"We'll figure it out."
The words slip out easier than they should. She goes quiet, but not the bad kind. The kind that feels like settling.
We duck into the shadowed alcove by her door, hidden from the street by a brick overhang. She props Steve against the frame like he's standing guard. Her keys jingle in her hand, but she doesn't use them. Just turns to face me in the dim light.
"Thank you," she says. "For tonight."
I want to tell her it was nothing. That I'd drive to a hundred arcades, win a thousand giant sloths, just to see her laugh like that again. Instead, I step closer.
"Thank you for saying yes."
"Even though you gave me no choice?"
"Especially because of that."
She looks up at me, and something shifts in her face. The guarded look she wears everywhere—gone. Just Sloane, relaxed and real, standing in the glow of a streetlight like she's exactly where she wants to be.
My hand finds her cheek. Her skin's warm and impossibly soft.
"Garrett."
The way she says my name—not rushed, not whispered like a secret she shouldn't be telling. Just my name, steady and sure.
She rises on her toes and kisses me.
My world tilts.
Her lips move against mine without urgency, without the frantic edge of stolen moments. Her hands slide up my chest, fingers curling into my jacket, and I taste cotton candy and possibility. When I pull her closer, she melts into me like she belongs there.
Like we have all the time in the world.
When we break apart, I don't step back. Can't. Her forehead rests against mine, and I count the gold flecks in her eyes while we share the same breath.
Her keys catch what little light filters into our hidden alcove.
"Garrett."
"Yeah?"
She doesn't step back either. Just looks up at me like she's making a decision that could change everything.
The key slides into the lock with a soft click.
Her eyes never leave mine as the door swings open.
20
Garrett
The door closes behind us with a soft snick that might as well be a thunderclap.
We stand in her entryway, the warm glow of her apartment lights washing over us, and suddenly the air feels charged with possibility.
"Steve needs a home," she says softly, but there's something in her voice—a tremor that has nothing to do with our ridiculous blue sloth prize and everything to do with the way I'm looking at her.
"He does," I agree, though I can barely focus on anything but the way the lamplight catches the copper in her hair, the way her lips are still pink from our kiss.
I set Steve down carefully by the door, but my eyes never leave her. She's beautiful—she's always beautiful—but tonight there's something different. Something open and unguarded that makes my chest tight with want.
