Kai didn’t even try to hide it—how she gutted him with that.

The words. The look. The way her mouth found his like it wasn’t a tease this time, wasn’t a test, wasn’t anything but the truth she’d been keeping pressed behind her ribs for too damn long.

He kissed her back like a man who’d just been handed the rest of his life. Slow first, reverent, letting the salt air and the sugar between them blur into something sweeter. Then deeper—because he couldn’t not. Because Lennon Rae had just dropped the kind of line that could knock him flat, and the only way he knew to answer was with everything he had left in him.

When he finally pulled back, their foreheads still brushing, his grin was a little wild, a little wrecked. Dimples flashing, but softer this time, steadier.

“You know what your problem is?” he murmured, thumb sliding along the edge of her hip where the sand clung stubbornly to her skin. “You think saying something like that’s gonna scare me.”

He kissed the corner of her mouth once, twice—quick punctuation against the storm still simmering in her.

“But newsflash, Rae—” his voice dipped lower, smooth and teasing but carrying that new weight he’d stopped running from, “—you saying you wanna wake up with me forever? That’s not a threat. That’s the best damn idea you’ve ever had.”

He leaned back just enough to catch her eyes, his own dark with mischief and promise. “And I’ve heard all your ideas, by the way. Even the terrible ones involving gas station wine and late-night karaoke.”

His hand slid up her spine, drawing her closer against his chest, anchoring her there. “So yeah. Careful what you promise, Lennon Rae. Because I’m taking you at your word. Every morning. Every night. Blue tongues, churro dust, Springsteen vinyls, all of it.”

And then, with that smirk she’d sworn she hated but had never survived intact against, he added low, almost conspiratorial:

“Besides, babe… you don’t actually want me to stop flirting like it’s a contact sport. Admit it.”

He kissed her again before she could answer—lazy, lingering, a little sandy, entirely theirs.

Lennon couldn’t breathe.

Not because the kiss had stolen it — though it had — but because he had. The way he looked at her like she’d just rearranged the sky. Like her mess and her mouth and her too-loud heart were the most sacred things he’d ever been handed.

She didn’t look away when he pulled back. Didn’t laugh it off or deflect like she used to. Because something in his voice — that impossible mix of teasing and true — had landed deeper than she was ready for, and instead of ducking, she stayed.

“You know what your problem is?”

She blinked, head tilted, trying to hide the grin already tugging at her lips.

Problem, he said, as if the real issue wasn’t the fact that he kept saying things like every morning, every night and meaning them.

When he kissed the corner of her mouth, soft and steady like he was still memorizing her, she closed her eyes for half a second, just to hold the shape of it.

And then he kept talking — gas station wine, late-night karaoke — and she laughed, the sound unguarded and absolutely hers.

“Oh my God,” she muttered, voice warm and half-buried against his collar. “You’re never letting that karaoke night go, are you?”

She pulled back slightly, just enough to meet his gaze, her hands still resting light against his chest. “It was one verse of ‘Total Eclipse of the Heart.’ I was drunk and emotional and you were singing backup in a key that doesn’t exist.”

Her eyes narrowed. “So unless you’re proposing we make that our wedding song, Mercer—”

But then he was anchoring her again, hand at her spine, voice wrapping around her like gravity.

I’m taking you at your word. Every morning. Every night. Blue tongues, churro dust, Springsteen vinyls…

Her heart flipped so hard she almost laughed from the sheer audacity of how good it felt.

She looked at him — really looked — and the smirk nearly did her in. Because he was right. About the flirting. About all of it.

But instead of admitting it, she leaned in until her lips brushed his ear, her voice a whisper that vibrated straight through him.

“Flirting’s not the sport I’m worried about,” she said. “It’s endurance, Mercer. Forever’s a long game.”

She kissed him again — not soft, not coy. This one was all teeth and laughter and promise.

Then she pulled back, smirking, eyes wicked-bright, curls falling wild around her face.

