Page 10 of Wicked Temptations
The words were out before I could stop them, and I watched his expression shift.
“I never said that.”
“You didn’t have to.” I leaned back against the booth, suddenly exhausted. “You’ve been pissed at me since day one. I just couldn’t figure out why.”
“I’m not pissed at you.”
“You’re a terrible liar.”
“Well then. Maybe it’s because you’re trying to outperform me.”
“There’s room for both of us.” I kept my voice quiet and gentle. “It doesn’t have to be a competition.”
“You made it one.”
“No, you did. Last night, officially. But you’ve been at it the second I showed up and dared to be good at this.” I held his stare, watching emotions flicker across his face. “I get it, though. You built something here. Then I walk in, and suddenly you’ve gotta share the spotlight. That’s gotta suck.” I wasn’t trying to be condescending, though even I knew the connotation was there.
Jude had never had an issue with his previous partner, at least that’s what I’d heard. So why was I so different?
The waitress appeared and took our orders. Jude got the full breakfast he’d demanded, and I just asked for more coffee. When we were alone again, he spoke.
“It’s not about the spotlight,” he said, and his voice was rougher than usual. “It’s about you being impossible to ignore.”
My breath caught. “What does that mean?”
He didn’t answer, and I watched him shut down again, walls going back up. “Forget it. I’m just tired.”
“No.” I leaned forward, elbows on the table. “You don’t get to say something like that and then take it back. What did you mean?”
The diner felt too bright and public for this conversation, but I was tired of circling around this. Sometimes he looked at me like I was a stone in his shoe, and other times it looked like he wanted to devour me.
My sick brain liked both, but my heart needed to get some sort of answer.
“I mean, you’re distracting,” he said finally, not looking up from his plate. “Every shift. Every fight sequence. I can’t focus when you’re around, and it’s making me worse at my job, which I fucking hate because I’m good at this. I’ve always been good at this. But you showed up, and now I’m spending more time tracking where you are and trying to plan for your inconsistencies than actually performing. Tonight was supposed to prove I could beat you, but I can’t even tell who won because all I remember is—”
He cut himself off, jaw clenching.
“Is what?” I kept my voice low, careful, like he was a wild thing I might spook.
He finally looked at me, and whatever I saw in his face had my mouth running dry. “Is you.”
My heart stopped. Fucking stopped. I was sure of it. But if I’d been foolish enough to expect a deep and meaningful love declaration to follow, I would have been disappointed.
The waitress chose that moment to top up my coffee, and I could’ve screamed at the interruption. Jude’s confession hung in the air between us, incomplete and electric, and now he was turning his attention to pancakes like he hadn’t just admitted I lived in his head rent-free.
“That’s not an answer,” I said once we were alone again.
Jude cut into his eggs with unnecessary force. “Yes, it is.”
“No, that’s you admitting I get under your skin. Which, congrats, because same. It doesn’t explain why you’ve been treating me like competition instead of a partner.”
“Because you don’t follow the choreography.” The words came out sharp, defensive. “You improvise constantly. Change blocking, add moves we never rehearsed. Tonight, you vaulted a barrier we’re not supposed to touch and could’ve gotten hurt.”
I sat back, arms crossed. “I landed fine.”
“That’s not the point.”
“Then what is? Because it sounds like you’re mad I’m good at my job.”
