Aubrey wakes in Noah's arms, tangled in the warm, quiet aftermath of their first night together. For a moment, it feels easy—coffee, teasing, sleepy kisses in the kitchen. But their peace shatters when a girl from Noah's past, Cora, shows up uninvited. Cora's presence cuts deep, dragging up secrets Noah hadn't told Aubrey—about addiction, pain, and a relationship that almost destroyed him. Tension crackles. Aubrey doesn't press, but she doesn't flinch either. Noah opens up. He tells her the truth. Aubrey doesn't walk away... but she doesn't stay either. Not because she doesn't care—because she's starting to care too much. And that's the most dangerous thing of all.

Noah brings Aubrey back to his apartment after a charged ride through the city. Neither of them is pretending anymore. The moment the door shuts, desire takes over. They crash into each other—clothes hitting the floor, heat escalating fast—but it’s not just about lust. Every touch between them feels too much. Intense. Real. Noah is torn between wanting to claim her and fearing what she makes him feel. Aubrey, for once, stops running. They don’t just hook up—they connect. Afterward, tangled on his couch, limbs still shaking, she confesses she’s not good at staying. He tells her she doesn’t have to. She just has to come back. And somewhere between their breathless laughter and whispered truths, it stops being a mistake. It starts becoming something else.

Aubrey stood between his knees, hands flat on Noah’s chest, heart pounding. “Why did you bring me here?” she asked. He looked up at her like she was the only thing worth looking at. “Because when I kissed you, it didn’t feel casual.” Her breath hitched. So she kissed him—slow, then biting his lip. He snapped. His hands gripped her ass, pulled her into his lap, grinding her against the thick heat in his jeans. She moaned, clutching his shoulders as his fingers slid into her jeans, finding her soaked and aching. “Fuck, you’re wet,” he growled. “For you.” Two fingers, curling just right. She shattered in his arms, biting his shoulder to keep from screaming. Later, wrapped around her, he whispered, “You scare me.” “Why?” “Because when I look at you… I stop wanting to fuck around. I start wanting to matter.”

Aubrey hit the pavement on her ass, coffee soaking into her jeans, sketchbooks scattered, and a sharp fuck echoing off the old brick wall. “Jesus Christ—watch it!” she snapped, looking up. And there he was. Tall. Tattooed. Cigarette hanging from his lips like it belonged there. Dirty blonde hair, stubble, a hoodie unzipped just enough to tease the muscle underneath. Tattoos crawling up both arms. He crouched down, handed her a pencil, thumb brushing hers. “Noah,” he said, voice low and rasped. “Good for you.” He smirked. “You always this friendly?” “I reserve it for people who don’t body-check me.” He exhaled smoke. “Still—if you want that coffee…” She turned. “Not a chance.” But her heart was already beating too fast.