“And for the record?” she added, brushing sand from his shirt. “You’re still not getting the churro back.”

Kai lost it.

Not the cool, not the grin, not even the swagger he usually wore like a second skin. No — he lost it in the way that counted. In the way her words hit straight to his chest, sparking heat and something so much bigger under his ribs that for once he didn’t try to dress it up with a joke.

He just laughed — low and wrecked and real — the sound vibrating against her mouth as he kissed her back like she’d just set the rules to the only game he wanted to play.

“Endurance, huh?” he murmured when she pulled away, voice rough at the edges but smooth as sin, eyes locked on hers like she was the only horizon that mattered. “Good thing I’m built for long games, Rae.”

His thumb dragged slow across her lower lip, his smirk curving like a challenge and a vow all at once. “And spoiler alert? I’m not planning on subbing out. You’re stuck with me in the field. Forever.”

The waves hissed closer, tugging at the sand beneath them, but he didn’t move. Couldn’t. Not when she was straddling him, curls wild, lips still swollen from the way he couldn’t stop tasting her. She was a storm and a sunrise all at once, and he was done pretending he hadn’t been chasing this version of her — of them — for years.

He leaned in, kissed her temple this time, softer, deliberate, then murmured against her skin:

“And the churro?” His grin deepened, wicked and boyish in the same breath. “Baby, you can keep it. I’ve got my eye on something sweeter.”

His hand slid to her hip, squeezing just enough to make his point before he let her laugh break the tension again.

Because yeah, forever was a long game.
And Kai Mercer was damn sure he’d found the only teammate he wanted for it.

Lennon didn’t stand a chance.

Not against that grin, not against the way his voice roughened like it was just for her — not when his thumb dragged across her lip like he was branding a promise there. She felt it in her stomach, in her spine, in the stupid way her pulse picked up like he hadn’t already wrecked her ten times over since she said I’m in.

And then he said you’re stuck with me, and the laugh that broke from her was helpless. Real. A little dangerous.

Because God, it felt illegal — the way her body responded to that voice, that heat, that hand on her hip like he’d never stopped knowing exactly where she broke apart easiest. She hadn’t let herself feel like this in years. Not really. Not fully. Not without armor.

It wasn’t just the kissing. It was what came with it. The weight of forever in his voice. The way he looked at her like she wasn’t a habit or a headline or a what-if anymore — but the damn answer.

And that should’ve terrified her.

Maybe it still did.

But not enough to make her run.

“You know what’s terrifying?” she said, cocking her head just enough to narrow her eyes at him, even as her smile betrayed her. “I believe you.”

Her hand flattened against his chest, right over his heart — steady, strong, still a little fast from the sprint, or maybe from her — and she tapped her fingers once like she was testing the rhythm. Then again, lighter.

Her voice dipped, almost unconsciously.

“You—Kai Mercer—are built for long games and bad decisions,” she said, the words shaped like a dare, “and I’ve got terrible instincts when it comes to both.”

But she didn’t move.

Didn’t get up, didn’t pull away, didn’t even glance at the half-smashed churro near his hip. She wasn’t thinking about sugar anymore. She was thinking about the way he kissed her like no time had passed at all. Like her mouth was still his favorite sin. Like maybe, just maybe, she hadn’t destroyed the only thing that had ever made her feel held.

The sand clung to her bare feet. Her hair was definitely a disaster. Her skin tasted like salt and cinnamon and sunburn. And still, he looked at her like she was everything.

It was too much.

It was everything.

And somehow, she still wanted more.

He’d said something sweeter, and her breath caught before she smothered it with another line.

“Well,” she said slowly, like it cost her something to admit it, “you did carry me down a trail like a human backpack, so I guess I owe you one.”

Her body shifted, not to pull away — but closer. She leaned in, pressing a kiss just beneath his jaw — slow and smug and dangerously fond.

The kind of kiss that says I’m not done with you yet.

