Page 25 of Power Forward

“Hey,” I echo, suddenly feeling raw and exposed.

He retrieves a cup from the side and pours himself a drink before leaning back against the counter and watching me over the rim of his cup. He crosses one ankle over the other, and the movement causes my eyes to drop. I take in his long legs and trim hips. The costume is slightly big on him, but I can still make out the smooth lines of his body.

My mind begins to wander. I want to know if I pulled on the zipper of his costume, would he be wearing anything underneath? Would it expose inches of smooth, golden skin? And how far do his tattoos go? Is it only his arms that are inked, or is more of his body covered?

The fucked-up thing is, even after everything, I want him. Badly.

When my gaze meets his again, the glint in those slate-gray eyes tells me he’s witnessed me checking him out, and a smirk kicks the corner of his mouth.

I lick over my dry lips. I can almost taste him and the whiskey on his tongue.

This is bad. So very, very bad.

I’ve gone fourteen years without this primal need to taste him. To capture his lips with mine and steal his breath like I used to do all that time ago. Then he comes in here, wearing a fucking Chilli costume, and I’m folding like a bad poker hand.

He places his empty glass on the counter behind him and turns to look at me. With his eyes locked on mine, he runs his thumb over the corner of his mouth, and then he’s moving.

But he doesn’t come my way.

He walks right past me and heads toward the stairs, quickly glancing at me over his shoulder before making his way up.

I clench my fists at my side. Frustration replaces the heat coursing inside me. Frustration that his reappearance in my life is making me question everything.

Before I can think better of it, I make sure the coast is clear and take the stairs two at a time. I rest my hands on the doorframe to the bathroom, and when I hear the sound of the tap switch off, I’m ready. The click of the lock disengages, and the moment the door opens, a flash of surprise flicks over his face. Like he can’t believe I actually followed him.

“Jackson? What are you?—”

He doesn’t get to finish his sentence because I grab afistful of his costume and push him back inside. I flick the lock on the door behind me and crowd him against the vanity.

I don’t know why I’m getting so worked up over this. So he came in the matching costume to me? It doesn’t mean anything.

Itcan’tmean anything.

“Why?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.

“Why what?”

“Why this costume? Did you know I was coming in this?”

His mouth opens and closes several times, and then he shakes his head. “No, I had no idea.”

“So,why, Hayden?” I demand.

I know I’m being irrational right now. I’m not thinking clearly. My body is trembling with frustration and need, and being in close proximity to his fucking scent again is making my cock thicken.

His gaze drops between us, and he takes a deep breath. “When I saw you that day at Zach’s apartment, I noticed your daughter had a backpack with these characters on it. Then you posted the other week on your Instagram about how watching this show with your kids is your favorite part of your morning.”

I blink at him.

Okay. I wasn’t expecting any of that. I should be pissed that he’s been keeping tabs on me, but the blood filling my dick tells a different story.

I open my mouth to respond, but he cuts me off.

“I… I guess I wanted to be part of your favorite morning somehow.” He chews the corner of his mouth with his teeth. “All I know is I can’t stop thinking about you.”

I can’t stop thinking about you either.

I can’t tell him that. I can’t let him know that since he has come back into my life, I’m suddenly off-kilter. I can’t go down this road again. I can’t let him in like I did before. I have my kids to think about now. They are my biggest priority. But I also can’t ignore the undeniable connection between us that’s still there. It’s tethered and frayed, but it’s still there, hanging on tight.

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