Is That a No?

TESSA

*Shit, Tessa, focus.* I violently scolded my own mind, snapping my jaw shut. My brain frantically scrambled to regain some semblance of mental equilibrium in the immediate aftermath of his provocative gaze. He was staring at me like he wanted to devour me right here in Dex’s kitchen. I forcefully reminded myself that this man, with his arrogant smirks and predatory stares, was the absolute wrong guy for me.

I forced a dry laugh, desperately trying to break the heavy tension thickening the air between us. "Let me guess," I challenged, crossing my arms over my chest. "You were picturing a white lab coat, thick glasses, a handful of test tubes, and zero social skills?"

Rhys offered a slow, deliberate nod. "Something like that."

Mila bumped her hip against mine, seamlessly jumping into the conversation. "Don't let her fool you. We spend the vast majority of our waking hours dressed exactly like that. The nerdiness remains ingrained in our DNA."

"You're forgetting the part where we wear high heels under the lab coats," I shot back, throwing a quick wink at my best friend.

Rhys exhaled a quiet breath, a faint smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. "That is about as close as anyone has ever gotten to making the image of a scientist sexy. Thanks for the help, Mila. Finish what you’re doing and join us; it’ll be the first time I’ve had the chance to talk nonsense in front of two scientists."

He finally broke his intense eye contact with me, turning away from our brief, sexually charged banter to pour his wine. Without another word, he strolled back out toward the living room, his broad shoulders filling the hallway.

As soon as his back disappeared, Mila pounced. She was on an entirely different wavelength. The moment we had a modicum of privacy, she aggressively pointed out the obvious.

"What the hell was that?" I whispered, shooting her a dark glare.

"What?" she played dumb, her eyes dancing with mischief.

"The whole interrogation routine. You practically threw yourself at him."

"It was innocent curiosity! The man is huge."

"Wyatt is massive," I pointed out flatly.

"Wyatt is Wyatt." She waved a hand dismissively. "My husband works out. He runs. But Rhys... he was checking out your ass, Tessa."

"He was not."

"He did it twice. His eyes were lingering hungrily on your body whenever he thought I wasn't looking." Mila playfully shoved my shoulder, actively pushing me toward the idea of a casual, no-strings-attached fling. "You need to get laid. It has been over a grueling year since you last had sex."

My jaw tightened. "Just because you and Wyatt have sex every single day doesn't mean the rest of the world operates on that schedule."

"You don't need to do it every day. But going over a year is a tragedy. You are twenty-seven, gorgeous, and single. Have a little fun."

My defenses slammed down, forged from pure steel. I firmly and aggressively shut her suggestions down. "No bastards, womanizers, or players," I insisted, my voice tight with unresolved trauma.

She softened, her shoulders dropping. She knew exactly why I was reacting this way. The memories surged forward, agonizing and bitter. I had wasted seven grueling months twisting myself into knots for a guy who ultimately didn't have the fundamental guts to admit he was only using me for sex. Seven months of late-night texts, canceled plans, and hollow excuses. When the pathetic truth finally came to light, it didn't just break my heart—it humiliated me. I made a silent, unbreakable vow right then and there in my empty apartment. I absolutely refused to let anyone use my body like that ever again, least of all a man who wore his playboy status like a tailored suit.

"I know," Mila murmured, touching my arm. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to push."

We eventually migrated back to the main room, but as the night slowly crept past the ten o'clock mark, the energy in the apartment shifted. The boisterous party began winding down, transitioning into a far more intimate atmosphere. Owen and Freya were the first to leave, wrapped in their usual eccentric, romantic bubble.

I sat alone on the edge of the plush living room chair, acutely hyper-aware of the shifting dynamics around me. Wyatt sat on the main sofa, pulling Mila close and burying his face in her neck, whispering something into her hair that made her giggle. Across from them, Cleo leaned heavily against Dex’s chest. Dex had his arms wrapped securely around her waist, sharing a sickeningly sweet adoration that radiated across the room.

Witnessing this sparked a deeply familiar, quiet ache in the center of my chest. It was a phantom pain that only flared up in moments like these. I genuinely loved my friends. I championed their relationships and celebrated their milestones. But sitting here, being the absolute only single person drowning in a sea of deeply devoted, intimately entwined couples made me feel utterly stranded. It amplified the profound hollow space behind my ribs. At twenty-seven years old, I felt like a spectator in my own life.