“Don’t get cocky, Mercer,” she whispered there, voice lower now, words brushing skin like a secret. “Endurance games have overtime. And I play dirty.”

And God help her, she meant it.

Every sugar-coated, star-burned, long-haul, what-the-hell-am-I-doing word of it.

Because she wasn’t scared of losing anymore.

Not when the only thing she could still taste was him.

Kai didn’t even give her a warning.

One second, Lennon Rae was smirking against his jaw, whispering about overtime like she had him cornered. The next, she was squealing as he rolled, scooped her up, and rose to his feet in one smooth, maddeningly confident move.

“Oh, you play dirty?” His grin was sharp, teeth flashing in the fading light as he carried her straight toward the surf. “Baby, you have no idea.”

The ocean was waiting for them — cool foam rushing higher now with the tide. Lennon kicked, laughing and cursing into his shoulder, but he didn’t slow. His hands gripped her thighs, her body bouncing against him as if she weighed nothing at all, and his laugh — low, smug, absolutely delighted — carried over the crash of the waves.

“You said endurance,” he teased, his voice dropping lower as he stepped into the water, the first rush of cold splashing up their calves. “I say we test it.”

Her gasp was instant when the ocean bit against her skin, but before she could shout another protest, Kai shifted her tighter against his chest and waded deeper — waist-high now, the saltwater soaking his trousers, her dress clinging higher with every step.

And then he stopped. Just far enough out that the water rocked them both, cool and wild, the horizon burning copper behind her.

His forehead pressed to hers, that damn grin still tugging at his mouth. “Tell me, Rae,” he murmured, voice wrecked in the best way, “still think you’re the only one who can play dirty?”

He didn’t wait for her answer. He kissed her right there in the surf — messy, salty, perfect — while the waves broke against them and the world narrowed to nothing but her body tight against his.

Because this was the game he wanted:
Her laughter in his mouth, her heat against his chest, her heart pounding like it had finally remembered the rhythm.

And Kai Mercer? He had every intention of playing until dawn.

Lennon Rae should’ve known better.

Should’ve known that tone in his voice meant trouble. Should’ve seen the shift in his body before it happened. But she didn’t. She was too caught up in the high of the game — the bait, the banter, the way his jaw flexed when she teased him just right.

So when he scooped her up like a goddamn action hero and started charging toward the ocean like she hadn’t just dared him, all she could do was yelp, grip his shoulders, and let her bare feet kick wildly in protest.

“Kai, no—Kai, don’t you dare—”
Too late.

The saltwater hit fast — sharp and freezing against her calves, her thighs, higher — and her breath left her in a messy, delighted shriek that she didn’t even bother trying to swallow. She was drenched, already. And not just in seawater. In him. In the sound of his laugh against her shoulder, the press of his hands at her thighs, the way her dress clung to her like a second skin.

By the time he stopped, standing strong in the rocking tide like he could hold her there forever, she was breathless. Spun out. And staring down the most dangerous man she’d ever loved with seawater on her skin and something looser — scarier — cracking open in her chest.

His grin was infuriating.

His kiss? Worse.

Because it wasn’t a tease this time. Wasn’t casual. Wasn’t a firestarter meant to burn fast and be forgotten. It was real. Salty and slow and all-in. And her fingers, traitorous things, fisted into his wet shirt like they’d rather sink than let go.

She didn’t let herself think. Not about how it felt. Not about what it meant.

She just kissed him back — harder, deeper, like the truth had been under her tongue this whole time and he’d finally pulled it free.

When she pulled back, she didn’t move far.

Her forehead rested against his, breath stuttering out between them, and for once? She didn’t say something flippant. Didn’t make a joke. Didn’t pretend it hadn’t gutted her to feel him like this — not chasing, not posturing, just choosing her, steady and soaked and stupidly sure.

She wanted to stay there.

And God help her, she did.

But because she was still her — and because letting him win without a fight would’ve been sacrilege — she tilted her head, wiped the water from her lip with the back of her hand, and smirked through the ache in her chest.

