Page 22 of Undisputed Chaos
My heart leapt into my throat, and I nearly dropped the phone.
Then, seconds later, a comment:
@AdrianCatalyst: Peaches have always been my favorite. Sweet enough to bite.
A high-pitched sound escaped me, something between a laugh and a gasp.
I clapped my hand over my mouth, staring at his comment with wide eyes. It wasn't subtle this time. It was deliberate, playful, maybe even a little bit dangerous.
And I loved it.
I fell back against the pillows, clutching my phone to my chest, a grin spreading across my face that I couldn't suppress if I tried.
He'd seen it.
He'd commented. He was still playing this game, whatever it was.
My fingers itched to reply, but what would I even say? Thanks? I like being bitten? Every potential response seemed either too casual or too forward.
While I deliberated, another notification appeared, this one a direct message.
@AdrianCatalyst
Better than running away, angel. Though I do enjoy the chase.
By the way, I do the chasing. Don’t respond.
A laugh bubbled up from somewhere deep in my chest. Incredulous, delighted, slightly hysterical.
Was this really happening? Was Adrian, professional boxer and the most eligible bachelor, really flirting with me through comments about peach eyeshadow?
The rational part of my brain, the part that had made me run away in the first place, tried to insert caution. He was famous. He was dangerous. He could have anyone.
But the rest of me, the part that had kissed him first and remembered every second of it, didn't care about rationality.
He waschasingme, specifically instructing me not to respond…
I was floating on a high I'd never experienced before, a giddy, breathless feeling that made me want to dance around my apartment.
So I did. I turned up the music and twirled through my living room, phone still clutched in my hand, giggling like I'd lost my mind. Maybe I had. Maybe Adrian had made me completely, gloriously insane.
I didn't care. For the first time in as long as I could remember, I wasn't thinking, wasn't planning, wasn't reflecting on the past. I was feeling wild and hopeful and alive.
I spent the day in a dreamlike haze, my body still humming with the memory of Adrian's touch.
Everything seemed brighter somehow, the sunlight streaming through my windows, the colors in my paintings.
I curled up on my window seat, sketchbook abandoned beside me, and opened Instagram again.
This time, I switched to my private account, the one where I followed tattoo artists and men with dangerous smiles—the one my regular followers would never guess existed.
I scrolled through my feed with new eyes, past the thirst traps that I usually would have lingered on.
Now they seemed... flat. Two-dimensional. Just bodies without the electricity, the intensity, the raw presence I'd felt with Adrian.
I searched his name again, scrolling through his profile with hungry eyes. There he was in photo after photo. In the ring, at press events, goofing around with his friends.
In each one, that wild energy radiated from the screen. I paused on a video of him training, shirtless and sweaty, laughing as he landed a brutal combination on a heavy bag.
