“I didn’t know,” I murmur, voice barely audible.
Kane doesn’t move. Doesn’t blink. Just watches me like I’ve said something sacred. Like my doubt is something he’s been waiting to dismantle.
“You weren’t supposed to,” he says, stepping closer. “Not yet.”
I swallow hard, heart thudding. “So the rumors…”
He cuts me off with a look. Not cruel. Just final. “They talk because they don’t know me. They talk because they want to be you.”
I flinch. “Be me?”
“You think I look at anyone else like this?” His voice is low, dangerous. “You think I follow anyone else across campus just to make sure they’re safe? You think I memorize anyone else’s schedule, their habits, the way they breathe when they’re anxious?”
My breath catches.
He’s not hiding it. Not the obsession. Not the need. Not the fact that he’s been watching me long before I ever noticed.
“I don’t care what they say,” he continues. “I care what you believe. And if you’re going to let their jealousy rewrite what happened between us, then I’ll remind you. Again. And again. And again.”
I scoot back, but he follows. Not threatening. Just inevitable.
“You’re mine, Blair. And I don’t share.”
He turns and walks to the dresser. Picks up a folded stack of clothes,myclothes. Clean. Dry. The jersey, the jeans, even my bra.
“I washed them last night,” he begins. “Figured you’d want to feel like yourself again.”
I sit up higher, the sheet clutched tight, heart thudding. I don’t know what to say. I’m grateful. I’m overwhelmed. I’m still trying to process the fact that I slept in his bed, that he saw me like this, that heseesme now.
He sets the clothes gently on the edge of the bed, then crouches beside me, eyes dark and steady.
“You don’t have to hide from me,” he says. “Not now. Not ever.”
I nod, barely.
But I’m still trembling.
Because being wanted like this, being claimed, isn’t something I’ve ever known I would survive.
I grab the clothes from the edge of the bed and rush to the bathroom, heart pounding like I’ve done something wrong. Like I’ve crossed a line I wasn’t supposed to. The jersey’s warm, freshly laundered, but it feels heavier now, like it’s soaked in everything that happened last night.
I dress quickly, hands shaking, avoiding the mirror.
When I come back out, Kane’s still in the chair. Still shirtless. Still watching me like I belong to him. Like everything he said was true tenfold.
I clear my throat. “I’ll call a ride share. Get back to the dorms.”
His jaw tightens, and he stands.
“You wore my jersey,” he says, voice low and sharp. “You slept in my bed. You think I’m letting you walk away like it didn’t mean something?”
I freeze.
The words hit harder than I expect. Not because they’re cruel. Because they’re true. Because part of me wants to pretend it was just heat and adrenaline and proximity. But he won’t let me.
He steps closer, slow and deliberate, until I can feel the heat of him again.
“You don’t get to disappear,” he says. “Not after last night. Not after us.”
