“You absolutely did not.”
“Respectfully, shut up.”
She’s still laughing when I reach out and swipe a droplet off her cheek with my thumb.
She goes silent.
Heat rolls between us.
“This whole night,” I say quietly, “I couldn’t stop thinking about you. I played like someone lit my ass on fire.”
She smiles. “You played incredibly.”
“I played for you,” I say, voice low. “Every shift. Every shot. Every stupid chirp.”
Her eyes soften. “Bryce…”
I cup her jaw. My thumb traces her lower lip.
She presses into my hand.
I lean in. Not kissing her. Not yet. Just letting my forehead rest against hers.
“Tell me you’re here,” I whisper.
“I’m here,” she breathes.
I exhale slowly, forehead still pressed to hers. “I talk to my mom out here,” I say quietly. “Not in a weird way. Just… when shit gets loud. When I need someone to tell me to get over myself.”
Her fingers slide lightly along the back of my neck, and I swear my pulse jumps. “Bryce…”
“I’ve never brought a woman out here,” I tell her. “Ever. Nobody gets this spot. Nobody gets the quiet. Nobody gets… this side of me.”
She swallows, eyes soft. “So why me?”
“Because I couldn’t wait,” I admit. “Couldn’t wait to see you standing here. Couldn’t wait to show you the one place that actually shuts my brain up.”
She lets out a breathy little laugh. “And here I thought you just wanted to impress me with the view.”
“Oh, I do,” I say, brushing my thumb along her jaw. “The view’s insane. But you’re better.”
She blushes, nudges my chest with her nose. “Smooth, Blackhorn.”
I lift the champagne bottle and pour two glasses. “We toasting, or are you gonna mock me for my bottle-opening skills again?”
She grins, taking her glass. “I’ll mock you and toast you. I’m versatile.”
I bark out a laugh. “Jesus. Dangerous woman.”
She lifts her glass toward me. “To winning the game.”
I clink it lightly. “To you being there.”
She rolls her eyes, smiling. “To not making plans.”
I smirk. “And to me making damn sure you never want to.”
We clink our glasses again, then drift to the lounge chairs tucked against the far side of the balcony. String lights run along the railing, warm and soft, brushing her skin in gold. The city hums below us like background music.
