Page 43 of Keep Me Close

Last night flashes through my mind. The look in his eyes before he kissed me. The way his hand stroked my jaw. How everything between us shifted for one heated, dizzying second before he pulled back as if he’d touched a live wire.

It’s so tempting to ask if it meant anything.

Or was it just practice?

Did he regret it the second it happened?

Questions climb up my throat, but pride shoves them down as I force my gaze away. If Knox wants to pretend that kiss didn’t scramble the molecules in the air between us, I can do the same.

I force a lightness into my tone I don’t necessarily feel. “We should probably head back. It’s getting late.”

He nods once before we fall into an easy jog again, the lake receding in the distance. The streets are busier now, filled with more cars and pedestrians. The wind carries the scent of coffee, lake water, and the faint bite of exhaust.

Despite the tightness lodged in the center of my chest, I love it.

Unable to help myself, I glance at Knox. He’s all controlled lines and steady strides, and suddenly I can’t stand another second of the quiet, careful strain building between us.

Desperate to break it, I announce, “Last one home cooks breakfast!” Then I take off before the challenge is fully out of my mouth.

There’s no universe where I’ll willingly make breakfast after running five miles.

From behind me, Knox mutters a curse that makes me grin. A second later, his footsteps pound harder against the sidewalk as he surges forward to catch me. I can’t help but laugh as he pulls alongside me, then pushes just enough that I have to work to stay even.

I manage to dig deeper, pumping my arms harder as he does the same.

We’re neck and neck, flying down the sidewalk, and for a few glorious seconds, everything else falls away—the awkwardness, the questions, the ache of wanting something from him that I have no right to expect.

There’s only the race, the rush, and the wild, ridiculous delight of trying to beat him.

We round the corner toward his building, and a prickle slides down my spine when I catch sight of a guy gesturing wildly at the doorman. The harsh edge of a raised voice cuts through the morning air as it carries across the sidewalk, and my pace falters.

“Don’t you know who I am? I’m Dakota Fleming! I want to see Cheyenne right now! I know she’s here! Let me in!”

I stutter to a stop so abruptly, my shoes skid on the pavement and I almost trip. It takes half a second for my brain to catch up with what I’m seeing.

Dakota.

He’s standing at the entrance to Knox’s building, arguing with the doorman.

My stomach drops until it feels like the ground has disappeared beneath my feet.

Beside me, Knox stops too. Without hesitation, he slips an arm around my shoulders, pulling me against his side.

His gaze stays locked on my ex. “Is that him?”

I swallow. “Yes.”

As if sensing our presence, Dakota’s head snaps toward us. His gaze lands on Knox first before darkening. Then it shifts to me, and something feverish flares in his expression.

My muscles freeze as he stalks toward us. There are shadows under his eyes, and his hair is sticking up in every direction, as if he’s been dragging his hands through it for hours. He looks rumpled and wild. Not at all like the polished version of himself he normally presents to the world.

My skin crawls at the fact that he was once again able to figure out where I am so quickly.

“Cheyenne!” he yells. “Why are you ignoring me?”

Knox’s arm tightens around my shoulders, his strength steadying me just enough to allow me to breathe. As tempting as it is to stay tucked against him, I force myself to step away.

“Dakota,” I say, relieved my voice comes out sounding steady when my pulse continues to riot. “You need to stop doing this. We’re not together anymore.”