, with desires I can't—shouldn't—fulfill.
I'm so fucking screwed.
11
JAXON
Istand there, my pulse pounding in my ears, body still thrumming with the ghost of her touch. My fingers twitch at my sides, aching to reach for her, to pull her back, to demand answers for the questions haunting me. But she's already disappeared into the crowd, that damn smirk still playing on her lips, like she knows exactly what she’s doing to me. Like she knows I’m hers, even if she isn’t mine.
A hand claps against my shoulder, jerking me back to the present.
"Bro, you good?" one of our linebackers, Beck Harrison, asks, his dark brows furrowed.
I force my face into something neutral, ignoring the fire still burning under my skin. "Yeah," I grit out. "Just—yeah."
Beck follows my line of sight, catching a glimpse of Madison weaving through the party, her chocolate hair catching the light. My stomach tightens. She’s a beacon I’ve always been drawn to, even when I know better. His lips pull into a knowing grin. "Ah. Got it. You have a thing for Madison?"
Yeah, a thing for her stomping all over my heart.
The words dig under my skin, sharp and bitter. Because that's exactly what it feels like—like I’m some game she’s playing,pushing and pulling to see how close she can get before I break, testing me like she hasn’t already broken enough of me.
And the worst part?
I want to break. I want to shatter to pieces if it means she’ll be the one to put me back together.
I shake my head, rolling my shoulders in an attempt to loosen the tension coiled there. "Doesn't matter," I mutter, grabbing a soda off the counter. I pop the top and take a long drink.
"Uh-huh," he says, clearly unconvinced. "Yeah, keep telling yourself that, man."
I don’t respond, because I don’t need to. What the hell would I even say? That the girl I’ve been in love with for half my life just waltzed back in like she never left? That she still looks at me like she wants me but keeps running like she’s afraid to?
My jaw is tight, my grip white-knuckled around the bottle. My mind is already too far gone, still stuck in the way she felt against me.
This isn't over, not even close.
I don’t know how long I stand there, muscles locked tight, my body still humming with the aftermath of what just happened—of what almost happened.
The music is too loud, the air too thick, my skin too hot.
I need to get the hell out of here before I do something stupid, like go looking for her. Before I demand answers she clearly isn’t ready to give.
I push through the crowd, ignoring the calls of my teammates, the drunken laughter, the couples tangled up against walls and on couches. Every brush of someone against me feels wrong—not her, not soft enough, not warm enough, not Madison.
By the time I reach the staircase, my pulse is still uneven, my thoughts a mess of her hands, her breath, her body against mine. I take the steps two at a time, my jaw clenched so hard, it aches.
The second I get into my room, I slam the door shut behind me, the bass from the party still thudding faintly through the walls like a heartbeat—steady, relentless, a reminder of what happeneddownstairs. I lean against the door, tilting my head back, dragging a hand down my face.
Jesus Christ.
I exhale sharply, pushing off the door and yanking my shirt over my head, trying to shake the feeling of her skin under my palms. It doesn’t work. It won’t leave me.
Everything about her is burned into me. The scent of her—lavender and something uniquely her—takes me back to nights spent on the rooftop outside my bedroom window.
The way her breath hitched when I pulled her closer, that tiny crack in her composure revealing the Madison I used to know. The way she felt—soft and warm and perfect against me, like the missing piece I’ve been unconsciously searching for since she walked away.
I groan, running a hand through my hair, pacing across the room like it’ll somehow shake the tension gripping every inch of my body.
I enter my bathroom, turning on the shower, cranking the dial to cold in an pathetic attempt to cool the fire she’s lit inside me, to numb the ache only she seems to bring.
