THE ONE WHO NOTICED

TEN

I wake up reaching for him.

My hand slides across the sheet, expecting warmth, expecting skin—but there's nothing. Just cold fabric and empty space.

My eyes snap open.

"Jayden?"

The word comes out rough, still thick with sleep. I sit up too fast, the sheet falling away from my bare chest. My heart's already pounding.

"Jayden?!"

Nothing. No sound from the bathroom. No footsteps in the hallway. Just silence pressing in from every corner of my apartment.

The panic hits quick—that awful feeling like the ground just dropped out from under me. Like maybe last night didn't happen. Like maybe I imagined the whole damn thing.

But I can still smell him on my pillow. Still feel the soreness between my thighs that proves it was real.

So where the hell is he?

I'm about to throw the covers off completely when I see it—a folded piece of paper on my nightstand. Next to it, a brown paper bag, the kind from a deli or corner store.

I just stare at them for a second, my chest tight, trying to decide if I'm relieved or pissed or something else entirely.

I reach for the bag first. My hands are shaking a little—I hate that they are, but they are.

Inside is a breakfast biscuit, still warm. Wrapped in foil like he just grabbed it on his way out.

Something in my chest loosens. Just a little.

I set the bag down and pick up the note. It's folded once, my name written on the outside in his handwriting. I unfold it slow, like I'm scared of what it might say.

Hey baby girl, sorry work called me early this morning. I hate to run. I wanted to wake up to that sexy face this morning, maybe take you on a round 2. Last night was incredible and I'm so sorry for leaving you like this. Don't be upset. I'll see you around lunch.

I read it twice. Then a third time, my eyes catching on certain words. Baby girl. Incredible. Don't be upset.

The panic in my chest starts to fade, replaced by something softer. Something that feels dangerously close to relief.

He didn't just leave. He didn't ghost. He had to go to work and he left me breakfast and a note and he's coming back at lunch.

I press my lips together, trying not to smile like an i***t, but I can feel it tugging at the corners of my mouth anyway.

Don't be upset.

Too late. I was upset. For like two whole minutes, I was convinced he'd bailed on me. That last night didn't mean what I thought it meant. That I was just another girl he'd f**k and forget.

But he didn't do that.

I look at the biscuit again, unwrap the foil, and take a bite. It's still warm, buttery and perfect. The kind of thing you grab when you're in a hurry but you're still thinking about someone.

He was thinking about me.

I sit there in my bed, naked under the sheet, holding his note in one hand and the biscuit in the other, and I let myself feel it. The relief. The warmth. The scary, vulnerable thing blooming in my chest that I'm not ready to name yet.

He's coming back at lunch.

I take another bite and read the note one more time.

---

I finish the biscuit and finally drag myself out of bed. My legs feel shaky, and there's a deep ache between my thighs that makes me wince with every step.

I need a shower.

The hot water feels good against my skin, and I close my eyes, letting it run over me. That's when I notice them—the bruises. Dark fingerprints on my hips. Another one on my inner thigh. I run my fingers over them, and the memory hits me so hard I have to brace against the tile.

His hands gripping my hips, pulling me back against him. "You feel so f*****g good, baby. Don't move. Let me—"

I shake my head, trying to clear it, but the images keep coming.

The way he looked at me when he was on top of me. That intensity in his eyes—like I was the only thing in the world that mattered. The way his voice dropped, all command and heat when he told me what to do.

"Look at me, Kasin. I wanna see your face when you come."

God.

It was like a whole different side of him came out in that bed. More dominant. More sure of himself. Sexy in a way that made my brain shut off completely and just... submit.

I've never experienced that before. Never wanted to.

But with him? I wanted more.

I finish showering and wrap myself in a towel, catching my reflection in the mirror. My hair's a mess. My lips are still a little swollen from all the kissing. And those bruises...

I look like someone who got thoroughly f****d last night.

A smile tugs at my mouth before I can stop it.

---

I get dressed—nothing fancy, just leggings and a soft t-shirt—and check my phone.

