~ CHAPTER SIX ~
1566 Words
The elevator ride was silent, except for the soft hum of mechanics lifting them higher and higher into the city’s glittering night. Samantha leaned against the mirrored wall, her heels dangling from her fingers, her silk blouse hanging loose after the chaos in the mall. Avery stood beside her, arms folded, jaw tight, pulse still racing from the encounter with Sam’s toxic ex. And Zayne tall, broad, carved out of arrogance stood a step ahead, one hand in his pocket, the other clutching a card key like it was a weapon.
When the elevator doors slid open, it was like stepping into another world.
Glass walls stretched floor to ceiling, giving them a panoramic sweep of the city’s skyline. Lights burned below like veins of fire. The space was modern, masculine polished stone floors, dark leather couches, sleek chrome bar stocked with whiskey bottles that probably cost more than Avery’s rent. A massive flat screen dominated one wall, muted highlights of the day’s match flickering across it.
Samantha let out a low whistle.
“Okay… so this is where the big boys hide their toys.” She twirled her heels on one finger before padding barefoot across the polished floor. “Damn, Avery, I told you you needed to start sleeping with rich men. I didn’t mean this rich.”
Zayne cut her a side glance, unamused but not bothered enough to respond. He tossed his keys on the counter, shrugged out of his jacket, and opened the fridge.
“You two want a drink?”
Samantha grinned. “If it’s free and strong, I’m in.”
Avery rolled her eyes, setting her bag down carefully on the edge of the sofa. Her body was wired, too aware of Zayne in this space. It was different seeing him in the locker rooms, half-naked, dripping sweat under fluorescent lights. That was professional. This… this felt personal. His territory. His world.
And he looked good in it. Too good.
⸻
Zayne poured two glasses of whiskey neat and handed one to Samantha. She raised her glass in a mock toast.
“To not getting murdered in a mall parking lot by my charming ex,” she said with a crooked smile.
Zayne arched a brow. “You attract winners, huh?”
“Oh, only the best trash. My taste is impeccable.” She sipped, winced at the burn, then grinned wider. “But hey, thanks for stepping in back there. You looked very… hero-y. Like Batman, but less broody.”
Avery smirked despite herself, sinking onto the couch. “He’s already broody enough, Sam.”
Zayne glanced at Avery, his gaze lingering, sharp. “Careful. You keep talking like that, I might start thinking you enjoy my company.”
She shot back flatly, “Don’t flatter yourself.”
But her pulse betrayed her.
⸻
Samantha kicked back on the couch, legs tucked under her, sipping whiskey like it was juice. “So, Mr. Superstar, what’s it like being Europe’s most desired piece of meat? Do you actually enjoy all the screaming fans, or do you secretly want to run away and become a goat farmer?”
Zayne leaned on the counter, sipping his own drink, his eyes locked on Avery even as he answered Sam. “Fans are easy. They want an image, not a person. A goat wouldn’t ask for my autograph.”
“Deep,” Samantha teased, smirking. “Do you practice those mysterious one-liners in the mirror, or do they just come naturally?”
Avery nearly choked on her water, biting back a laugh.
Zayne’s lips curved—not quite a smile, but close. “Naturally.”
And for a split second, the tension loosened. Samantha had a way of deflating the air, poking fun without fear.
But Avery felt it coil back again the second his gaze cut to hers. That weight. That pull. That unspoken dare between them.
⸻
Hours slipped by in blurred conversation and sharp edges. Samantha talked most—telling stories about her disastrous dating life, reenacting awkward texts from men, rating them on a scale of “good d**k but bad personality” to “couldn’t last a TikTok.”
Zayne listened in silence, occasionally throwing in a dry comment that made Sam laugh harder. Avery tried to keep her focus on the banter, but every time she shifted, she felt his eyes on her. Heavy. Unrelenting.
By midnight, Samantha had dozed off on the couch, curled up under a throw blanket she’d dragged over herself, empty glass on the table.
The penthouse was quiet now. Too quiet.
