Total pages in book: 75
Estimated words: 77051 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 385(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77051 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 385(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
I touch her cheek with my knuckles. “Rule one?”
“Trust myself,” she says, a small smile ghosting her mouth.
“And rule two,” I add, “text me if anything feels off—no matter how small.”
“Rule three,” she counters, looping her arms around my neck for one more kiss, “you show up when I do.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
We head downstairs together, shoulder to shoulder in the narrow stairwell. Morning air meets us at the door—cool, bright, ordinary in a way that feels almost miraculous. I lock up, scan the street out of habit, then fall into step with her.
She slides her hand into mine. It’s such a simple thing, but it fixes something that’s been crooked inside me for a long time.
“Gage?”
“Yeah?”
“I like this,” she says, giving our joined hands a tiny squeeze. “The together part.”
I can’t help it, and I lean over and kiss the corner of her smile. “Me too.”
We split at the corner so no one clocks us arriving side by side. She takes the crosswalk, and I circle the block to pick up a coffee carrier like a decoy. At the office door we meet again by accident-on-purpose. She bites back a grin when I pass her a cup.
“For the record,” she says under her breath, “you are the office hottie.”
I pretend to choke. “Defamation.”
“Facts,” she corrects, then lowers her voice. “And you’re mine.”
My heartbeat does a stupid, violent thing. “Yeah,” I say, steady as I can make it. “I am.”
We step into NovaPlay together, masks of a different kind sliding into place—hers the cool of a woman who won’t be rattled, mine the calm of a man who’s already rewritten the odds. Underneath, we’re still warm from the shower, from the coffee, from each other.
And I’m already counting the hours until I can get her back home, lock the door, and put my hands on her again.
TWENTY-NINE
RIVER
I’m trying to focus.
Truly. I am.
The blue light of my monitor pulses like a heartbeat as I scroll through this line of backend code for the third time. It’s an easy fix, a bad loop that keeps crashing the player interface. But my fingers aren’t moving. I’m not thinking about the code.
I’m thinking about him.
Gage.
He’s only a few desks away. Sleeves pushed up, brows furrowed, and lips curled in the kind of smirk that ruins women. A smirk I’ve tasted. A smirk that was buried against my throat last night while he whispered he needed me.
I cross my legs. Squeeze them tighter. Try to refocus on the lines of text in front of me.
System.out.println(“Focus, River. Don’t be a simp.”)
Gage looks up just then, catches me looking. That damn smile spreads. Not a smirk this time—something softer. Knowing. Intimate.
My pulse stumbles. My face heats.
I yank my attention back to the screen, chewing on my bottom lip like it holds the secret to pretending I’m not wildly obsessed with the man across the room.
But it’s no use. My thoughts are tangled up in the way he washed my hair this morning, kissed the inside of my wrist like it meant something. I’m not used to this. Being wanted. Being seen.
And then I hear it.
“River, can I speak with you?”
Andrew’s voice slices across the floor, flat and unbothered. The office buzz stills around me like a record scratch. Heads turn subtly.
I paste on my sure, boss smile and grab my tablet.
Inside his office, the blinds are half-drawn. He waves to a chair but doesn’t sit himself, preferring to perch on the edge of his desk with that easy, confident posture that used to come across as charming. Now?
I see liar in the seams of his button-up.
“Just wanted a quick update on the terrain rendering for the Temple Cavern module,” he says, folding his arms.
I nod and flip to the schematic. “Still on track. I'm testing a new shadow-mapping protocol that should reduce the visual stutter by about 30%.”
He hums. “Excellent. I’ll need a write-up by end of day.”
“Of course,” I say, trying to keep my tone even. He’s acting normal, like he didn’t just suck face with Helena in a city park like an unmarried man. Like he isn’t one of the highest-up people at NovaPlay. And she’s HR. HR, for God’s sake.
My stomach twists. I hate secrets. Especially when they’re wrapped in shiny job titles and smug smiles.
As I leave his office, my gaze instinctively slides to Gage. He looks up. Our eyes meet. And for a second, the whole damn building disappears.
He knows.
He knows what I just had to stomach.
I return to my desk, jaw tight, chest tighter—and that’s when I see her.
Tasha.
Sitting on my desk, actually. Like she owns it. A Starbucks cup in one hand, that magazine-smile on her face.
“Hey, stranger,” she chirps. “Figured I’d stop by and say hi since I haven’t seen you outside of girls' night in a while.”
I force a smile. “Been busy.”