Page 7 of Clay

Clay leans back slightly, his jaw tightening, and for a second, I think he’s going to brush it off, play it cool like he always did. But then he sighs, a low, rough sound, and runs a hand through his messy hair.

“Dylan,” he starts, his voice quieter now, laced with something I can’t quite name. “I’ll explain. I owe you that much. But nothere, not now. Not with half the town’s ears perked up and Jenny pretending she’s not listening.”

I glance over Clay’s shoulder—sure enough, Jenny’s wiping the counter a little too slowly, her head tilted our way. Nosy as ever. I truly love Jenny, but she’s never quite learned how to keep her beak out of people’s business.

Anyway.

I turn back to Clay, ready to push harder, but before I can, he reaches across the table.

His hand covers mine, warm and calloused, and it’s like a jolt of electricity shoots straight through me.

My breath catches, my whole body waking up—skin tingling, heart pounding, a heat spreading low in my belly. His touch is firm but gentle, his thumb brushing lightly over my knuckles, and I can’t move, can’t think. It’s like every nerve in me remembers him, craves him, despite everything.

His eyes lock on mine, dark and intense, and I see it—the spark, the pull that’s always been there between us. I don’t know who moves first, but suddenly I’m leaning in, and he’s meeting me halfway.

Our lips crash together, and it’s magical—hot and urgent, like seven years apart never happened. His mouth is familiar but new, tasting faintly of coffee and the road, and I melt into it, my hands sliding up to grip his jacket.

Clay kisses me back with a hunger that matches mine, a low growl rumbling in his chest, and for a moment, the diner, the past, the anger—it all fades.

It’s just us, tangled up in something I thought I’d lost forever. I can feel my body react as thighs tense and my cock hardens inside my briefs and comes alive in the kind of way that onlycertain men can provoke. In different circumstances it would barely take a touch of Clay’s hands on my flesh to make me climax - and he knows it too.

But we’re at the diner. And fully clothed…

The bell jingles faintly, and then Chris’s voice cuts through the haze.

“Oh. Uh… wow. Okay,” Chris says, clearly picking up on the tension and energy that the kiss has created.

I pull back, breathless, my lips tingling, and Clay straightens, his hand slipping from mine.

Chris’s standing there, wide-eyed, his backpack slung over his shoulder like he’s not sure whether to stay or bolt.

The spell breaks, reality crashing back in, and I feel my face flush hot. Clay clears his throat, standing up, his height towering over the booth.

“I’ll be in touch,” Clay says, voice low, a promise wrapped in gravel. He lingers for a second, eyes flicking to my lips like he’s tempted to dive back in, then turns and heads for the door. The bell chimes again as he disappears into the night, leaving me reeling.

Chris slides back into the booth, smirking.

“Well, damn, Dylan. That was… intense. You okay?”

I nod, but I’m not sure I am. My heart’s still racing, my skin buzzing where he touched me, my dick throbbing. “Yeah. I just… I need to get home.”

Chris doesn’t push, just grabs his keys, and we settle the bill—Jenny’s grinning like she’s got the scoop of the year. And for a small town like this, she probably does too.

The drive back to my place is quiet, the town blurring past in a haze of streetlights and shadows. When Chris drops me off at my cozy little cottage on the edge of Willow Creek, I mumble a thanks and head inside, locking the door behind me.

The house is small but mine—wood floors creaking underfoot, a sagging couch piled with blankets, a tiny kitchen that smells faintly of lavender from the candle I lit earlier.

I kick off my boots, peel out of my jeans and sweater, and slip into my favorite pajamas: an oversized T-shirt and soft shorts. It’s late—past midnight now—but I’m too wired to sleep. I grab my laptop from the coffee table and settle onto the couch, pulling a throw blanket over my lap.

My novel’s open on the screen, the cursor blinking at the start of a new chapter. I’ve been stuck for days, the words refusing to come, but maybe tonight’s different.

Maybe that kiss shook something loose…

I type a few lines—something about a man running from his past, a man on a motorcycle chasing him down—but my focus drifts.

Clay.

He’s all I can think about.

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