Page 12 of Obsession

"You don't even know what kind of food I like."

"I'll figure it out. I'm a quick study."

"You're a controlling asshole is what you are."

"Yeah, you mentioned that last night. More than once, if I remember right. Usually right before you begged me for something." I pocket the phone and grin at him. His flush deepens. His scent sharpens, irritation and arousal both. I'm starting to think that's just how he is around me.

I open the door and the hallway outside is quiet. The club in the morning is a different animal. The lights are up to a dim working level, the bass is off, and the air still smells like last night but fainter, like a memory instead of an assault. A beta staff member is collecting glasses from the gallery railing and nods at us without interest as we pass. Professional as always.

The floor is mostly empty. A few couples are still in alcoves, wrapped around each other in various states of undress and sleep, and the beta staff move between them with water and blankets with the calm competence of people who do this every week. Over by the far wall, two men are sitting together on one of the low couches — both dressed, one with his head on the other's shoulder, talking quietly. They have the ease of people who've known each other longer than one night, and I notice the bonded scent coming off them before I notice that neither one is wearing a mask. A couple, then. Regulars, maybe. They look comfortable in this space the way people look comfortable in a place that means something to them.

Kieran notices them too. His gaze lingers for a second and something crosses his face , less jealousy than surprise. Like the thought is forming for the first time that this place could produce something that lasts.

We head for the exit. The air gets cleaner, cooler, the farther we get from the main floor. The entrance hallway is all concrete and harsh lights, nothing like the club's haze. Kieran looks different here, more real. Just a guy in wrinkled clothes, bruise on his neck, hair still a mess from sex. Still the most compelling person I've ever met. I'm not letting him talk his way out of this.

"For the record," I say as we reach the door, "I don't know what your plan was and I don't care."

He stops walking and looks at me.

"Whatever story you told yourself to get here — the revenge or the strategy or whatever it was — I don't need to hear it.What I saw last night was someone who wanted something badly enough to build an entire lie around it rather than admit the wanting, and then the lie fell apart and the wanting was still there." I hold his gaze. "That's the part I'm interested in. The rest is just backstory."

He goes quiet. Eyes bright, jaw tight. I can see the fight in him—the urge to deflect, joke, put up another wall, and the part that's been clawing to get out all night and finally did. Now it's terrified.

"You might be the most annoying person I've ever met," he says, and his voice is rough.

"Thursday at seven."

"I know."

"Don't build a case against it between now and then."

"I'm already building a case against it."

"How's it going?"

He looks at me. The corner of his mouth lifts. It's the first real smile I've seen from him—tired, honest, reluctant. The kind of smile you give when you're not used to letting anyone see you, but you do it anyway.

"Weak," he says. "Prosecution's got nothing."

I laugh. He almost does. We walk out into the morning. I already know I'll text him before I even reach my car. Give him an hour and he'll have closing arguments ready for why this was a terrible idea.

He won't be wrong. It probably is a terrible idea. A scheming omega who picked me for reasons I still don't get. An anonymous hookup trying to turn into something with a name and a Thursday reservation. On paper, it's a mess.

But I've never lost a case I wanted to win. And I've never wanted anything the way I want to see Kieran when he's not performing. I got a glimpse last night—in the shaking, the confession, the way he reached for me when the last walldropped. That was enough. Whatever this is, I'm not walking away.

I pull out my phone before I reach the parking lot and type:This is the controlling asshole. Thursday. Don't build your case.

His reply comes back in under ten seconds:Too late. But the evidence is inadmissible. You obtained it under duress.

I grin at my phone in the parking lot of an anonymous sex club at seven in the morning. Yeah. This one's going to be fun.

***