“We don’t have time for two flights of cardio.” I keep my eyes on the glowing call button, trying to ignore the low amusement in his voice.
He leans in just enough that his shoulder almostbrushes mine. “You sure you’re not just testing my self-control?”
I look up at him, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing me flustered. “You think I’d lose it first?”
“I know you would.”
Cocky, confident, and absolutely right. The memory of him teasing me earlier runs through my head and lodges there, vivid and dangerous.“Not sure I’d survive being that close to you again in a box that small.”
“You know, you’re the one who said elevators make you nervous.”
He grins, all trouble and dimples. “Since you started getting in them with me.”
Those damn dimples are going to be my undoing. I hate that about myself, or maybe I don’t, because when they appear, the rest of the world just… fades. It’s ridiculous how one smile can send heat crawling up my neck. I shouldn’t be staring, but I can’t look away. There’s something dangerous about the way he smiles, like he already knows exactly what it does to me. It’s unfair, the way he can undo me with something as simple as a grin. My stomach flips, warm and traitorous, and I have to breathe carefully to keep from doing something stupid.
The soft chime of the elevator arriving on my floor echoes too loudly in the empty corridor. When the doors slide open, I step inside, and the minute he steps in behind me, I know I’ve made a mistake. The flickering light above me pulses too bright, that sharp,sensory sting in my skull I always get when a space is too tight and too loud at the same time. I shift closer to the buttons, needing something to do with my hands. Kyle moves to my side, close enough that the sleeve of his jacket grazes my arm.
The contact shouldn’t mean anything, but it does. It’s just fabric, but my body doesn’t know the difference. I focus on the glowing numbers overhead, counting each floor as if it’ll steady me. Two floors. That’s it. Two minutes, maybe less. I can survive that, except I can feel him not just beside me but around me.
“You hate elevators?” he asks, voice quiet and a little rough.
“Not usually. Just thinking this was a bad idea.”
“Because of me?”
“Don’t flatter yourself.”
“That wasn’t a no.”
“You’re impossible.” My lips twitch before I can stop them.
“That’s what you like about me.”
I risk a glance up, and the corner of his mouth curves again—dimples and all. My stomach flips. I tell myself it’s nerves, but I know damn well it isn’t.
The elevator slows, and my balance tilts. My hand instinctively reaches for him. Our fingers barely touch. His skin is warm against mine, and my breath catches in my throat before I can stop it. His hand twitches—small, reflexive—but it’s enough. That single movement ripples through me like the echo of something I already know.
It isn’t just a crush or bad timing or nerves. It’s the kind of spark that changes the air between two people, quiet but impossible to ignore. It’s like something in me recognizes something in him, and it feels both inevitable and wrong. And the worst part? I know he feels it, too. I can see it in the way his jaw tightens and the way his throat works once, like he’s swallowing something he doesn’t want me to see.
The space between us buzzes with electricity. I should move. Say something. Do anything. But I don’t. I just stand there, heartbeat thrumming so hard I can feel it in my throat. I drop my hand, stepping back an inch that feels like miles. I can still feel the ghost of his touch, the warmth lingering where our skin met.
Get a grip, Alycia. He’s not yours. This isn’t that.
His fingers flex, a small, sharp movement that feels far too intimate for something so innocent. The tension coils tight enough to ache. I can’t move, can’t speak, and can barely breathe. God, I want him to touch me just once, but wanting doesn’t make this real. It’s one night. One lie. A favor that ends the minute my mom says goodbye.
“You’re quiet.” He shifts beside me, the small movement breaking the silence.
“Trying not to embarrass myself.”
His laugh is low and somehow even worse than his smile. It slides under my skin and stays there. “Sweetheart, if you’re embarrassed, I’m definitely doing something right.”
The doors open before I can comeup with an answer. I step out first, pretending my knees aren’t shaking. I don’t look back, but I can feel him smiling. And the worst part is, I want to look. But I know if I do, I won’t be able to stop.
The doors slide shut behind us with a soft thud, sealing the moment in. The hallway feels too quiet, the air too thin. I take a breath and start walking, pretending I’m not hyperaware of him just a step behind me.
Kyle moves closer when we reach the lobby, catching the glass door before it swings shut and holding it open for me. The gesture shouldn’t feel intimate, but it does.
“Thank you,” I say, barely above a whisper.
