Zero.
Fireworks erupt and his mouth crashes onto mine.
Not tentative.
Not testing.
Claiming.
His hand slides into my hair, the other gripping my hip, pulling me flush against him like he intends to memorize every inch.
My body melts into his with heat, want, and adrenaline.
He kisses me like I am the conclusion to a question he’s been living with for months.
And I kiss him like I’ve been waiting for the answer.
Somewhere behind us, Dex yells, "OH YEAH, THAT’S THE CONTENT. HAPPY NEW YEAR TO ME."
Bryce doesn’t break the kiss. Not even when Dex’s voice fades back into the party. Instead, he kisses me deeper. Slower. Like he already knows I’m not stopping him this time, and now he wants to know exactly how far I’ll let him go.
My fingers slide in his hair, and I feel the subtle, quiet shift in his pants. His restraint loosens. His body presses into mine, firm and sure, like he’s been imagining this as long as I have.
When he finally pulls back, I’m breathless and unsteady. The fireworks light his face in flashes of gold and red, and he looks like something I shouldn’t want but absolutely do.
He leans closer, voice low. “Happy New Year, Annabelle. Tell me you’re not running tonight.”
A soft, helpless laugh slips out of me. “Running takes energy. I currently have none. And Happy New Year to you, Bryce.”
He brushes his thumb along my jaw. “Come with me.”
The words aren’t demanding. They aren’t gentle either. They’re inevitable.
My heart kicks hard against my ribs. I should say no. I should walk away. I should remember every boundary I set and every rule I’m supposed to enforce.
Instead, I whisper, “Okay.”
His hand finds mine. Warm. Steady. Confident.
We walk through the ballroom without speaking. People laugh, dancers sway, cameras flash, but none of it touches us. His thumb strokes the back of my hand once, as if he’s checking…
Are you sure?
And I squeeze back.
We reach the elevator. The doors slide open. We step inside. But this time, there’s no frantic kissing, no desperate chaos. Just charged silence and the electric pulse of anticipation.
The numbers blink higher with every floor.
Ding.
His suite.
He unlocks the door, pushes it open, and steps aside so I can walk in first.
The room is quiet and dim, lit only by the city skyline pouring through the massive windows. Nashville glows like a dream under fireworks and shadows.
I turn to look at him. He closes the door behind us, and something inside me clicks into place. It’s like the moment before a storm when the air shifts and everything feels sharper.