“You’re gonna regret that when you’re shivering in soaked jeans for the next hour,” she murmured, voice low, eyes locked on his. “But sure. You wanna test endurance?”

She leaned in again, teeth grazing his lower lip as she whispered, “Game on, Mercer.”

Then she kissed him like she meant it. Because this time, she did.

Kai was soaked to the bone — shirt heavy, trousers clinging, salt water dripping down his jaw — but not a single part of him cared. Not when she was looking at him like that. Not when her smirk was hiding the same kind of tremor he felt in his own chest. Not when her kiss tasted like surrender dressed up as a challenge.

He laughed against her mouth, low and wrecked, the sound swallowed by the crash of the waves around them. “Rae,” he murmured, voice rough with salt and affection, “if this is what regret feels like, I’ll take it every night of my life.”

His hands slid down her thighs, anchoring her against him as the tide surged again, cool water breaking at their waists. She shivered, but he caught it — not to tease, not this time. He pressed his forehead to hers, softer now, his thumb brushing her cheekbone with a tenderness that cut straight through the play.

“You’ve got no idea, do you?” he whispered, almost in awe. “How long I’ve wanted this. Not just you in my arms, not just this game — you. Every reckless, barefoot, sugar-dusted piece of you. You keep calling it dangerous, but to me? It feels like home.”

For a beat, he just let the words settle between them, his chest rising against hers in time with the tide. Then he kissed her again — slower this time, less fire, more permanence. The kind of kiss that said I’ll stay even when the water’s freezing. Even when the sand sticks. Even when it gets hard.

When he finally pulled back, his smile was softer, lips brushing hers as he spoke. “So yeah, game on. But I should warn you…” His hand trailed from her hip to her spine, pulling her closer until there was no space left between them. “…I don’t play for rounds anymore. I play for keeps.”

He kissed the corner of her mouth, lingering. Then another at her jaw. Then one at her temple, reverent. “And you, Lennon Rae?” His breath ghosted against her skin, his grin curving but quiet. “You’re my forever prize.”

Another wave crashed, soaking them fresh, but Kai only laughed, pulling her in tighter, as if he really would stand there all night just to prove he meant it.

She couldn’t breathe.

Not from the cold — though the ocean clung to her skin, soaked her dress, numbed her ankles. Not from the weight of him — though his arms were locked around her, steady and sure, like she was something he’d never put down again.

No.

She couldn’t breathe because Kai Mercer was looking at her like he meant it.

All of it.

The kiss. The words. The promise tucked behind his grin like he already knew she’d run, and still chose to stay anyway.

Lennon Rae didn’t fall for lines.
She didn’t get swept up in soft.
Didn’t let herself believe in people who said forever like it wasn’t a trap.

But then he said her name like it was a truth.
Held her like she wasn’t too much.
Kissed her like nothing had ever felt more right.

No one had ever looked at her like this. Like she was the destination, not the detour. Like she was worth getting soaked for. Like she was someone you waded into the tide for — not to rescue, but to join.

Her fingers curled tighter in his shirt, knuckles white, dress dragging in the surf as the water lapped at their waists. She could feel the tremble in her own chest, the way her heart kicked up, uneven and unfamiliar. Because it wasn’t lust or adrenaline anymore.

It was him.

It was this.

This ridiculous, soaked, breathless boy who’d waited too long and somehow still got it exactly right.

Her forehead pressed to his, and her breath caught again, this time from something gentler. Something that felt like surrender. Not the kind you get dragged into. The kind you choose with both hands.

She let her eyes close for a second. Just one. Just long enough to memorize it: the tide, the heat, the way his fingers hadn’t let her go for even a breath.

Then she whispered it.

Quiet. Clear. No mask this time.

“Take me home, Kai.”

It wasn’t a plea.
It wasn’t a joke.

It was a decision.

And she meant every word.

