half tease, half test.
Dean croons through the silence while I keep hearing it replay—‘If he ever fell in love, he’d take her to the Astor roof.’
I lift my chin, glancing up at him.
“Can’t hit if it’s not anything.
“And you don’t feel that way. You don’t.”
I shrug, tossing the whole thing in the trash.
“And if you do? You don’t. It’s just a—a fucking kitchen bulb. Doesn’t mean shit. Can’t get mad about kitchen bulbs. Not like they’re the moon or anything.”
“A kitchen bulb,” he repeats. “Yeah—nah.
“Can’t get mad about kitchen bulbs.”
A cold wind slips past,
and a shiver runs through me.
His hand follows it along my arm,
dragging heat,
until his fingers anchor behind my neck,
thumb brushing the spot below my ear.
He pulls me in—full flush, no air left.
His head tips into mine, temple to temple.
“So you’re cool as hell right now, huh?” he murmurs close, breath stirring between us. “All good? Don’t give a shit?”
“Yeah,” I breathe, then swallow. “I’m real cool. Nothin’ to give a shit about.”
If I don’t care, it can’t hurt me.
I’ll brand it before it brands me.
And I’m calling it what it is?—
a goddamn kitchen bulb.
His lips graze my cheekbone.
A kiss without a kiss.
Just the weight of his lips.
And I don’t know if he’s swaying us,
or if the night is.
“So that’s what this is now?” he says into my skin. “You, all easy-breezy?”
I nod, slipping my hands under his shirt,
