Chapter 6 Chapter 6

THE MORNING AFTER

The sharp squeak of a mop dragged across tiles yanked me out of sleep. My head jerked up. For a second, I thought I’d died and woken in purgatory, but nope. Just a janitor staring down at me with one brow raised, mop propped on her shoulder like she was ready to smack me awake.

“Sweetheart,” she said flatly, “we’ve closed. This ain’t a hotel. Get up.”

I blinked, disoriented. My back ached from the hard counter I’d apparently passed out on. Counter? What the hell. Wait! Counter? What the hell?

“I was…” My voice cracked. “…upstairs.”

The janitor snorted. “Yeah, upstairs people don’t usually end up knocked out on the bar counter. Unless…” she tilted her head, “…too much fun?”

Heat crept up my neck. “None of your business,” I muttered, scrambling to grab my coat. My heels were dangling off one side, my purse half open like evidence.

As I stood, my mind spun and my stomach twisted as confusion slammed into me.

Was this… a wet dream? No. Absolutely not. My mind refused to make sense of the situation, but my body stubbornly remembered anyway.

I was still sore, aching in all the right places. So how in the moon goddess’s name could that have been a dream? I remembered his hands, his mouth, the way he...

Wait. He ripped my panties. I quickly pulled up my dress slightly and checked. To my utmost surprise, it's still intact. Not a single tear.

My heart lurched. He had definitely torn them last night. I remembered it vividly. So how the hell were they magically whole? I tried to rack my brain, digging for some sort of explanation, but nada. My thoughts hit a dead end, and I surrendered with a dramatic sigh.

Shaking my head, I slipped into my coat and stormed out before the janitor could smirk again. The morning air hit me cold and sharp. I wrapped the coat tighter, trying to make sense of the fragments in my head.

Upstairs. His mouth. His hands. The heat of him. The way the world disappeared into nothing but skin and need. I slid into my car and at the same time my phone buzzed.

I brought it out and stared at the caller ID. It's none other than Constance. “Hey babes, where are you?” She asked as soon as I clicked the receive button.

Is she seriously asking me that after leaving me alone in a damn club? I rolled my eyes and replied.

“Did you fucking leave without me? You brought me here for fuck sake!”

Her laughter burst through the speaker, sloppy and loud, mixed with other voices in the background—her whores. Yeah right... always her little entourage.

“So sorry, dear. A lady’s gotta have a ladies’ time, right?” Giggles exploded on her end.

I grimaced. “Oh gross! You’re still screwing someone. Get the fuck off my phone.”

Constance cackled. “Chill, bitch! Forget me for a second—what happened last night with Ezra Madison?”

I froze. “Ezra who?”

“Don’t play dumb, Tiana. The guy you went upstairs with.”

My hand trembled around the phone. So his name is Ezra Madison. But if I'm being honest... that's not what hooked me...

“That… wasn’t a dream?” I whispered to myself.

“No. It was real. Why would you think it’s a dream?” Constance asked.

I swallowed hard. “Because I woke up alone.”

Constance snorted. “Girl, he left. It’s a one-night stand. What did you expect? Breakfast in bed? A love letter?”

“Ah! Don’t say it like that!” I groaned.

“Okay—‘it’s just adultery, what did you expect?’”

I bit my lip, cheeks burning. Why was I blushing? I pressed my forehead to the steering wheel, laughing despite myself.

“May the Moon Goddess forgive me,” I muttered, my voice breaking into nervous giggles.

“Yeah, may she forgive that white, nasty, adulteress-ass of yours.”

“You’re a horrible friend, you know that?”

“Yeah, bitch, I know. Now shut up and tell me—how was it?”

I clutched my coat tightly, slowly tapping my feet against the brakes, even though the car was stagnant. “Bitch, it was literally ten inches.”

“What?!” She nearly screamed, then broke into uncontrollable laughter.

“Yes,” I said, half-mortified, half-proud.

“Oh goddess, Lucas would be jealous.”

Jealous!

The word hit me weirdly. Jealous? Him? That bastard doesn't give a damn. Truth was, I was jealous of myself. Of the girl I was last night, reckless and alive. Because I’d never felt that intensity with anyone else. Not Lucas. Not ever.

I wanted to tell her more, explain how Ezra’s touch was like fire, how he had unraveled me piece by piece until there was nothing left but raw hunger. But before I could, my phone lit up again. It's none other than Lucas, speak of the devil.

My stomach twisted as I frowned instantly. “I’ll call you later, babe. I gotta deal with some shit first.”

“Okay, I'm expecting that juicy gist,” Constance sang, still giggling in the background.

I giggled back before ending the call and, with reluctance, answered him. “Where are you?” Lucas demanded.

I scoffed. “Why the fuck do you care?”

“Tiana, I need you home. Now.”

I rolled my eyes, ready to shred him apart. But then, when he spoke again, his words cracked through me like lightning.

“Please.”

I froze and widened my eyes in shock. Lucas never said please. Not once in all the years I’d known him.

I inhaled sharply. “…What happened?”

His silence stretched. Then, hurried he said. "Just come home. Please, Tiana. I’ll explain when you get here.”

Something cold and heavy settled in my chest. “Fine,” I muttered. “This better be good.”

I hung up before he could say more and began to wonder what the hell he wanted. My chest tightened as I turned the engine on and sped straight home like I was running from something I couldn’t name.

When I arrived, I stepped out and approached the door. But paused as I heard low voices murmuring inside. My stomach dropped instantly.

"Don’t open it," my mind whispered.

But of course, I shoved the door open anyway. And there they were. The three pack elders sitting like gods on our ugly parlor chairs.

Their eyes suddenly snap to me at once. Judging. Always judging like my existence needed to live up to some checklist only they understood.

God, I hated them.

Then Lucas walked in from the kitchen, carrying a tray with three steaming cups. He set them down neatly, as if he wasn’t suffocating me by entertaining those vultures in our house.

“Sweetheart,” he said warmly, pulling me into a hug like we were some pict

ure-perfect couple.

“Welcome home.”

I blinked. Did he just—? Did I hear him right? Sweetheart? What the actual hell.