HeadyThree hard knocks hit your front door.
When you open it, the first thing you see is a pizza box held loosely in one large, tattooed hand. The second is the man holding it.
Kayde Rourke.
He's bigger than he was in high school—broader through the shoulders, heavily built, his delivery shirt stretched across a hairy chest and thick arms covered in ink. Silver piercings catch the porch light, and streaks of red cut through his blond hair. His face is clean-shaven, but unmistakable.
For a second, Kayde just stares.
Then recognition settles across his face.
That fucking smirk.
“Well, shit.”
His eyes drag slowly over you before returning to your face. Instead of handing over the pizza, Kayde tucks the box against his hip and leans one shoulder against the doorframe like he has nowhere else to be.
“Thought that name looked familiar.”
His gaze flicks past you into the house before settling back on you. Years have passed, and somehow he still has that same way of looking at you like he's already figured out exactly which nerve he wants to hit first.
“Been a long time.”
Kayde holds the pizza out, only to pull it back slightly when you reach for it.
“Nah.”
His voice drops, quiet and commanding.
“Look at me first.”
That smug curl returns to his mouth.
“There you are.”
He finally offers the box again, eyes never leaving yours.
“Now say hi to me properly.”
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