“You’re working late,” I say.
“Felt nice. Didn’t want to go upstairs yet.”
I nod, leaning my forearms on the bar. The wood is still warm beneath my skin, the air between us humming with whatever this is—something delicate, unfinished. Like a chord still ringing out.
“The girls wear you out?”
“They tried.”
A beat passes. She glances up at me then, and for a second, neither of us looks away. Her eyes hold steady. She lets me see her. Not just the fire. But the calm after it.
Then she smirks, head tilted just slightly. “But you did.”
The words hit clean in the ribs. Because they’re true, and she knows exactly what she’s saying.
I blink, caught off guard that she says it out loud. Even more surprised by how much I want her to say it again.
I lean in a little, smirk curling slowly at the corner of my mouth. “Careful, hellcat. Say things like that, and I’ll make sure you can’t walk tomorrow either.”
She raises a brow, smirking, voice low. “Big talk for someone who needed the wall to stay standing.”
I chuckle, leaning closer. “And yet, you’re the one blushing. Face flushed, eyes soft. Still feeling me in every breath.”
She bites her lip, softly, just for a second, and I catch the flicker of heat behind her eyes.
“You’re not wrong,” she murmurs. “I’m still sore.”
“Good,” I say, voice rough. “Means I did it right.”
Her laugh is breathy, quieter than before, but it curls between us in slow spirals.
“Wanna go again?” I ask.
She tilts her head, pretending to think. “You offering to help me not walk tomorrow?”
“Hellcat, I’m offering to make it impossible.”
We both smile. But hers softens after a second.
Then I ask, more gently, “You okay?”
She gives a small, almost shy shrug. “Yeah. Actually… yeah.” That cracks something in me. Because it doesn’t sound like a lie.
I can’t help it; my fingers brush against hers on the bar. Just a graze. Skin on skin. Barely there. But she doesn’t pull away. Doesn’t flinch. Her fingers twitch once, like they want to follow mine. She looks down. Smiles. And that smile, small and crooked, feels like a sunrise.
“They’ll come for us,” she says, smiling again. “The guys. Payback for all the glitter, the rigged bikes, the haunted jukebox... every dumb prank we’ve pulled.”
“I know.”
I sit down on one of the barstools and grab her by the waist as she passes, pulling her between my legs. She blinks, surprised, but doesn’t resist. Her hands come to rest lightly on my shoulders, then tilts her chin just enough to meet my gaze.
“We deserve it.”
“You do.”
That earns me a quiet laugh, soft and breathy, and something about the sound makes everything in me settle. All the weight Iusually carry slips off my shoulders when she looks at me that way. Not as the man who leads. But the one who stays.
We stay there in the quiet for a minute. Not talking. Just being. Her breath is steady. Her hands rub up and down my biceps, a small smile on her lips.
