KEIFER'S POV
I thought I was prepared.
I really did.
I stood outside her door, flowers in hand, posture calm, breathing steady—running through everything in my head like a checklist.
Knock.
Smile.
Don't stare.
Don't say anything stupid.
Simple.
The door opened.
And my mind went completely blank.
Not metaphorically.
Literally.
Jay stood there like she'd stepped out of a thought I wasn't supposed to have yet.
White dress. Soft. Floral. Innocent in a way that felt illegal on someone who knew exactly how dangerous she was. Thigh-length. Boots that said she could ruin me and walk away without looking back.
My system crashed.
Short-circuited.
Every thought I'd lined up dissolved into static.
I forgot how to speak. Forgot how to blink. Forgot—briefly—how gravity worked.
I just stood there.
Staring.
Because she wasn't just pretty.
She was intentional.
She chose that look.
For me.
"Hey," she said.
That voice—quiet, familiar, warm—hit harder than anything else.
"Hey," I managed, barely trusting my mouth.
I handed her the flowers like it was the only thing keeping me grounded. "These are for you."
She smiled.
God.
That smile wrecked me.
When she said they were beautiful, something in my chest tightened in a way I didn't have words for. When she said perfect—I was done. Finished. Completely lost.
Then her brother appeared and reality snapped back into place just enough for me to stand straight and act human.
Polite. Controlled. Respectful.
Alive—but barely.
When we finally stepped away and into the night, I exhaled for the first time in minutes.
---
The car was worse.
So much worse.
The moment she slid into the passenger seat, her perfume filled the space.
Soft. Warm. Familiar.
It lingered.
Clung.
Wrapped around my senses like a slow, deliberate trap.
I gripped the steering wheel tighter than necessary.
Focus.
Drive.
Do not spiral.
She buckled in, turning slightly toward me. "So," she said lightly, "where are we going?"
I started the engine, eyes fixed on the road. "You'll see."
She hummed. "That's not an answer."
"It's intentional," I replied.
She laughed softly, shifting in her seat.
The sound did things to me I refused to acknowledge.
I swallowed. "Be patient."
She tilted her head, studying me. "You're being mysterious."
"I'm being careful," I corrected.
She smiled knowingly. "From what?"
I didn't look at her.
Because if I did, I wouldn't trust myself to stay calm.
"Trust me," I said, voice lower now. Steadier than I felt.
She didn't push.
Didn't tease.
She just nodded, settling back into her seat, fingers brushing the flowers absently.
The city lights passed by, reflections flickering across her skin, her dress, her smile.
I drove carefully.
Not because of traffic.
But because she was sitting right there—and I was holding myself together by pure will.
This wasn't just a date.
It was a test.
And if I wasn't careful—
I'd give away just how badly I already wanted her...
I pulled into the driveway slow.
Deliberate.
The city fell away behind us as the elevator ride took us upward—higher, quieter, removed. By the time the doors opened, the rooftop stretched out in front of us like a secret the city wasn't supposed to know.
Empty.
Completely.
No tables crowded together. No chatter. No music bleeding from someone else's night.
Just lights. Warm. Soft. Intentional.
I'd booked the entire place.
For her.
Jay stepped out beside me—and the air changed.
Not because of the view.
Because of her.
The dress moved with her like it was alive. The boots clicked softly against the floor, confident, unafraid. She didn't try to shrink herself. Didn't need to.
She owned the space the second she entered it.
And that was the problem.
Every single person on the rooftop—staff included—noticed.
Heads turned. Eyes lingered. Smiles stretched a little too long.
Something hot and violent sparked in my chest.
I wanted to burn the world down for looking.
Before I could stop myself, my arm slid around her waist.
Natural. Instinctive. Claiming.
Her body fit there like it had always belonged.
She glanced up at me, surprised for half a second—then her lips curved, slow and knowing.
Oh.
She felt it too.
We were led to the center table, candlelight flickering between us. The waiter smiled—too warm, too attentive—eyes flicking back to Jay one too many times.
I stayed silent.
But my grip tightened just slightly.
Jay noticed.
Of course she did.
She leaned into me casually, fingers brushing my wrist like it was nothing.