Kai’s pulse kicked hard at the base of his throat, but his smile came easy. Smooth. Confident. That grin he’d worn on stages and in spotlights — except this time, it wasn’t for a crowd. It was just for her.

“Rae,” he said low, the word curling warm against her temple as he shifted her higher in his arms, “you don’t even have to ask.”

And then he moved.

The surf broke around them, tugging at his legs, but he carried her through it without faltering — stride steady, shoulders squared like she didn’t weigh more than the shirt clinging wet to his back. Each step drew them out of the pull of the tide, across the soft sand that squeaked under his sneakers, sunlight flashing off the water behind them.

He glanced down at her, strands of wet hair plastered to her cheek, her dress dripping salt and clinging in every way that wrecked him — and still, he smirked. “I warned you about overtime, didn’t I? You should’ve known I’d play dirty.”

Her laugh hit his chest, muffled, and God, he soaked it in.

They crossed the cove, weaving past driftwood and tide pools, the cliffs looming tall and golden. The trail up was narrow, carved into sandstone, but he kept her close even as he shifted her down so her feet skimmed the ground beside his. His hand never left her waist, guiding, steady, thumb brushing against damp skin just to remind them both he wasn’t letting go.

Halfway up, he paused. Turned her into him, the sun catching in his sea-glass eyes as he bent to kiss her — not rushed, not ravenous, but slow and sure, the kind of kiss that said this doesn’t end at the trailhead. This doesn’t end at the car. This doesn’t end at all.

When he pulled back, his forehead lingered against hers. His voice was low, velvet and teasing, but underneath it ran the steel of a vow.

“You said take you home,” he murmured, brushing her bottom lip with his thumb. “So that’s what I’m doing. But just so we’re clear…” His mouth curved into something wicked-smooth, the dimple flashing. “…I don’t plan on you leaving once we get there.”

Then he kissed her again — quick this time, cocky — before tugging her hand into his and leading her the rest of the way up the path, sand clinging, sunlight fierce, his stride confident like the whole damn world had just shifted in their favor.

By the time the car came into view at the top, Kai was already glancing at her sideways with a grin that made promises and trouble all at once.

“You sure you’re ready for what home looks like with me, Rae?” he teased, squeezing her hand. “Because I play forever the way I play everything else — all in.”

She should’ve said something clever.

Some jab about him being cocky. Some crack about the ocean water short-circuiting his ego.

But she didn’t.

Couldn’t.

Because her heart was still punching against her ribs like it was trying to catch up — like it had been frozen for years and suddenly remembered how to move.

And Kai Mercer?
He was walking like he’d never once doubted she’d say yes.

She watched the way his shoulders rolled under the weight of her — easy, fluid, steady like the tide. Watched his jaw tick when he thought she wasn’t looking. Watched the way his thumb didn’t stop moving, brushing circles into her skin like he needed to keep touching her just to believe she was real.

It wasn’t the kiss that did it.

It was everything after.

The carrying. The teasing. The quiet way he shifted her down the trail like she was something he kept. Something he chose. Not for a night. Not for nostalgia. But like it had always been her, and maybe he was just tired of pretending it wasn’t.

Lennon swallowed hard, her throat dry despite the salt. The cliffs rose around them. The sun was too bright. Her feet were bare, her dress soaked, her heart louder than it had any right to be.

And still, she followed.

Because whatever this was — messy, reckless, impossible — she didn’t want to walk away from it.

Not this time.

Not when he looked at her like that.

So when he glanced over his shoulder at the top of the trail, that grin daring and devastating, and asked if she was ready?

She didn’t smile back.

Not right away.

She just stared at him — really looked — and let herself feel the full weight of what she was about to do.

Then she reached for his hand again, fingers tangling with his like it was second nature.

And in a voice steadier than she felt, she said,
“Show me.”

Because maybe forever wasn’t something you said.

Maybe it was something you walked toward barefoot, soaking wet, and completely unguarded.

One heartbeat at a time.

With him.