Nothing.

No text from Jayden. No missed call.

It's 10:30 am.

I tell myself it's fine. He said lunch. He's probably just busy with work. He'll show up.

I try to distract myself. I clean the kitchen. Put away the sheets from last night. Feed Magz, who's been giving me judgmental looks all morning like she knows exactly what happened.

But my mind keeps drifting back.

"You're mine, Kasin. Say it."

"I'm yours."

"That's my girl."

I sit on the couch, staring at my phone. It's 11:45 now.

Still nothing.

That uneasy feeling starts creeping back in. The one I've been pushing down for weeks now. The pattern I keep trying to ignore.

He disappears. He comes back. He's sweet. He disappears again.

But he left me a note. He left me breakfast. He said he'd be here at lunch.

So where the hell is he?

I take a breath. Force myself to calm down.

He said lunch. It's not even noon yet. I need to stop spiraling.

I put my phone down and turn on the TV. Try to focus on whatever's playing. But I'm not really watching. I'm just waiting.

11:45 becomes 12:00.

12:00 becomes 12:30.

By 12:30, my leg is bouncing. I check my phone again. Still nothing.

Maybe I should text him.

But what would I even say? "Hey, you said lunch, where are you?" That sounds needy. Clingy. Exactly what I don't want to be.

So I don't text.

1:00 pm comes and goes.

The panic is starting to build again, that familiar tightness in my chest. The voice in my head getting louder.

He's not coming. Last night didn't mean anything. You gave him what he wanted and now he's done.

I try to push it down, but it's getting harder.

By 2:00 pm, I'm pacing. My phone is in my hand, and I'm staring at his name in my contacts, trying to decide if I should just call him.

Then there's a knock at the door.

My heart jumps into my throat.

I practically run to the door and yank it open.

It's him.

"Hey, gorgeous—"

Before he can finish, he steps inside, kicks the door shut behind him, and his hands are on my waist, lifting me up like I weigh nothing.

My legs wrap around him instinctively, and his mouth is on my neck, kissing, biting gently.

"Missed you," he murmurs against my skin, his breath hot.

Then his lips are on my face—my cheek, my jaw, the corner of my mouth—before finally finding my lips in a deep, hungry kiss.

All the panic, all the doubt, all the spiral—it just... melts.

He's here. He came back.

I kiss him back, my hands in his hair, and for a few minutes, I let myself get lost in it. In him. The way he tastes. The way his hands feel gripping my thighs. The way he makes everything else disappear.

When he finally pulls back, we're both breathing hard. He sets me down gently, his hands still on my waist, and he's looking at me with that smile. The one that makes my knees weak.

"Damn, I've been thinking about doing that all day," he says.

I try to smile back, but something in my chest is still tight.

"You said lunch," I say, keeping my voice light. Casual. "Had me waiting again."

His smile falters just a little. "I know. I'm sorry, baby. Work ran long and I couldn't get away. My phone died again—I really gotta get that charger fixed."

Again. His phone died again.

I want to believe him. I want to just let it go.

But I can't this time.

"You're always making me wait," I say, and it comes out quieter than I meant it to. "Or disappearing. You know I'm not good at these types of things. You get me all on edge."

For a second, something flickers across his face. Guilt, maybe. Or annoyance. I can't tell.

Then he steps closer, his hands sliding up my arms.

"I know," he says softly. "And I'm sorry. I really am. Work's just been crazy lately, but that's not an excuse. I don't wanna make you feel like that."

He leans in, his lips brushing against my ear, and his voice drops lower.

"But I know how we can get rid of that on edge feeling."

I feel the smirk against my skin before I see it. When he pulls back, there's that look in his eyes—the same one from last night. All heat and promise.

My face flushes instantly.

"Jayden—"

"What?" He's grinning now, full-on cocky. "I'm just saying, I got a few hours before I gotta head back out. And you look way too tense."

A few hours before I gotta head back out.

