Maya’s already beelined to the jukebox like it’s her altar. Gracie drifts off toward the cider list like it holds the secrets of the universe. Dee and Nova are in the corner exchanging flirtatious smirks and trying to pretend it’s not happening, but even I can feel the slow-burn heat between them from across the bar.
And Josie? She’s still looking at me like I’ve got answers to questions she hasn’t asked yet.
“You okay?” I ask, voice low. “I know you didn’t want?—”
“I’m here,” she says, cutting me off gently. “I didn’t say I didn’t want to see you. I just needed a minute. Or maybe a few days.”
I freeze for half a second. Those words,I didn’t say I didn’t want to see you, land with more force than I expected. Like a weight lifting off my chest. I hadn’t realized how tightly I’d been holding my breath, bracing for rejection I couldn’t even blame her for.
She wanted to see me. Maybe not right away. Maybe not easily. But still.
I nod. “Okay. I can work with that.”
Her mouth quirks, barely there, but enough to punch air back into my lungs.
We drift toward the others, toward the chaos, but stay orbiting each other. She orders a drink. I offer to pay, and she doesn’t fight me. It’s small. But it’s something.
And by the time Maya drags us onto the dance floor, if you can call the cleared space between the fireplace and the pool tables adance floor, the air between us has shifted.
Loosened.
I don’t know what song’s playing. Some flirty, whiskey-soaked country pop track that makes the girls laugh and the guys all pretend not to know the lyrics. But Josie moves like the music belongs to her. Hips swaying, eyes glittering under the low light, one hand in the air, the other wrapped around her drink.
I can’t stop watching her.
She catches me staring.
Doesn’t look away.
Instead, she drifts closer.
I don’t think. I don’t plan. I just move with her, meeting her halfway like a damn magnet. My hand finds her waist. Light. Testing.
She doesn’t pull back.
The contact is barely there, but it sears. And she lets it happen. That one small thing, her staying still instead of stepping away, undoes me more than I’d ever admit out loud.
Damn, I didn’t realize how badly I needed that. Needed her. Just to not flinch. To not retreat.
My fingers tighten the slightest bit, greedy for more even as I fight not to push. She’s here. With me. Letting me touch her like this.
And I don’t want to screw up the moment by breathing too hard.
She leans in.
Her body brushes mine, and everything, every damn thought I’ve had about her for weeks, cracks open. I feel her breath near my jaw, warm and uneven, and that pull between us, the one I’ve been trying to ignore, surges like a wave.
“You’re staring,” she says.
“Can you blame me?”
Her smile curves slowly. Dangerous. “Still full of lines, huh?”
“Only the honest ones.”
Her head tilts back slightly, eyes dancing. “So, what’s this one mean, then?”
She shifts closer, hips brushing mine, her chest just brushing my shirt. Her scent hits me. Vanilla and temptation. My hands slide around her waist without thinking, palms splayed low on her back. Her fingers trace the line of my collar, lazy and bold.
