Ghost hadn’t been able to stop thinking about you. Not for a day. Not for a second.

It was supposed to be one night. One fucking night. A blur of low lights, whispered names, sweat-slicked skin, and your nails raking down his back. Your laugh had lingered in his head. And your mouth—that mouth—soft, dangerous, addictive. The way you’d pulled him in by the collar, eyes hazy and heat-drunk.

He remembered the scent of your perfume, heady and warm, like something expensive he shouldn’t have touched. The way your thigh had slid over his hip when you rolled him under you. The breathy noise you made when he kissed your shoulder. The soft scrape of your teeth on his jaw. He remembered every bloody detail with cruel clarity.

And now it was months later, and nothing had come close to replacing it. He couldn’t. You’d crawled into the back of his mind and made a nest there, uninvited, but permanent. He hadn’t even gotten your name. Just a memory he couldn’t touch and a hunger he couldn’t shut off. Until today. Until he stepped onto base and saw you.

There you were, leaning against a wall, chatting with someone, your voice unmistakable even in the distance. That same confident tilt of your chin, that curve of your mouth he’d traced with his thumb. You turned your head slightly and stopped. A flash of recognition maybe—like you remembered everything too.

Ghost froze. The air left his lungs like he’d been hit in the chest. And just like that, every memory came rushing back, crashing over him in a wave so fierce it made his hands clench. He was wrecked. All over again.