Page 43 of California Wild

He stopped.

Didn’t turn. Didn’t speak.

Just stood there with his back to her, shoulders squared, fists clenched like he was holding the world in his hands and didn’t know where to put it.

“Go back inside, Hayley,” he said, voice rough, steady, too calm for what she felt clawing under her skin.

“No.”

She hated how petulant it sounded. Like a dare. Like she was thirteen again, testing the rules she already knew she’d break.

Jesse turned, slow and deliberate, stepping into the narrow ring of light.

Her breath stuttered.

God, he looked—

No. Not going there.

Not noticing the way his shirt clung to every muscle, or the way his jaw tightened at the sight of her. Not the amber eyes that used to trace over every inch of her body like scripture.

“You left,” she said, walking closer. “Why?”

He scoffed, like the question was so fucking obvious he couldn’t believe she asked it. “Why do you think?”

“You saw me with Caiden.”

His mouth twisted. “I saw you,” he agreed. “Didn’t give a damn who you were with.”

“Liar.”

Jesse’s eyes narrowed. “You’re drunk.”

“Not enough,” she snapped, lifting her chin. “Not enough to forget the way you looked at me.”

“I was trying to be careful.”

She blinked, surprised by the honesty in that.

But then he was moving—fast, sure, taking up space like he always had. His hand wrapped around her wrist before she could flinch. The touch was firm, grounding. Dangerous.

Her body reacted first. A stuttering heartbeat, a rush of heat. God, she remembered this. Him.

“Careful?” she echoed, breathless. “You’re never careful with me.”

“That’s the problem.”

He pulled her in, chest to chest, the air sucked right out of her lungs. His hands were on her hips now, hot and possessive, like he didn’t know how to touch her gently. Like he never had.

“This isn’t a fucking game, Hayley,” he said, his voice low and trembling, like the truth cost him something to speak aloud.

“I know that.”

“No, you don’t.” His grip tightened. “You think we can just pick up where we left off? Like I didn’t rip you apart? Like I didn’t leave you curled up on my bathroom floor, crying into a towel because I didn’t come home for two fucking days?”

She flinched. Hard.

“I remember,” she whispered.

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