The clamor of the brewery pressed around them, but at their table, everything shifted. The energy sharpened. The space between words stretched.And when Gideon leaned in—shoulder brushing hers, breath barely grazing the air between them—she didn’t flinch.
She felt it.
And she knew he did too.
Arden leaned back in her seat, one long leg crossing over the other, the black leather of her pants molding to every curve like it had been stitched on with intention and a grudge. Effortless, but nothing about her ever truly was.
She reached for her drink, fingers curling around the glass with the kind of casual poise that didn’t demand attention. It commanded it.
And Gideon?
He was already watching.
Heat flickered behind his heavy gaze. One hand rested on his glass, thumb tracing the rim in a slow, exact arc. Like control was had to be maintained, one circle at a time.
Her eyes lifted to find his.
The buzz of the room dulled: voices, glass, the steady thump of trivia night, all of it pushed to the edge as their eyes locked. It wasn’t permission. It was gravity.
For a breath, they held there.
Tension wound taut between them. A question unspoken. A challenge issued.
Then, she turned away.
Smooth as smoke. Like she hadn’t just set the air between them on fire and left him to burn in it.
Arden tipped her head toward the table, the corner of her mouth curving as she reached for the pen. “Don’t worry,” she said, her voice light but edged. "I’ll carry us.”
Gideon’s smirk was slow, crooked, and full of the kind of intent that settled low and stayed there. He leaned in, his voice pitched low enough for only her.
“You’re supposed to say I’ll carry you.”
Her smile was pure mischief, a slow curve of trouble. “Where’s the fun in that?”
That voice hit him like it always did. Sexy. Dangerous. Impossible to shake.
He exhaled slowly, flexing his hand once around the glass.
He couldn't get enough of her.
This woman.
Trivia began, but neither of them heard it. The game was just noise now—a flimsy excuse for the current running between them.
“The Hanging Gardens,” Gideon said smoothly, answering the first question as if it were a reflex.
Arden frowned, tapping the pen against the table. “I thought it was—wait. No. You’re right.”
She sighed for effect, then smiled—already past the part where she was wrong. “Fine.”
His smirk deepened. “Glad you trust me.”
She scoffed, brow arching. “Trust? Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”
Gideon laughed under his breath, a quiet sound, edged and unshakable, like he knew how the night would end.
Oh, she was in trouble.
