Page 29 of Off-Limits Bad Boy
“Good luck,” I say, as I consider making a joke about it being his funeral, but my attention is already back on work, then on Emma.
The evening air is cool and brings relief after a day spent in a stuffy office. But the moment I step onto my front porch, something feels off, and the hairs on the back of my neck prickle.
And then I see why. I’m not alone. “Stella.”
There she is, standing there like no time has passed. Her red hair seems brighter than I remember, those familiar blue eyes peering into mine with a vulnerability that makes my heart do a strange little dance. A dance I thought it had forgotten.
“Kade.” She greets me with an unsure smile that instantly begins to fade as if she’s on the verge of tears. The freckles that dance across her nose leave her looking just like she did a decade ago.
“Stella...what are you doing here?” My voice is steadier than I feel. This isn't how I expected my day to end. Then again, nothing about today has gone according to plan.
“Can we talk?” Her voice is soft, a gentle sound that tugs at something inside me I thought I'd lost a long time ago.
“Sure,” I say, unlocking the door, swinging it open, and stepping aside to let her in. It's Stella, after all.
But as we sit across from each other on my couch, it's clear that while the past might be knocking, my mind—and my heart—are occupied with a woman who drives me crazy in every possible way.
"Kade?" Stella says, her eyes locked onto mine, searching for... something. I don’t know what.
“Sorry,” I shake my head, trying to refocus. “I’ve got a lot on my mind.”
She nods, understanding flickering in her gaze. She always was intuitive. But why is she here, walking back into my life a decade later as if she never left?
Deciding to take charge of the meeting, I stand and make my way to the bar. The clink of ice against glass rings out like gunshots as I pour two fingers of whiskey into tumblers. Stella's presence in my apartment feels... wrong.
Walking back to her, I hand her the drink. Our fingers brush momentarily, and the contact sends an unexpected jolt through me. “What brings you back to town?”
She accepts the tumbler, her fingers cool and familiar around the glass. A sweet smile plays at her lips, and she takes a slow sip before answering. “Life has taken a few turns since we last saw each other.” She pauses, and when she continues, her voice is quieter, tinged with something that might be regret. “I... got divorced.” She swallows hard, refusing to meet my gaze. “I’ve been thinking a lot about... us.”
I nod, settling into the armchair across from her. “I’m sorry to hear about your divorce.” It's the truth, but it's also a deflection from what I worry is coming. If she’s here to try and rekindle-
“Thanks,” she says, gazing down at the amber liquid as if it holds answers and swirling the alcohol around the glass in an expert move I don’t recognize from her. “But really, Kade, I came here for you.”
She looks up, meeting my gaze. Her eyes search my face, my eyes, my easy posture, as if looking for something. I take a long drink, buying time, because every fiber of my being is strung tight—not with longing for Stella, but with worry over Emma.
“Kade?” Her voice pulls me back, and I realize I've drifted off again.
“My mind is elsewhere,” I say.
“On Emma?” Her question is so quiet I nearly miss the words.
I nod and set my tumbler down with more force than necessary. My jaw clenches as I recall Emma’s anger—the fierce independence in her sky-blue eyes that clashes so beautifully with her soft features.
“Sounds complicated,” Stella says after a beat. There's no mistaking the hurt in her voice, even as she masks it quickly with another sip of her drink.
“Complicated doesn't begin to cover it.” My laugh is short, humorless. “I'm worried about her safety, and she's furious at the notion of being protected.”
“Ah, the hero complex. I was worried you’d changed into someone I wouldn’t recognize.” Stella is teasing me, but there's a shadow in her gaze that wasn't there before.
“The more things change, I guess.”
“Hey,” she says gently, reaching out to touch my hand before pulling back, as if remembering herself. “You don't have to explain. I get it.”
But does she, really?
“Thanks.” My gratitude is genuine, but my heart just isn't in this reunion. It’s in an apartment with a freshly-installed security system with a woman who likely wishes bodily harm on me right now.
A few quiet moments pass, then Stella's fingers glide over the tabletop, hesitant but determined, until they find mine.