She lets out a sharp, shaky sob, pulling me down to her, like she can't bear any space at all.
“I tried to be strong,” she whispers into my collarbone. “I tried to tell myself it didn’t matter. That you didn’t need me. That I shouldn’t make this harder for you. But the second I saw your video, something inside me just broke.”
“You don’t have to be strong with me. Not like that. Not in a way that hurts you.” I pull her closer, armswrapping around her fully now, breath mingling with hers.
“I didn’t know how to come here without falling apart. I didn’t know how to be vulnerable without feeling like I was handing someone a weapon.” She shakes her head, pressing her forehead to my sternum, voice soft but desperate. “But I couldn’t stay away after hearing you say you love me like that, not like a performance but like you were giving me something you weren’t sure you’d survive losing.”
Her words light something in me that feels dangerously close to devotion.
“I meant it when I said I’d choose you. The job, the reputation, all of it—it felt like it would hurt to lose, but it never scared me the way the thought of losing you does.” Her eyes lift to mine, glossy and open and devastating. “I think I’ve been in love with you since that night in the elevator.”
I stroke my thumb along her cheek, smoothing the tear she doesn’t bother to hide. “Yeah?”
She nods, breath shaky. “You looked at me like I wasn’t insane for bribing someone to go on a date with me. Like the whole interaction made sense.”
“Then I should probably tell you the truth,” I murmur, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “That wasn’t the first time I saw you.”
“What…?” She stills in my arms, breath catching.
“The elevator was the first time you remember seeing me,” I say softly. “But I saw you months earlier at a party. I was home for Cooper’s retirement game.”
“I remember the game, but?—”
“You were at a frat party,” I continue softly. “A loud, stupid, overcrowded mess of a party. I was only there because my friends dragged me out.”
A shaky laugh breaks out of her, wet at the edges.
“We talked for only a handful of minutes after one of your friends demanded you tell me the airport story.”
She sucks in a soft breath. “Oh, God. I hate that story so much.”
“But I don’t remember one word of the story because I couldn’t stop looking at you—” My voice drops, remembering. Feeling it again. “The entire room rearranged itself around you. Your friends sparkled, but you glowed. Like you didn’t need to fight for attention because the world already tilted toward you.”
Her throat works around a tight swallow.
“I couldn’t stop looking at you because you stood there like you knew who you were without needing a spotlight. You tilted your head back once,” I whisper, remembering the exact angle, the curve of her throat. “And the kitchen light hit your curls, and I swear I forgot how to breathe.”
“Kyle…” she whispers.
“I didn’t love you then,” I say, brushing my thumb along her cheek, voice soft but steady. “But standing there, staring at a girl I didn’t know… I knew Icould. I knew if I ever got close to you, I’d fall hard and fast and probably never recover.”
A tear slips down her cheek.
“And then,” I murmur, lowering my forehead tohers, “months later, I saw you standing in an elevator, looking like I was the problem you were built to solve. And I thought,Oh. There she is.”
She lets out a broken, beautiful sound, hands sliding up to cup my jaw, palms warm against my skin. “You saw me before I ever knew you existed.”
“I did, and I haven’t stopped since.” Her fingers curl into my chest, pulling me closer, emotion rippling through her expression. “If you fell for me in that elevator… I was already halfway gone.”
Something in her trembles like the truth just cracked her wide open, and then she’s on me. Her mouth finds mine in a sharp, breath-stealing rush, a kiss that hits with the force of a dam breaking. Her hands tangle in my shirt, pulling me down like she’s afraid I’ll vanish if she doesn’t hold on hard enough. I answer her instantly, my hands cupping her face, sliding into her hair, tracing the tremor under her skin.
It’s frantic. It’s messy. It’s the collision of every unsaid thing between us.
I feel her fingers glide up my chest, gripping my shoulders, nails dragging lightly through the fabric like she’s trying to anchor herself to something solid before she dissolves.
“Alycia,” I whisper against her mouth, the word cracking. “Come here?—”
She presses closer instead, her body molding to mine as I back us toward the wall without thinking, hands skimming down her sides, learning her with every inch of contact. When her shoulders hit the wall,her breath hitches into my mouth, and I swallow the sound. She pulls my shirt over my head and lets out a sound that makes my knees nearly buckle when her palms slide over my bare chest. I feel every place she touches as if she’s marking it, claiming it, healing something raw beneath the surface.
