Page 18 of A Man To Remember
"I need some space," I say, and my voice comes out rough, scraped raw from moaning his name.
He goes still against me, but he doesn't pull away immediately. I can feel him processing the words, feel the moment he decides not to fight me on it.
"Okay," he says quietly, and there's no hurt in his voice. No confusion or wounded pride. Just acceptance that cuts deeper than protest would have.
He understands this was a moment out of time, not a beginning. He gets it in a way that makes me want to take the words back and hold him until the world ends.
But I can't. I won't survive it again.
Jesse steps back slowly, the loss of his warmth immediate and brutal. He gives me one last lingering look, and there's something unreadable in those green ocean eyes.
I watch him dress in silence, telling myself I feel relieved. That this scratched an itch I'd been carrying for too long. That now I can move on and forget about him once and for all.
That I can pack up my equipment and finish out my remaining shoots and leave this city behind again, this time for good.
But even as I think it, I know it's complete bullshit.
Jesse pauses at the door, fully dressed now, looking like he wants to say something. His mouth opens, closes, opens again. In the end, he just nods and lets himself out, leaving me alone with the lingering scent of his skin and the echo of my name on his lips and the taste of him still coating my tongue.
I tell myself I'm glad he's gone.
I tell myself this was exactly what I needed to get him out of my system.
I tell myself a lot of things, but my body still hums with want and my heart still pounds with possibilities I can't afford to entertain.
CHAPTER 10
AUSTIN
THE DOOR CLICKS shut behind my last model of the day, and I turn to find empty space where Jesse should be.
The absence feels loud somehow. For the past few days, Jesse has been a constant—leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed, watching me work with those green eyes that catalog every movement I make. Sometimes he'd slip in quietly during shoots, a peripheral presence that somehow made the room feel more complete. Sometimes he'd arrive just as I was wrapping up, timing it perfectly like he had nothing better to do than watch me pack expensive equipment into cases.
But not today. Just an empty doorway and the echo of professional small talk with a model who gathered his things and left without any audience beyond me.
I pack my camera with precision, muscle memory taking over while my brain tries to process this new reality.
This is what I asked for, isn't it?
Space. No complications.
No reminders of yesterday's monumentally stupid decision to blur every line I'd spent years drawing between us.
So why does the room feel wrong without him in it?
Earlier today, when I'd stopped by the bar to grab the key card, Jesse had been there. Working his shift like nothing had changed, all easy smiles and efficient service, looking slightly flushed in a way that could have been from the heat of the club or from something else entirely. He'd given me a cordial nod—professional, distant, exactly what I'd asked for.
“Hey. Key card's right here. Have a good one.”
Polite. Appropriate. The kind of interaction you have with someone you know through work but don't really know at all.
And then he hadn't shown up to watch like he had every other day since this whole thing started.
The realization settles in my chest like lead. Jesse complied with my request. Gave me exactly what I said I wanted. No lingering in doorways, no quiet observation, no presence that made my hands shake and my focus scatter. Just the space I'd demanded and the professional distance that should make everything easier.
It doesn't make anything easier.
I grab my laptop, leaving the rest of my gear in place. The room has become my de facto office over the past few days, thanks to Jesse's intervention with Amanda and the club management. He'd smoothed every rough edge, made introductions that turned potential complications into simple favors, created a workspace I don't even have to pay for.
