I breathe.
Finally.
Footsteps sound behind me. Slow. Non-threatening. Intentional.
I don’t turn.
“You okay?” Bryce asks quietly.
“I’m fine.”
It comes out too fast. Too sharp. Too obvious.
He stands beside me, not touching, just… near.
“You handled him.”
“I always handle things.” I retort with a smile.
“I know.”
Silence settles. Soft. Tense. Almost intimate.
I exhale.
“This is complicated,” I whisper.
“What part?”
“All of it. You. Me. Rumors. Work. My father. My ex. The internet. The team. My job. Your reputation. And the fact that I…”
I stop.
He waits.
I hate that he waits.
“I shouldn’t feel whatever this is,” I say quietly.
He looks at me.
Not smug. Not playful. Real.
“I didn’t plan the kiss,” he says. “But I’m not sorry it happened.”
My pulse slips.
He steps closer. Slow. Measured.
His voice lowers.
“If I kiss you again… you’ll have to tell me to stop.”
My breath catches.
He leans in. Not touching. Just close enough that I feel his warmth.
I whisper, barely audible, “Not here. Not anywhere. We can't do this, Bryce.”
