Page 85 of Double Standards
He already knows the answer.
“Never underestimate your enemy, Hunter. You should fucking know that.”
Hunter fist bumps me—a silent promise that he’s got my back no matter what. I check my watch, the cold metal grounding me.
“Got somewhere to be?” he accuses.
“I’ve got a date.” I sling my jacket over my shoulder and head for the door.
Hunter falls in step beside me, his curiosity sharp and unrelenting as always. “A date? Since when do you do that?” His tone is half-mocking, like he can’t believe I’m actually stepping into something normal.
I spin on him, eyes hard and voice colder. “Since when is that any of your business?”
Hunter’s been sticking his nose too far into my life lately. I know he means well—hell, maybe he cares more than I let on—but my life isn’t an open book, not yet. There are parts I keep locked tight.
I reach for my keys, the familiar weight a small comfort. Hunter’s close behind, not letting up.
“You really into her, huh?”
The question hits a raw nerve. I snap, biting, “Fuck off, Hunter.”
He just laughs, shaking his head like I’m amusing. Then hestrides off toward his car, no doubt to find his own kind of trouble.
I slump back into the driver’s seat of my car, the leather creaking under me as I close my eyes and let out a long, slow exhale. My fingers drum nervously on the steering wheel before I finally turn the key and the engine roars to life.
Yeah, I’m nervous—more than I expected to be. There’s something about the way Cassie looks at me, the way she listens, the quiet intensity we share, that feels unfamiliar and raw. Hunter was right all along: I don’t do this. I don’t date, or open up, or even let someone inside my world.
This isn’t just another hookup or distraction; it’s a whole new ballgame, and I’m not sure I’m ready to play. But maybe, just maybe, it’s a game worth trying to win.
As soon as she steps outside, it’s like the air is ripped from my lungs. Heat crawls up my neck and flushes my skin while my legs freeze. I can’t help but marvel at her.
It’s only been a week since I last saw her, yet meeting her gaze still feels like a challenge. I find myself drawn to the perfect darkness she carries, the way she stands at the top of the steps. She’s dressed in black silk, every inch poised and breathtaking.
In my hand, I clutch a bouquet of roses, deep red petals broken up by white flowers that the florist called, baby’s breath. It’s the perfect depiction of Cassidy Caruthers; softness wrapped in fire. My inked fingers reach out, guiding her down the three steps to where I stand.
Even with her heels on, she’s still shorter than me, and that gives me the perfect view of her lips. I trace my knuckles over her cheek, feeling the warmth beneath my touch. I offer her a small, careful smile before leaning in to press a gentle kiss to the corner of her mouth.
I growl low, voice thick with something raw and unspoken. “You look beautiful.”
Her smile is soft, effortless—like a quiet promise. I watch thetension that had knotted us both moments ago begin to unravel, slipping away like smoke.
“So do you,” she replies, her voice steady as I hand her the bouquet of roses, my fingers brushing hers briefly. I hold the car door open for her, a hollow echo of the gentleman I’m not—but tonight, I’m willing to fake it.
She settles into the seat, scent of the roses mingling with the faint trace of her perfume.
“Where are we going?” she asks, eyes curious but calm.
Usually, I’d have a driver handling this part, but tonight isn’t about business or power. Tonight, this is for us. Only us.
I slide into the driver’s seat, the engine purring to life beneath my touch. “You’ll see,” I answer, letting the warmth of my aftershave mingle with the floral sweetness in the confined space. I reach over, my expression darkening with intent, but before anything else, I snap her seatbelt into place.
“As much as I want to drive you wild, safety first,” I smirk, and then we peel away into the city night.
The drive is quiet. I keep stealing glances at her, drinking her in. She has no clue where I’m taking her, but the thrill in her eyes is unmistakable. Foolish, maybe, but she trusts me. At a stoplight, my hand drifts to her thigh, her skin heating beneath my palm.
“You look insatiable,” I murmur, voice rough.
She flushes, a shy, soft color that I want to devour. Our fingers tangle hesitantly, and she accepts the unspoken invitation.
