Page 21 of Boulder's Weight

"Hey," I say, my voice dropping lower. "Last night was good."

Her eyes meet mine, and for a moment, the walls come down just enough for me to see something real behind them—a heat, a longing that matches what I'm feeling.

"Yeah," she agrees softly. "It was."

I want to kiss her, but something holds me back. Maybe it's the knowledge that one more taste and I might not be able to let her walk away.

Maybe it's the fear that she'd reject me now that the night is over and reality has set in.

Instead, I step back, giving her space. "See you around, Montana."

She nods, and then she's gone, slipping out the door and into the early morning sunshine.

I stand there for a moment, listening to her footsteps fade, feeling a strange emptiness in the pit of my stomach.

I shake it off, annoyed with myself.

I've got a fuck ton of missed calls from Razor about a club assignment I know nothing about, yet I'm standing here like some lovestruck teen because a hot girl just walked out my door.

Pathetic.

I need to get my head straight.

The club's my priority.

It's what I've given up everything for, what I've worked these past years to be part of.

I can't let myself get distracted by a pair of whiskey-brown eyes and a body that fits perfectly against mine.

But as I slide on my cut and grab my keys, heading out to deal with whatever situation Razor's called me for, I can't shake the feeling that Kelsey’s gotten under my skin in a way no woman ever has before.

I'm walking a dangerous line.

I can feel it.

And the worst part is, I'm not sure I want to step back from it.

The memory of her sleeping face, peaceful and unguarded, flashes through my mind as I kick my bike to life.

I push it away, focusing on the road ahead, on the club business waiting for me.

But deep down, I know I'm already hoping she calls.

CHAPTERTHREE

Kelsey

The cat café is exactly what I hoped it would be—bright, airy, and filled with the soft sound of purring.

CatsAndJava takes up the corner of a refurbished building in downtown Chihuahua, its large windows letting in enough sunlight that creates perfect napping spots for the resident felines.

It's my third day on the job, and I'm starting to feel like I might actually belong here. Maybe.

"Perfect timing," Astra says as I tie my apron around my waist. "The morning rush is about to start."

I study her as she prepares the espresso machine.

With her fire-engine red hair and deathly pale skin, Astra stands out in Mexico.

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