Avery stood at the glass wall, city lights glittering beneath her, her reflection faint and ghostly against the dark. She crossed her arms tighter, trying to steady herself. But then—
“You can’t sleep either?”
His voice rolled low and rough from behind her.
She turned slightly, catching him in the reflection. Zayne, in a black t-shirt that clung to his chest, barefoot, drink still in hand. His hair was damp like he’d run water through it.
“Or are you just planning your escape?” he added, coming closer.
She snorted. “And here I thought you strictly kept it to stalking .”
That earned the smallest twitch of his lips. “That and some more .”
⸻
He stopped beside her, inches away, staring out at the city. His presence burned, overwhelming. Avery’s breath hitched despite her best effort.
“You’re quiet,” he murmured.
“I don’t always have something worth saying.”
“I doubt that.”
The air thickened. She felt him looking at her even though his eyes stayed on the skyline. Her pulse thrummed low in her belly.
“Why did you step in tonight?” Avery asked, her voice calm but pointed. She needed something to cut through the electricity between them, to steady her own pulse.
Zayne’s jaw flexed, the shadows from the city lights sharpening his features. “Because he thought he could touch what wasn’t his.”
Her brows rose, her voice dry. “Samantha, you mean?”
His eyes cut to hers slow, deliberate. “I wasn’t talking about Samantha.”
The air thinned instantly, heat crawling up her neck. She hated the way her stomach dipped, how his words landed heavy and hot, like a hand pressing against her skin.
“You’re projecting,” she said, forcing her tone flat, dismissive.
“Maybe.” His gaze dragged over her, unashamed, as though he were testing how much truth she could handle. “But I don’t step in for just anyone.”
It wasn’t a confession. It wasn’t flattery. It was dangerous honesty raw, almost ugly in its simplicity. And it worked. It got under her skin in a way that nothing sweet ever could
⸻
Her breath stalled.
He was too close now, the air between them vibrating with something she wasn’t sure she wanted to touch but couldn’t step away from.
And then he leaned in just enough that she could feel the heat of him, smell the faint salt of his skin, the smoke of his whiskey. Her pulse roared in her ears.
“You’re not supposed to get under my skin,” he murmured. “But you do.”
Her throat went dry. Her body betrayed her, leaning ever so slightly toward him, like gravity had chosen him as the center.
And then his hand lifted. Fingers brushed her jaw, light at first, then firmer, tilting her face toward his.
The city lights blurred behind her.
His lips hovered a breath away.
Her chest rose, fell, rose again.
“Avery…”
⸻
Her resolve cracked.
She tilted forward, lips grazing his soft, fleeting, barely there, but it sent a jolt straight through her body.
He groaned low, guttural, like he’d been starving for it. Then his mouth claimed hers, hard, hungry, merciless.
Her back hit the glass wall, cold against her spine, his body hot against her front. His tongue slid past her lips, slow at first, then deeper, wetter, filthier. She gasped, clutching at his shirt, fingers digging into his chest.
He cursed into her mouth, his hand gripping her hip, dragging her flush against the thick ridge straining his sweatpants.
“f**k,” he muttered against her lips. “You taste better than I imagined.”
Her head spun. She arched against him, desperate, reckless. His hands slid up her thigh, under her shirt, palm searing against bare skin.
It was messy, feral, perfect.
⸻
And then—
A sound.
A soft shuffle from the couch.
A sleepy groan.
Avery’s eyes flew open, lips still locked with his, panic slicing through her haze.
Samantha.
Her best friend was right there, curled up, stirring.
She shoved against Zayne’s chest, breaking the kiss with a gasp. He growled low, forehead dropping to hers, still caging her against the glass.
“Don’t stop,” he whispered, desperate.
But she shoved again, harder this time, breath ragged. “We can’t”
Her eyes darted to the couch. Sam shifted, sighed, then settled back into sleep.
Barely.
Too close.
Zayne cursed under his breath, muscles flexing with frustration, chest heaving against hers. His lips brushed her ear, voice dark and dangerous.
“This isn’t over.”
Avery swallowed hard, heart pounding. “It better be.”
But even she didn’t believe her own words.
- Writer
