Lola rolls her eyes. “Ignore him. He’s been like this since he was sixteen. Broody. Grunty. Stabby.”
She pokes him in the ribs and immediately winces. “I swear, it’s like hugging a concrete wall.”
“Try asking nicer next time,” he murmurs, still not breaking eye contact with me.
It’s like he’s speaking to her but watching me react.
Like I’m the subject of the experiment.
Jesus fucking Christ.
I am going to explode.
Spontaneously combust.
Become glitter.
Lola finally seems to notice the tension crackling like a live wire between us, because her eyes narrow. “You two… haven’t met before, right?”
“No,” I say too quickly.
“No way. Never. Nope. Definitely not.”
“Strange,” she hums, almost to herself. “You’re acting like you have.”
“I’m just… surprised,” I mutter, dragging my eyes off Dax’s jawline and the dangerous curve of his throat and the muscle in his forearm that looks like it was carved for sinful purposes. “You never told me you had a brother.”
She shrugs. “You never asked.”
“That seems like a huge thing to leave out.”
“He’s been gone, Cass. Overseas. Black sites. God knows where.” Her voice softens in a way that almost feels like apology. “We don’t talk much. Not really. He’s not big on phones.”
“He’s not big on talking,” I mutter.
“I’m right here,” he says, voice like a blade unsheathing.
I swallow. “Yeah. I noticed.”
He shifts closer.
Just enough.
Just slightly.
But I swear the air leans with him.
And I swear the room tilts, because being near him feels like gravity has stopped obeying the rules.
“I’ll be at the bar,” Lola says suddenly, sensing something, maybe everything. “You two… catch up or whatever.”
She’s gone before I can protest, disappearing into the neon fog like she planned this whole thing from the beginning.
And now it’s just him.
Me.
And the space between us that feels like it might catch fire.