Everything about her said relax.
Everything in me said mine.
The waiter asked for drink preferences.
Jay spoke first.
"Sparkling water, please."
Her voice was calm. Polite. Dangerous.
The waiter nodded a little too eagerly. "Of course, miss."
I cut in smoothly. "And a double espresso for me."
My tone was neutral.
My message wasn't.
The waiter finally looked at me.
Good.
When he walked away, Jay tilted her head, eyes dancing.
"Are you okay?" she asked sweetly.
I leaned down, lips near her ear, voice low enough that only she could hear.
"I'm fine," I said. "I just don't like sharing what's mine."
Her breath hitched.
Just a little.
She straightened, pretending nothing happened—but her fingers laced with mine under the table.
The city glittered below us.
The night stretched open.
And as much as I told myself to stay calm—
I knew one thing for sure.
If anyone tried to cross that line again tonight,
I wouldn't be gentle about it.
---
KEIFER'S POV
I shouldn't have moved my chair.
That was the first mistake.
The second was sitting closer.
Too close.
Jay noticed immediately.
She always does.
Her shoulder brushed mine as I pulled my seat in beside her instead of across the table. Casual to anyone watching. Intentional to us.
The waiter blinked. Hesitated. Then smiled at her again.
I didn't miss it.
My jaw tightened.
I leaned in slightly, resting my forearm on the table behind her chair—not touching her, but close enough that there was no question who she was with.
Her eyes flicked to my arm.
Then up to my face.
"Protective tonight?" she asked softly.
"Observant," I replied.
She smiled like she liked that answer.
Under the table, my knee shifted.
Barely.
It brushed hers.
Accidental in theory.
Not in practice.
Jay inhaled slowly.
I felt it.
Her fingers found my wrist on the table—not gripping, just resting there, thumb brushing once like she was testing my pulse.
"You okay?" she murmured.
I leaned closer, voice low enough that only she could hear.
"You're enjoying this."
Her lips curved. "You sat closer."
Fair.
The waiter returned again—too cheerful, too attentive.
Jay thanked him politely.
I didn't move.
Didn't smile.
Didn't look away.
When he finally left, Jay leaned toward me slightly, shoulder pressing into my chest.
"That glare," she whispered, "might get you banned."
"Worth it," I said flatly.
Her knee nudged mine again—this time deliberate.
Slow.
Measured.
I exhaled through my nose, forcing myself to stay still.
"You're testing me," I said.
"I'm curious how much control you actually have," she replied sweetly.
I turned my head just enough to meet her eyes.
"Careful," I warned quietly. "I'm already holding back."
Her gaze softened—not teasing now. Something warmer. Something real.
She didn't pull away.
She stayed close.
And that somehow made it worse.
---
JAY'S POV —
Keifer sitting beside me instead of across from me changed everything.
It wasn't loud.
It wasn't dramatic.
It was intimate.
The kind that made my skin hyper-aware of every inch of space between us.
Or the lack of it.
His knee brushed mine again.
This time, I didn't move away.
I let my leg rest there.
Just touching.
Just enough.
I felt him tense.
Good.
"You're quiet," I teased.
"I'm behaving," he replied.
I smiled. "Barely."
My fingers traced a small, absent line along his wrist. Not flirting for attention—just grounding myself in him.
The city lights reflected in the glass around us. The rooftop felt suspended from reality.
Safe.
Dangerous.
Both.
"You know," I said lightly, "you don't have to stare at every person who looks at me."
His eyes didn't leave my face.
"I absolutely do."
That made my chest tighten.
I leaned closer, voice softer now. "And if I told you… I like that you care?"
His breath hitched—just a fraction.
"You'd make it harder," he said honestly.
I smiled. "I already am."
His hand shifted—hovered near mine on the table, hesitant.
I laced my fingers with his before he could think better of it.
He squeezed once.
Firm.
Steady.
Like a promise.
By the time dessert arrived, neither of us touched it.
We were too aware of each other.
Too careful.
Too close.
And when we finally stood to leave, his hand rested at my back—not possessive, not demanding.
Just there.
Present.
As if to say I've got you.
And honestly?
That was enough to make my heart race all on its own.