Liam leaned back on the couch, phone in hand, a slow smile curving his lips as he reread the message he'd just sent. Short, pointed, and sharp enough to cut through whatever little bubble Naya had wrapped herself in.
He could almost picture her face when she saw it — the way her brows would knit, the way her mouth would press tight. He liked knowing he could still get to her without even being in the same room.
For a moment, he stared at the blinking cursor in the empty chat box, tempted to send another. But no. One seed was enough. Let it grow.
He leaned back, the warm bite of whiskey still coating his tongue, when the ambient chatter around him seemed to dip — not into silence, but into a subtle change in current.
Then she appeared.
Jess.
No text. No call. No warning. She was simply there, like she'd stepped out of a dream and into the now, and every detail about her was deliberate.
Her hair was shorter, sharp enough to frame her face like a weapon. Her heels — black, thin-strapped, and dangerously high — gave her an extra inch of command. The slow sway of her hips was unhurried, but each step pulled attention like a tide. Her dress clung where it needed to and let go where it wanted, the deep cut at her back giving away just enough to make you wonder about the rest.
She didn't look at him right away. She didn't have to. Liam felt her notice him in the same way he felt the heat from the low amber lights — constant, unblinking, certain.
When she stopped at his side, one manicured finger traced the rim of his glass before she spoke.
"Honey." Her voice was smooth, steady, and confident enough to cut through the music without rising above it. "Did you miss me?"
Liam didn't answer. His gaze locked on hers, and something old, sharp, and dangerous stirred under his ribs.
Jess's smile curled, not in amusement, but in recognition. "Just as I thought." She leaned in, her perfume folding into the air between them. "I'm back. And I hear you've been… entertaining replacements."
Before he could respond, she shifted her weight, pressing a single finger to his chest and pushing. Liam let himself sink back into the chair.
And then she took her seat — on him.
Her knees slid to either side of his thighs. One of her hands rested lightly on the back of his neck, the other smoothing over his shoulder, her nails grazing just enough to make his pulse pick up.
She leaned forward, not rushing, letting the closeness build until the heat between them was a living thing. Her lips brushed his — testing, tasting — before pressing harder. The kiss was deep, unapologetic, the kind that blurred the line between past and present.
Liam's hands found her waist, fingers firm, pulling her closer until her breath stuttered against his mouth. Her head tilted, deepening the kiss, her body shifting in a slow rhythm that made him tighten his grip without thinking.
Her fingertips threaded into his hair, tugging lightly before she broke the kiss just enough to speak, her voice low and certain against his lips.
"You don't need anyone else, Liam. Not when I'm here."
She wasn't asking. She was claiming what was hers.