Page 8 of Rogue’s Reckoning

I know I should be cautious. There's clearly more to Rogue than he's letting on. But for once in my life, I don't want to be the careful, responsible Willow everyone expects me to be.

For once, I want to be reckless. I want to be brave. I want to see where this goes, consequences be damned.

As class ends and I gather my things, my phone buzzes again. Another text from Rogue.

Rogue: I'll pick you up at 7. Wear something nice.

A shiver of anticipation runs through me. I’m excited and I can’t wait to see what tonight brings.

The rest of the day passes in a blur. I'm barely able to focus on my classes, my mind constantly drifting to thoughts of Rogue and our upcoming date. By the time I get back to my apartment, I'm a bundle of nervous energy.

I spend far too long agonizing over what to wear, finally settling on a simple black dress that hugs my curves in a way that makes me feel both elegant and daring. As I apply my makeup, I catch sight of my reflection. There's a sparkle in my eyes I haven't seen before, a flush to my cheeks that has nothing to do with blush.

At precisely seven, there's a knock at my door. I take a deep breath, smoothing down my dress one last time before opening it.

Rogue stands there, looking devastatingly handsome in dark jeans and a button-down shirt. His eyes widen slightly as he takes me in, and I feel a thrill of satisfaction at his reaction.

"You look beautiful," he says, his voice low and husky.

I blush, ducking my head. "Thank you. You clean up pretty well yourself."

He offers me his arm, and I take it, feeling the solid strength of his muscles beneath my fingers. As we walk to his vehicle—a sleek black motorcycle—I can't help but notice the way heads turn to look at us. Or more accurately, at Rogue. He exudes anaura of danger and mystery that seems to draw people in, even as it warns them away.

“Um...” I pause as we stand in front of his motorcycle. “How do I climb on?” I ask, feeling my cheeks heat.

He grins at me before helping me onto the motorcycle, instructing me to hold on tight and not to let go. My heart is hammering as I clutch my hands around him. I’ve never done anything like this in my entire life.

The ride to the restaurant is exhilarating. The feeling of the wind whipping past me as I cling tightly to Rogue's waist is intoxicating. By the time we arrive, I'm breathless and giddy.

The restaurant is small and intimate, with soft lighting and the rich aroma of garlic and herbs filling the air. Rogue guides me to a secluded booth in the back, his hand resting lightly on the small of my back, which sends electricity throughout my body and makes my blood burn with desire.

As we settle in and order our food, I find myself relaxing. Conversation flows easily between us, and I'm surprised by how comfortable I feel in his presence. He asks me about my classes, my dreams for the future, and listens to my answers with genuine interest.

"You really love teaching, don't you?" he says, a soft smile playing at his lips.

I nod enthusiastically. "I do. There's just something magical about helping a child discover the world, you know? Seeing their eyes light up when they finally understand something... it's the best feeling in the world."

Rogue's expression softens, and for a moment, I catch a glimpse of vulnerability in his eyes. "You're something else, Willow," he says quietly. "So pure, so... good."

There's a note of sadness in his voice which makes my heart ache. I reach across the table, placing my hand over his."Everyone has goodness in them," I say softly. "Some just hide it better than others."

Rogue's eyes meet mine, intense and searching. For a moment, it feels like the rest of the world fades away, leaving just the two of us in our own intimate bubble.

The spell is broken by the arrival of our food. As we eat, the conversation turns to lighter topics. Rogue tells me about his love for motorcycles, his eyes lighting up as he describes the feeling of freedom on the open road. I share stories about the most mischievous students I’ve taught during my time as a student observing others teaching. My heart melts as his deep laugh rumbles through the restaurant.

As the evening wears on, I find myself more and more drawn to this enigmatic man. There's a depth to him that intrigues me, layers I long to peel back and explore. But there's also an edge of danger, a sense that he's holding something back.

"So," I say, taking a sip of wine for courage, "you mentioned you work in security. What's that like?"

A shadow passes over Rogue's face so quickly I almost miss it. "It's... complicated," he says after a pause. "Not always pretty, but somebody's got to do it."

I nod, sensing his reluctance to elaborate. "Do you enjoy it?"

He shrugs, his expression guarded. "It's what I'm good at. Been doing it a long time."

I can tell there's more to the story, but I don't push. Instead, I change the subject, asking about his favorite books. To my surprise and delight, Rogue reveals a love for classic literature that matches my own.

As we debate the merits of Hemingway versus Fitzgerald, I find myself falling deeper under his spell. The way his eyes light up when he's passionate about something, the little half-smile that plays at his lips when he's amused... it's all incredibly alluring.

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