Page 10 of November's Bad Boy: Kacen
It was a mistake.
He’s standing in the kitchen when I come out, coffee in hand, wearing the same flannel from last night. He looks like a man trying not to hope.
But I don’t give him the chance.
“This doesn’t change anything,” I say with determination.
He doesn’t answer right away. Just sets his mug down and leans back against the counter. “It felt like it did.”
I shake my head. “It was one night. One mistake. We don’t get to rewrite history just because we got caught in a moment.”
“Natalie.”
“No,” I say, firmer this time. “You don’t get to walk back into town and fix everything with an apology and sex. Life doesn’t work like that.”
His face tightens. “I wasn’t trying to fix anything. I just…”
“What?”
“I wanted to be close to you again.”
I swallow the lump in my throat. “Well, you were.”
And then I walk out.
I don’t wait for him to follow.
Don’t give him a chance to change my mind.
Back home, my phone is already lighting up with messages. Texts from friends. From Ruby. Group chats are exploding with details about Doug’s arrest. Apparently, Hades growled the second Doug stepped inside, and the feds were already outside waiting.
No one’s talking about me.
No one’s talking about Kacen.
The town’s too busy with the drama of the year.
And maybe that’s a blessing.
I scroll through the messages until one from Ruby pops up.
Ruby: You okay?
I stare at the screen for a second before replying.
Me: I will be.
CHAPTER 3
KACEN
The morning light creeping through the curtains feels aggressive. My head isn’t pounding, but it’s heavy, like regret has settled somewhere behind my eyes. I slept for shit last night. Had her in my arms the night before, and already I can’t sleep without her.
The cabin is quiet, the silence reminding me that someone is missing. Kingston’s not here. Natalie’s not here either. Just me, the echo of her laugh still burned into the air, and the cool side of the bed where she used to be.
Rolling over, I stare at the ceiling, my body still remembering the way she moved against me, how her voice broke when she said it didn’t mean anything. I didn’t sleep much, couldn’t. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw her walking away.
There’s a faint smell of her perfume lingering on the pillow. Floral. Warm. Familiar in a way that guts me. I glance toward the dresser and spot something small and silver. A tiny hair clip. Butterfly-shaped. She wore it last night. I pick it up and turn it over in my fingers. Did she mean to leave it? Probably not. But I hold on to it anyway.
