“You okay?” I murmur.
“Yes. No. I don’t—” She squeezes her eyes shut for a second. “This is dangerous.”
“Everything with you feels dangerous,” I admit.
Her eyes fly open. I hold her tighter.
We keep moving, slow circles, her dress brushing my boots. Every time she shifts, her thigh brushes mine and sends heat straight through me. Her gaze dips to my mouth—once, twice—before darting away like she’s afraid I saw it.
I did.
She doesn’t know I watch her closer than I watch brush fires.
The song fades, applause rising around us. I lead her off the dance floor, not ready to let go, my hand still at her back. The firehouse is too bright, too crowded, too loud for what’s happening inside me.
I need air.
I need space.
I need her.
“Come here,” I say, voice low.
Her breath catches. “Ash?—”
“We’re just stepping aside,” I rasp. “I’m not doing anything.”
Not unless she asks. Not unless she leans in first. Not unless she breaks me.
I guide her toward a side hallway near the gear lockers, dimly lit, mostly empty. White lights cast soft shadows along the walls. The faint scent of pine mixes with the familiar smell of smoke-stained gear.
She hesitates in the threshold. “Is this?—”
“Quiet,” I murmur.
She goes still. Slowly, I step closer, bracing one hand on the wall beside her head. Her back presses lightly against the lockers, her breath stuttering as I lean in—but not touching her. Not yet.
“Lucy,” I say quietly.
She swallows. “Yeah.”
“You’re killing me.”
Her pupils expand. “Ash…”
“You walk in here wearing that dress, looking at me like you want something—don’t expect me not to react.”
Her voice shakes. “I wasn’t trying to?—”
“Don’t lie,” I whisper.
Her breath catches sharply. My thumb grazes her hip, slow, deliberate. She inhales like the touch shocks her.
“Tell me to step back,” I murmur, leaning just enough for her to feel my breath on her cheek.
She doesn’t. Instead, her hand lifts—tentative, trembling—and lands on my chest. The contact detonates every ounce of restraint I have.
I cage her in with my body, close but not touching, my forehead nearly brushing hers. She looks up at me, eyes wide, lips parted like a promise.
