It's the same temperature but it's not.
I can feel the bass from the club through the building and also not at all.
"Don't do that," she says softly.
"Do what?"
"That thing," she says. "The look."
"What look?" I ask, even though I know exactly which look.
"The one you give girls right before you kiss them."
I don't blink. "What if I asked?"
"You won't," she says.
"I could," I say, a smile threatening. "But I'm not a fan of public shows."
"We're alone," she says, but it's a whisper, and I can hear the smile in it.
We continue talking. Not about deep, soul-baring things. Just... random, stupid stuff. Childhood dares, the worst movies we've ever seen, the time Jax got so drunk he sang karaoke with no pants on.
She laughs-really laughs-and the sound does something to me.
For once, I'm not working for it. I'm not pulling out lines, not angling for effect. I'm just me. And she's just her.
Somewhere between mocking me for still not knowing how to cook and me teasing her about her ridiculous book collection, there's a pause.
We're sitting too close. Eyes locked. Her smile lingers, and my chest feels... off. Heavy. Different.
I tilt my head, voice dropping. "You know... there's a room downstairs."
Her brows lift. "Oh?"
"Yeah. Private. Comfortable." My grin sharpens. "You want to check it out?"
"And you just happen to know this room exists."
"I'm a man of resources," I say. "And I'd like to talk somewhere we don't have to shout, and where your friends can't throw popcorn if you laugh at my jokes."
She studies me so long I think I blew it. Then she nods, all casual, like it's nothing.
"Lead the way," she says.
For a beat I just stand there like an idiot, surprised I won, then I catch up to my own body and head for the door.
The room is dim, quiet, door clicking shut behind us. There's a couch, a low bed, a lamp with a warm cone of light. The kind of quiet that makes your pulse sound loud.
"Cozy," Maya says, stepping in. "Serial-killer chic."
"I bring you only the finest." I say, shutting the door behind us.
She turns, measuring me like she's got a custom ruler. "So. Now what?"
"Now?" I step closer, slower than I've ever moved in my life. "Now we-"
She puts a palm to my chest and pushes. Not hard. Just definite. I sit on the edge of the bed because my body listens to her voice before my brain does.
"Bossy," I say, grinning up at her.
"Observant," she corrects, and then she swings one knee over and settles onto my lap like this is a class and I'm about to fail it. My skin goes electric under her hands.
"No kiss?" I ask, teasing. "Bold choice."
"Mm," she says, fingers toying with the top button of my shirt. "I'm rethinking your audition process."
"Do I get notes after?" I murmur, heat ratcheting.
She doesn't answer with words. One, two, three buttons, slow as a clock. Fabric opens. Cool air. Her fingertips trace down my chest like she's writing her name. My smile stays, but it's not cocky anymore-it's something frayed.
She leans in and lays her mouth just below my collarbone, soft, maddening, a line of kisses drifting lower. My eyes shut on instinct. Breath resets. For a second the whole world is reduced to the weight of her on me, the press of her mouth, the sound of my own pulse making a drum out of my ribs.
She shifts back, knees pinning my hips, and her hands go to my belt. The tiny scrape of metal is a spark in dry brush.
I swallow. "Maya-"
Her mouth finds my sternum again, the heat of her breath laughing at my composure as she trails lower. The room narrows to a point. I can smell her shampoo. I can't remember my last name.
And then-
"What?" she says, her voice cutting clean as glass, her lips curled against my skin. "You thought I'd be this easy?"
My eyes snap open.
She's already leaning back, sliding off me with a grace that feels like mockery. She straightens her shirt, smooths her hair, and looks at me like I'm a test she finished ten minutes ago.
I sit there, palms on the bed, jaw tight enough to crack a tooth. Everything inside me-ego, pride, patience-flashes hot and then settles into a coil.
She tips her head. "Goodnight, Cole."
I don't give her the satisfaction of a word. I just watch her leave.
The door clicks.
I clench my teeth so hard my eyelid twitches. A laugh-dry, murderous-escapes me. I run both hands over my face, stand, roll my shoulders, button my shirt like the fabric disrespected me personally.
No one plays me. No one.
Downstairs is loud again-music, voices, the heat of a hundred people forgetting their problems in the same room. I push back into the current. Theo sees me first.
"Yo!" He jogs up, eyes bright with gossip. "Did you hit it? Did you close the deal?"
"Define close," I say, grabbing a bottle of water from behind the bar like I own the place.
Jax materializes like a heckler from the rafters, smile huge, eyes already reading the answer on my face. "No way. She dusted you."
I crack the cap and take my time drinking. "We... talked."
Theo's eyebrows climb into space. "Talked?"
Jax leans an elbow on the bar. "Translation: he took a fat L."
I let the water sit cold in my mouth and swallow slowly. "Translation: none of your business."
Jax howls. "Oh my God. You didn't! She actually-"
Theo slaps the bar, delighted. "I told you. Maya is not the type."
Jax points a finger in my face like he's calling the game. "Give it up, Cole. She's not interested. Find a target with less armor."
Their laughter grates, but I keep my expression cool.
I wipe a hand over my jaw and look out across the room, the crowd parting and swallowing and parting again. She's not here. Probably outside, breathing. Or home, triumphant. Either way, she thinks she's in control.
Cute.
I set the water down, lean in so only they hear me. "I'm not done."
Theo lifts his hands. "We didn't say-"
"I'm not done," I repeat.
Jax studies me, grin fading. "This is... different for you."
"Yeah," I say. "It is."
He waits for me to laugh it off. I don't. Something under my ribs has shifted a few degrees, and I don't know if I like it, but I know I can use it.
"Cole," Jax says, the warning voice he uses when I'm about to light a match in a gas station. "Don't-"
"Relax," I say, already turning. "I'm not going to ruin her. I'm going to ruin her certainty."
Jax snorts, tries not to smile. "You're impossible."
"Exactly," I say, and shoulder through the crowd.
The night air hits me cool and mean. Traffic hums, neon shivers in puddles, the city does its best impression of eternal. I stand there with my hands in my pockets, jaw still tight, and I replay the rooftop in my head-not the part where she walked, but the part before. The laughter. The easy rhythm. The way she forgot, for a minute, to keep me at arm's length. The way I forgot to perform.
That's the crack.
Everyone thinks walls fall to battering rams. They don't. They fall to time, to weather, to a patient hand finding the seam and worrying it loose.
She thinks I'm noise. She thinks I'm a series of nights with no morning. Maybe I am. Maybe I was. But tonight I learned the shape of her guard, the weight of her no, the way her smile sneaks up on her when she isn't watching.
That's enough for now.
I light a cigarette I don't need and don't finish it. I flick it away, watch the ember skid and die, and head home with the bass still in my bones and her voice in my ear.
*You thought I'd be this easy?*
No.
But I thought I'd be closer.
Fine. We'll do it her way.
I walk, and somewhere between the club and my front door the annoyance burns off, leaving something colder and clearer. Not anger. Decision.
I used to think the game was how quickly I could make a girl say yes.
With her, the game is how long I can make her mean it when she does.
I smile to myself, unlock my door, step inside, and let the silence come. It doesn't bother me tonight. Not yet.
I have a week's worth of patience in me.
Maybe more.
And Maya?
She just declared war.