“It is,” I tell her, and I mean every word.
We stay there, suspended between the light spilling from her doorway and the storm still clinging to our clothes, caught in the aftershock of almost. Then she steps inside, leaving me alone in the hallway with the traitorous thought that I almost kissed her, and I already want another chance.
The door swings open, and warm light spills into the hallway as she pops her head out. “Did you plan on standing out here like a creeper, or are you coming inside?”
Her smile hits like a sucker punch. It’s not the practiced one she used at the arena. It’s real, like sunlight after it rains, and it knocks the air clean out of me. My heart kicks hard against my ribs, and there’s a part of me that wants to step closer just to see if she smells the same up close as she did earlier—coffee, vanilla, and something faintly sweet that’s been driving me insane all night.
“Right, yeah.” My voice trips over itself, and I run a hand through my damp hair like that’ll hide it. “Definitely coming in.”
Her eyes linger on me before she steps aside. The faint brush of her shoulder as I walk past short-circuits every rational thought I have left. Inside, her apartment smells like coffee and something so her it hits me lower than it should. My eyes sweep the room once, trying to take in more than I should. A framed photo of her with older relatives sits on the shelf, everyone laughing like they’re in on the same joke. Books are stacked everywhere. A candle is burned down to the glass. Thecouch looks like she has fallen asleep on it more than she has sat upright.
“This is… you,” I murmur.
She glances back, lips quirking. “You mean cluttered and unorganized?”
“I mean lived in.” I let my eyes drag over the space, then her. “Warm. The kind of place it’s impossible to walk into without wanting to stay.”
She watches me for a second too long, the corners of her mouth fighting a smile she doesn’t want to give me. “So that wasn’t an insult?”
“Not even close.” I glance around, slower this time, taking her in with the space. “It’s comforting, like you.”
Uncertainty flickers across her face, and for a heartbeat, she looks like she’s about to say something. I see it in the way her shoulders lift, the way her lips part, then press back together. Her eyes meet mine, and the world narrows to a pinpoint. Everything else around us fades. It’s just her and the sound of our uneven breaths tangling in the quiet.
I take a step forward before I even register moving. Her gaze dips to my mouth, then jerks back up, but the damage is done. My hand tightens at my side, wanting to drag my fingers along the line of her jaw, to see if her skin feels as soft as it looks under the glow of the hallway light.
“Alycia.” Her name rasps out of me, a rough sound that comes from wanting too much.
She exhales, lips parting like she’s about to say maybedon’tor maybedo, I can’t tell. The air vibratesbetween us, heavy with what neither of us is saying. I’m close enough to feel the heat of her body reach for mine. She sways slightly like she might meet me in the middle. I can taste the possibility of it, but then she blinks, and the spell cracks.
“I should…” She pulls in a sharp breath as her voice falters. “I should go change before we’re late.”
The words cut through the tension, and I nod, even though every part of me wants to do anything but. “Yeah. Okay.”
She hesitates, eyes flicking to mine. There’s something there—fear, want, confusion—but she tucks it away and steps back.
“Don’t take too long,” I say, quieter than I mean to.
She nods once, then turns. Her heels click softly against the floor, each step pulling her further out of reach. She disappears down the hall, and the sound of the bedroom door closing lands harder than it should.
The quiet she leaves behind presses in. My chest is still tight, pulse beating too fast for how still I’m standing. It isn’t just the want. It’s the restraint, the effort of holding it all in when every part of me is still reaching for her.
I should sit down and try to think about anything else. But my gaze drifts toward that closed door, and all I can picture is her on the other side. The need to move, to do something, hits hard enough that I finally drop onto the couch. It dips under my weight, but the ache doesn’t ease. My palms drag against my jeans—the same hands that almost touched her are still shakingfrom not doing it. I close my eyes and exhale, trying to think about anything else, but all I can picture is her in that room, unbuttoning her blouse, fingers skimming over skin I haven’t seen but already know would undo me.
The door opens, and every coherent thought I have disappears.
Her hair’s down now—wild curls, soft volume—and she looks like she walked straight out of every thought I’ve tried not to have about her. The loose sweater she’s wearing is the color of red wine, clinging just enough to hint at the shape underneath. Faded jeans, cuffed at the ankles, and bare feet against the hardwood. I don’t know what I was expecting, but it wasn’t this. It wasn’t her looking like something warm and alive and so painfullyreal.
“What?” She catches me staring and hesitates, hand still on the doorframe.
I drag my gaze back up to her face. “Nothing. Just… wasn’t ready for that.”
“For what?”
“For you to look like that.”
She crosses her arms like she doesn’t realize it only draws my attention to the way the sweater moves with her.
“You say that as if I did something unusual.”