The words register somewhere in the back of my mind, but before I can think too hard about them, his mouth is on my neck again, and his hands are sliding under my shirt.

"Let me take care of you," he murmurs against my skin.

And God, I want to let him. I want to forget about the waiting, the disappeared hours, the pattern I keep trying to ignore.

So I do.

I kiss him back, let him pull my shirt over my head, let him guide me back toward the bedroom.

---

But this time, it's different.

Even as he's touching me, kissing me, whispering things that make my body respond—there's a part of my brain that won't shut off.

Before I gotta head back out.

Why does he have to go back? What kind of work calls you in at dawn, then again in the afternoon, then apparently again later?

His mouth moves down my body, and I try to focus. Try to be here, in this moment.

But the question keeps circling.

Where does he go?

He must feel me tense, because he pulls back slightly, his eyes meeting mine.

"Baby, I know you're stuck in your brain right now." His hand cups my face, his thumb brushing over my bottom lip. "But I'm about to make you forget everything. Every thought, every worry. I'm gonna have you so lost you won't even remember your own name."

His voice is low, rough, and the way he's looking at me makes heat pool low in my belly.

Before I can respond, his mouth is on me again—trailing down my neck, my collarbone, between my breasts. Lower.

His hands slide my leggings down, and then his mouth is right where I'm already aching for him.

The first touch of his tongue makes my back arch off the bed.

"That's it, baby," he murmurs against me. "Just feel."

And suddenly, I can't think. Can't question. Can't do anything but feel.

Every thought in my head dissolves. The pattern, the disappearing, the work excuses—all of it just... gone.

There's only this. Only him. Only the way he knows exactly how to touch me, taste me, take me apart completely.

My hands fist in his hair, and I forget everything.

The pressure builds, coiling tighter and tighter until I can't breathe, can't think—

"Jayden—" His name comes out like a gasp, a plea.

"Let go, baby. I got you."

And I do. I fall apart completely, my whole body trembling as the orgasm crashes through me in waves.

I'm still catching my breath, still floating, when there's a sharp knock at the door.

My eyes fly open. "Someone's—"

"Let them knock," he says, his voice rough, commanding. His hands grip my thighs, holding me in place. "I ain't finished with you yet."

Another knock. Louder this time.

My heart is racing for a different reason now. "Jayden, what if—"

"Kasin." He looks up at me, that intensity back in his eyes. "Ignore it. Right now, the only thing that matters is you and me. Got it?"

The knocking stops.

He doesn't wait for my answer. His mouth is on me again, and despite everything—despite the interruption, despite the weird feeling in my gut—I let myself fall back into it.

Then he's moving up my body, positioning himself between my thighs. His hands grip my hips, and in one smooth motion, he pulls me closer and slips inside.

I gasp—half pleasure, half pain. He's stretching me, and I'm still so sore from last night that I can't help the small wince that escapes.

He stills immediately, his eyes searching my face.

"You okay?"

I nod, trying to adjust, but he sees right through it.

"Baby, I can feel you tense." His hand moves to my face, gentle. "I'll go slow this time. I didn't realize you were that tight, that you'd be this sore today."

His eyes drop to my hips, and that's when he sees them—the bruises. His fingerprints, dark against my skin.

Something shifts in his expression. Guilt, maybe. Or concern.

"Damn," he murmurs, his thumb tracing over one of the marks. "Tell me if I'm hurting you. I guess I got a little too rough with you last night."

"It's okay," I whisper. "I liked it."

His eyes darken at that, but he keeps his promise. He moves slow, careful, watching my face with every thrust.

And somehow, it's even more intense than last night.

But after a few minutes, the slow pace becomes torture. The pressure is building, and I need more. I need him closer, deeper, faster.

"Jayden," I breathe. "Please—"

"Please what, baby? Use your words."

"Faster. I need—" I can't even finish the sentence.

"You sure? I don't wanna hurt you."

"I'm sure." My hands slide down his back, gripping him. "I need to feel you."

He groans, his forehead pressed against mine. "You're gonna be the death of me, you know that?"

