Chapter 22
Even Max blinked.
:
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Then he whispered, “Okay, now I really feel third–wheely. I’m gonna go FaceTime your plants or something.”
Max, bless his soul left the room. Probably to the balcony. Or to give the scene its cinematic space.
I stared at Steven. He stared at me. His jaw was tight. My heart was loose. And the tension?
Thicker than the protein shake he didn’t drink. I lifted my chin. “So… not just friends anymore?”
He smirked. “Only if you promise not to kiss Max again, even ironically.”
I smiled. “Only if you stop calling me ‘just your PT.”
And then?
He took my hand, kissed it–like the drama king he was–and whispered,
“Deal.”
Oh, darling. The sass war was over. The love war? Just getting started.
To say I was happy? Please.
This wasn’t just happy. This was heart–flip, stomach–dance, internal marching band doing Beyoncé choreography kind of happy.
Steven McLeon, the man whose daily facial expression was set to “annoyed billionaire,” just told me I wasn’t just his friend.
I was the reason he laughed. The reason he didn’t give up.
Ugh. Swoon level: unlocked.
But let’s be real. I wasn’t about to cartwheel over a half–confession. This girl still had standards.
Yes, it was deliciously satisfying to see the blue–eyed monster tap dance in his soul when Max came in flexing like a Greek god. Yes, his voice got low and serious. Yes, he took my hand like I was a duchess in a Regency drama.
But let’s not get too excited, inner Madison. He still hadn’t dropped the L–word.
Still…
I looked at him–really looked at him–and I saw something different now. The tension in his shoulders wasn’t about pain anymore. The fire in his eyes wasn’t rage or pride or ego,
It was… me. I was the one igniting that spark. I cleared my throat, trying not to smile like a girl who just got
11:32 Thu, Sep 18
Chapter 22
VIP backstage access to the concert of her life.
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“Well,” I said, brushing imaginary lint off my hoodie like it was Dior couture, “that was a decent confession, McLeon. Like, 6.7 on the emotional Richter scale. Not bad.”
He chuckled, eyes still locked on me. “Oh, just a 6.7?”
“I mean…” I shrugged, walking backward toward the hallway, “I’ve heard better. From movie characters. Max, even. And once, from a guy selling lechon manok behind my apartment.”
He narrowed his eyes. “Are you actually ranking me under a rotisserie chicken vendor right now?”
“Just saying. You’re leveling up, but you’re not at final boss mode yet.”
He smirked. “And what would final boss mode sound like, oh wise sass queen?”
I turned at the doorway, winked, and whispered, “Something like ‘I love you, Madison, let’s buy a beach house and name our twins Sass and Sarcasm.“”
He froze.
I grinned.
And strutted away like a woman who just conquered Mount Brooding Billionaire.
I didn’t need the full confession yet. Not today.
But one thing was certain:
Steven McLeon was leveling up. And this time? He was playing for keeps.
The next day?
A–Freaking–Mazing.
Like, cue the dramatic slow–motion montage with inspirational music and birds flying kind of amazing.
Steven stood.
On his own.
For three full minutes.
No hands. No dramatic grunting. No sassy pep talks from me threatening to take away his coffee privileges. Just him, standing there, strong and stubborn and absolutely beautiful.
If that wasn’t progress, I didn’t know what was.
We were in the middle of the living room, surrounded by yoga mats and resistance bands, and the man
11:32 Thu, Sep 18
Chapter 22
…
looked like he just unlocked a secret cheat code in life.
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I clapped. “Three minutes! That’s, like, two minutes and fifty–nine seconds more than you used to last. In standing, I mean. Don’t get weird.”
He rolled his eyes but his smile… oh, it was pure sunshine dipped in sass. The kind of smile I hadn’t seen on him before. Not that soft. Not that proud. Not that hopeful.
And then?
Ice cream.
Because obviously that’s what successful billionaires and their sassy PTs do when they hit milestones.
He let me pick the flavor (mistake number one), so I brought out the mint chocolate chip like the chaotic neutral queen I am.
He took one bite. Grimaced. “It tastes like a cold breath mint and toothpaste”
I grinned. “That’s the point. It’s a two–in–one experience. Dessert and dental hygiene. I’m nothing if not practical. Like you ate the cream, and brushed your teeth at the same time.”
“Why do I feel scammed?”
“You weren’t scammed. You were cleansed. Spiritually.”
He laughed. Laughed, I tell you. Full–on chuckle that made his shoulders shake and his eyes crinkle. The kind of laugh that makes you forget he used to wake up with pain in his spine and fire in his temper.
But here’s the part no one warns you about:
After the laughing… he looked at me.
Like, looked looked at me.
Not the usual “you’re weird but useful” stare. No. This was the “how did I survive before you walked into my penthouse with thrift store sneakers and enough sarcasm to power a city” kind of stare.
His eyes were soft. Intense. And terrifyingly quiet.
And for a moment? I felt it.
I was his anchor. His spark. His hope in a stupid hoodie that says “I came, I sassed, I conquered.”
He didn’t say anything.
And I didn’t ask. Because we weren’t there yet. Not lovers.
Not officially.
But friends? Nope. We were way beyond that.
11:32 Thu, Sep 18
Chapter 22
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So, I took another spoonful of my questionable minty dessert, pointed the spoon at his face and said,
о
“We’re not in love. Yet. But the way you’re staring at me? You might want to schedule a dentist. All that sugar from my face? Dangerous.”
He smirked.
“I’ll take my chances.”
Girl… Progress.
11:32 Thu, Sep 18
Chapter 23
Chapter 23
