Page 3 of Cross Check Daddies
He’s walking toward me before I can act surprised.
“Don’t,” I say immediately. “Just keep walking.”
“One drink.”
I exhale, hating how much I recognize the line. “You haven’t changed.”
His gaze doesn’t move from mine. “I haven’t seen you in too long, sugar.”
It’s the sugar that gets me. Not because it’s sweet. Because it’s dangerous. Because it’s a trigger wrapped in affection and heat and years of wondering what-if.
He’s not the boy I remember. No letterman jacket, no messy curls brushing his collar. Now he’s all adult edge, in a buttoned shirt that clings too perfectly to his chest. He’s confident, practiced, and so goddamn beautiful.
“One drink,” I say, and my voice isn’t confident. It’s quiet but definite. I don’t know what I’m doing, only that I’m already doing it.
His smile barely touches his mouth, but it lights something behind his eyes.
I cancel my ride.
We walk. Not far. Just around the corner to a tucked-away bar and restaurant with velvet chairs and dim lighting. He holds the door open and lets me order first. Bourbon neat. He raises an eyebrow but doesn’t comment. He gets the same.
We sit in a booth. Too close. Music hums low and sultry through the speakers, some slow-tempo cover of an '80s hit. The silence stretches, not uncomfortable, just thick.
“You straightened your hair…” he says.
I run a hand through my glossy do. I decided a long time ago to relax my hair instead of having to deal with the curls in the blistering Miami heat. “Yeah,” I say instead, “It was easier.”
“You look different.”
“Bad different?” I freeze. I hate how insecure I suddenly feel.Why does he still have this power over me?
“Fuck no, Brooke. You look amazing. You know you always look amazing.” He smirks.
I blink. “What?”
“Beautiful,sugar.You are fucking gorgeous.”
I smile despite myself. “You clean up pretty nicely yourself.”
He laughs once. “I did my best.”
He doesn’t say anything else. Doesn’t bring up the time I cried into his hoodie the week before prom, or how we spent two summers tangled in each other like we’d never get tired. He doesn’t say he missed me again. But it’s there. In the way he looks at my mouth, like he remembers what it tastes like. In the way his thigh brushes mine, and neither of us moves.
I sip my drink and let the warmth slide through me. His gaze lingers on my neck, my collarbone, then lower. Like he’s mapping me out all over again.
I should leave. I should walk away now, before this goes exactly where it wants to.
Instead, I finish my drink. Set the glass down. His hand finds mine again, thumb brushing the edge of my wrist.
It’s not a question when he says, “Let me drive you home. It’s a lot quieter, and maybe we can talk.”
But I hear it like one. And I answer without words—just a nod.
CHAPTER TWO
Brooke
I tellhim I need to use the restroom before we leave. Cam nods. I catch the drag of his stare following the sway of my hips as I walk away. The moment I turn the corner, I finally exhale, the air rushing out in a long breath.