"Then die happy," I whisper.

That breaks something in him. His pace picks up—not rough like last night, but deeper, more deliberate. Every thrust hitting exactly where I need it.

"That's it," he murmurs against my neck. "Take what you need from me, baby. You feel so f*****g perfect."

I grab him, my nails digging into his shoulders, pushing him even deeper inside me. A moan tears from my throat—loud, desperate.

"Jayden—oh god—"

"Say my name again," he growls. "Let everyone know who's making you feel this good."

"Jayden," I gasp.

"Louder."

"Jayden!"

He picks up his pace just slightly, giving me exactly what I'm asking for, and I'm already so close—

Then the knocking starts again. Harder this time. More insistent.

My eyes snap open, my body tensing.

"Jayden—"

"Ignore it," he says, not even slowing down. His hand slides between us, his thumb finding exactly the right spot. "Focus on me."

But I can't. Not completely. Because he's not even fazed by it. He's not confused or concerned about who's at my door.

He knows.

He knows who's knocking, and he's just... ignoring it.

Ain't no one I know knocking on my door right now.

The thought flashes through my mind, cold and sharp, but then his mouth is on my neck and his hand is working magic and my body doesn't care about the knocking or the questions spiraling in my head.

The pressure builds again, tighter, overwhelming everything else.

"That's it, baby," he murmurs. "Let go. Give it to me."

And I do. My whole body arches, his name tearing from my throat as I fall apart underneath him.

He follows seconds later, groaning into my neck, his body shuddering against mine.

For a moment, we're both just breathing hard, tangled together.

The knocking has stopped.

He kisses me—soft, slow, like he's savoring it. Then he pulls back.

"I'll be right back."

He grabs his shorts off the floor, pulls them on, and heads for the bedroom door.

I sit up, pulling the sheet around me. "Jayden—"

But he's already walking out. I hear his footsteps through the apartment, then the front door opening.

"What the f**k, man? I told you—"

The door shuts, cutting off the rest.

I sit there frozen, my heart pounding for a different reason now.

What the f**k, man? I told you—

Told who what?

I want to get up. I want to walk to the door and listen. Find out what the hell is going on and who keeps showing up at my place looking for him.

But I don't move.

Because every time he gets a call, every time someone texts, every time something pulls him away—he takes the conversation somewhere I can't hear. Away from me. Like he's hiding something.

And if I go listen now, if he catches me eavesdropping...

I don't know how he'd react. And that scares me more than I want to admit.

So I just sit there, staring at my bedroom door, listening to the muffled sound of his voice outside.

Waiting.

Again.

---

Just a few moments pass before I hear him come back in.

He walks into the bedroom, and I can see it immediately—he's pissed. His jaw is tight, his shoulders tense. He sits down on the edge of the bed, running his hand through his hair.

He won't look at me at first.

My stomach drops.

"Jayden?"

He finally turns, and there's something in his eyes—frustration, maybe guilt. I can't tell.

"Baby, I'm sorry." His voice is strained. "I'm sorry to have to do this again. I really thought I'd get some time with you today."

No.

"Don't be upset," he says quickly, reaching for my hand. "I should have tomorrow all to myself. I promise. We'll spend the whole day together, okay?"

I just stare at him.

He's leaving. Again.

I want to scream. I want to ask who the f**k was at my door. I want to ask why this keeps happening. Why every time we're together, something or someone pulls him away.

But I don't.

Instead, I hear myself say, "Okay."

"Yeah?" He looks relieved. Too relieved. "You're not mad?"

I should be. I am. But I push it down.

"I'm not mad."

He leans in and kisses me. "Thank you. I'll make it up to you tomorrow, I swear."

He gets dressed quickly, pulling his shirt over his head. He leans down and kisses me one more time.

"Tomorrow," he says. "I promise."

And then he's gone.

I hear the front door close, and I'm alone again.

I sit there for a minute, staring at the wall, that aggravation building in my chest until I can't sit still anymore.