And then his lips meet mine.
The kiss starts as a performance—I'm aware enough to recognize that. A distraction, a strategy. But then his hand comes up to cup my face, and something shifts. His lips are soft yet insistent, and despite myself, I respond. My hands find his waist, fingers curling into the fabric of his T-shirt.
I hear Brad's footsteps in the hallway, but they seem distant and unimportant compared to the feeling of Alder's body pressed against mine, the gentle stroke of his thumb along my jaw, and the heat spreading through me like wildfire.
The bedroom door swings open. "What the hell are you doing in here?”
For a moment, Alder continues to kiss me as if Brad's interruption is merely an annoyance. When he finally pulls back, his eyes meet mine briefly, and what I see there makes my breath catch—confusion, fire, something unplanned.
Then he turns to Brad, keeping his body partially in front of mine. “We can do what we want in Lena’s bedroom. Or anywhere else."
Brad stands in the doorway, phone still in hand, his facecontorted with indignation. His gaze flicks from Alder to me, then to the baskets full of my things.
"You're actually leaving? For him?" The disbelief in his voice would be comical if it weren't so insulting.
I find my voice, though it comes out slightly breathless. "Yes, I'm leaving. Not for him. For me."
CHAPTER 14
ALDER
Lenaand I rush from the bedroom, Brad’s words still echoing in my ears. Her face is flushed, and her breathing uneven—though whether from the kiss or the confrontation, I can't tell. Maybe both.
"Don't forget your diploma," I say, grabbing the framed certificate from the wall. Not because I'm thinking clearly, but because I need something to do with my hands that isn't touching her again.
Brad scurries ahead and blocks the doorway, his skinny frame somehow managing to occupy the entire space. "So that's how it is? You're actually with this... meathead?"
I feel Lena tense beside me. Before she can respond, I step forward, holding Lena's diploma in one hand and a laundry basket full of her clothes in the other.
"Move," I say simply.
"Or what?" Brad sneers, looking me up and down. "You'll hit me? Prove what a big tough guy you are?"
"Brad, just let us leave," Lena says, her voice steadier than I expected.
He ignores her completely. "What's your type exactly, Stag? Men, women, whatever's convenient for your image?"His gaze shifts to Lena. "Or is it just desperate people with low standards?"
Something hot and dangerous flares in my chest. I set down the basket slowly and deliberately.
"Alder, don't," Lena murmurs, her hand on my arm. "He's not worth it."
She's right. But I'm not about to let this asshole have the last word. I step closer to Brad, enjoying the brief flash of fear in his eyes as he realizes just how much bigger I am.
"My type," I say quietly, "is people who aren't self-absorbed parasites. Now move, or I'll move you."
For a moment, I think Brad might actually try something. Then, his survival instinct kicks in, and he steps aside.
"This is a mistake, Lena," he calls after us as we head for the door. "Don't come crawling back when he gets bored of slumming it!"
I feel rather than see Lena's wince; it takes everything in me not to turn around and shove Brad through a wall. Instead, I guide her out with a hand at the small of her back, laundry basket balanced on my hip.
We make it to the car in silence, loading her things into the hatch. It's not until we're three blocks away that the tension finally breaks.
Lena lets out a strangled laugh. "Oh my god."
I glance at her, a smile tugging at my lips despite the adrenaline still surging through me. "You okay?"
"That was..." She shakes her head, laughing again. "I can't believe we just did that."
