"Even worse," I say, shaking my head.
I lean closer, drawn to her like always, unable to keep the distance I should. "If whatever his name is can't see how gorgeous you are, what a catch you are..."
She's watching me now, really watching me, those blue eyes dialed in. I should stop talking. Should remember that I'm just a temporary escape from her real life. A distraction for her.
But I can't seem to help myself around her. Never have.
"And you’re still a catch, even if you do sing off-key," I tease, doing my best not to sound like I’m laying it on too thick.
She rolls her eyes, but her mouth curves like she can’t stop it.
"And when you laugh, it distracts half the room from what was even funny."
She chuckles, tilting her head. “Please. You’re exaggerating.”
"Not even a little," I say, honestly. "The fact that you don’t take my shit, it makes you pretty damn irresistible. And don’t even get me started on those eyes.”
As I look over at her, I realize what I'm doing. Listing all the little things I noticed about her. All the things I like. Allthe things that make her special, even the imperfect parts. Especially the imperfect parts.
I know how dangerously close I am to saying things I can't take back. Things like: I think about you every day. Things like: I’ve never been this intrigued by a person, ever.
Her fingers find the edge of my sleeve, toying with the fabric. It's a small touch, but it anchors me to this moment, to her.
“Hardly even knew you noticed me,” she says, voice barely above a whisper.
"You’re hard to miss, Sawyer," I admit, the words raw and honest in a way I haven't allowed myself to be, maybe ever.
Sawyer's breath catches, almost imperceptible. But I notice. I always notice every little thing about her.
"He never really noticed me," she says. "Not like..."
Not like you. She doesn't say it, but I hear it anyway.
"His loss," I say simply. “And just so we’re clear—just ‘cause your ex thinks somethin’s gonna happen tonight, doesn’t mean it has to. We can take a walk, go for a ride, sit out on the porch and count sheep if you want.”
“Yeah, we could.” Her eyes flick to mine, bright and teasing. “But I’d rather do this.”
She closes the gap between us so suddenly, I don't have time to react. Her hands find my face, and then her mouth is on mine. Fierce. Demanding. Like it’s all she’s wanted to do.
My head spins with the realization, then instinct takes over—I kiss her back, one hand sliding into her hair, cradling the back of her head. She tastes like expensive liquor and decisions we'll probably regret come morning. I don't care.
The kiss deepens, her lips parting, inviting me in. Time seems to slow, stretch, suspend around us. There's just this—her mouth on mine, her fingers now slidingunder my shirt, the small sound she makes in the back of her throat when I pull her closer.
She kisses like she does everything else—all in, no hesitation, taking exactly what she wants. My hand slides down to her waist, fingers spreading against the curve there, feeling the warmth of her through the thin fabric of her dress.
She pulls back just enough to catch her breath, her forehead resting against mine. Her eyes stay closed, like she's afraid to see my reaction. I can feel her trembling slightly beneath my hands.
"I shouldn't have done that," she whispers, but she doesn't move away.
"Probably not," I agree, my voice rough with want. "But I’m known for doing things I shouldn't."
Her eyes open then, meeting mine. The vulnerability there knocks the breath right out of me. For all her strength, all her independence, Sawyer's taking a risk with me. Even if this is some summer fling for her, there’s always a risk.
"Tristan."
I brush my thumb across her cheekbone, a soft touch at odds with the fire raging through my blood. "I've got you," I promise, meaning it in ways that go beyond this moment.
But it’s her who has me. I’m not going anywhere, unless she asks me to. Unless she walks away. Which we both know is inevitable.