Desperate to escape the living room before I was forced to witness the impending soft-core foreplay of my married friends, I bolted upright. I aggressively volunteered for cleanup duty.

"Let me get these out of your way," I announced abruptly, grabbing a massive handful of empty glass beer bottles from the coffee table. I clutched the cold glass to my chest like a protective shield.

"Don't bother," Cleo mumbled, her eyes half-closed as she snuggled deeper into Dex's embrace.

"We'll take care of it later," Dex added, not even bothering to look up.

"Don't be so nice. We already know you're not that nice in reality," I joked, forcing a bright tone as I made a beeline for the kitchen.

My attempt at a solitary retreat was instantly thwarted.

"I'll help you," Rhys volunteered out of nowhere, his large frame rising from the armchair. "Mila can focus on figuring out how to get Wyatt home," he teased.

"I've still got plenty of energy to burn tonight," Wyatt insinuated with a wicked grin, pulling his wife closer.

*Oh, God.* I rolled my eyes and practically sprinted the rest of the way. But the heavy sound of Rhys's confident footsteps following right behind me made the hair on the back of my neck stand up. My entire body flooded with instant, prickling discomfort.

I dumped the massive handful of glass bottles onto the marble kitchen island with a loud clatter. The sound echoed sharply, but it did nothing to dispel the suffocating tension. Trapped in the kitchen once again with the giant, I frantically tried to fill the heavy air with meaningless chatter.

"Are you sure it's a good idea to go running with Wyatt tomorrow?" I babbled, adopting a highly sarcastic, defensive tone. "The man's a machine."

Rhys stepped into the kitchen, the overhead lights catching his towering figure. "It wouldn't be the first time. I've known Wyatt for a long time. We've done a lot of runs in London during his visits."

"Right. Of course," I rambled, noting my absolute refusal to wake up at seven o'clock on a Sunday morning to do any form of exercise. "Because waking up before ten on a Sunday to work out is a totally normal thing to do. I don't know how I missed that."

"Don't you like exercising? You seem pretty fit to me."

I realized instantly that making eye contact with him was a terrible, dangerous idea. His jaw looked like it had been ruthlessly sculptured by the gods themselves, covered in a faint, highly masculine shadow of stubble that made him look rugged and untouchable. To protect myself from whatever spell he was effortlessly casting, I focused my entire field of vision exclusively on organizing the glass bottles on the marble kitchen island. My hands moved with nervous, erratic energy, lining the green glass up in a perfectly straight row.

Rhys, however, smoothly stepped right into my personal space. The scent of cedar and expensive wine washed over me, clouding my senses. His deep voice dropped an octave, sending a sudden shiver down my spine.

"I see. So, you don't mind a bit of cardio after ten?" he asked.

His tone was entirely casual, but there was a dark, hidden meaning laced beneath the syllables. Completely failing to catch the innuendo through my rising panic, I replied absentmindedly, "I guess so."

Rhys didn't miss a beat. "Great, because it's almost eleven."

I froze. My hands hovered over the glass bottles. I slowly looked up at him, my brows furrowed in utter confusion. "What?" I asked, completely lost.

A slow, incredibly mischievous, and dangerously sexy smile spread across his perfect, infuriating face. He took another step forward, his massive body dominating my personal space and backing me slightly against the counter.

"Looks like we're the only ones here who won't be having sex tonight," he murmured.

The words hit me like a physical blow. His eyes dropped to my lips, heavy with blatant intent, before dragging back up to meet mine.

"You said you don't mind doing cardio after ten," he continued smoothly, his voice a low rumble in the quiet kitchen. "It's almost eleven, and I have an idea for some cardio we could do together."

The words hung in the air for a heavy, suffocating second before my brain finally processed the sheer audacity of his smooth proposition. Did he just say what I thought he said? I blinked rapidly, my mouth falling open slightly as the shock short-circuited my system. He was propositioning me. Right here. While our friends were in the next room.

"Wait..." I stammered, my voice trembling with a chaotic mix of utter disbelief and rising fury. "Are you? Did you just meet me and are doing what I think you're doing?"

Rhys didn't back down an inch. He didn't look embarrassed or apologetic. He simply raised a dark eyebrow, his gaze incredibly intense, entirely unashamed of his blatant request to take me to bed.

"Is that a no?" he challenged.