“We shouldn’t,” she whispers, but her hand doesn’t move.
“I know.” My voice sounds rough, closer to a confession than agreement. “Tell me to stop.”
Her thumb traces the edge of my collar, slow and uncertain, her gaze flicking between my eyes and my mouth like she’s torn in half. Caught between logic and want, running and seeing what happens if she stays. The silence that follows hums full of everything she’s too scared to ask for and everything I’m already offering without a single word.
I can see the fight in her. The fear. The spark that’s been burning since the elevator. She’s tried to rebuild the walls all night. I want to tell her she doesn’t have to pick a side tonight. That I’ll wait, and she’s already got me, but the words die on my tongue. All that escapes is a broken sound that someone makes when they’re done pretending they don’t care.
She moves first. Or maybe I do. It doesn’t matter because the moment she leans in, the space between us ceases to exist. My hand finds her waist, her fingersfist in my shirt, and everything unravels at once. Every held breath, every almost, every rule we’ve been clinging to collapses under the weight of this single, reckless need.
Alycia gasps softly against me, and I drink it in. Tilting my head, I chase the sound and lose myself in the heat of her mouth. Her perfume surrounds me—vanilla, rain, and something that already feels like home—and the second our lips finally meet, the world stops.
She startles slightly, like she didn’t mean for this to happen but can’t stop it now that it has. My hand slides into her hair, fingers threading through the silk, holding her close without taking. She tastes like nerves and something that ruins every plan I ever had for keeping this simple. She exhales into the kiss, a shaky little sound that goes straight to my chest. I slow down, not because I want to but because I have to. Because if I don’t, I’ll forget what she needs and take what she’s not ready to give.
Her hand curls at the back of my neck, fingertips trembling against my skin. I feel every stutter of her breath, every second she lets herself lean in instead of running. I pull back just enough to look at her, lips parted and eyes half-lidded. God, she’s fucking beautiful.
“I didn’t mean for this to happen,” she whispers, voice barely there. A flicker of fear cuts through her expression, and it guts me because I don’t want her to run.
“I know.” My thumb traces her cheek reverently. “But I’m not sorry.”
Something flickers in her expression, but then she swallows hard, grounding herself.
“Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”
“I won’t,” I murmur, even though I already have.
She closes her eyes, and I can see her fighting the pull, the need, the tiny part of her that’s already mine. And for the first time all night, I don’t want to win. I just want her to feel safe. So, I let her go, easing back slowly, my hand lingering in her hair until the very last second. The space between us feels immediately wrong, but I don’t move closer again.
She’s breathing hard, staring at me like she’s trying to decide if she’s grateful or furious.
“Goodnight, Kyle,” she whispers finally.
“Goodnight, sweetheart.” The word slips out softer than I mean it to, weighted with everything I didn’t say.
She steps inside and closes the door gently, the click of the lock cutting through the quiet. I stay there, staring at the wood grain, breathing in her perfume until it fades. This was supposed to be pretend, but there was nothing fake about that kiss.
And I already know I’ll spend every damn day trying to earn another one.
Chapter Ten
Alycia
The door closes behind him with a soft click that sounds too loud in the quiet. For a second, I stand there trying to convince myself I imagined everything that just happened. The apartment feels too small. The air still carries him in it: a faint scent of sandalwood and the clean edge of rain from his jacket. It hangs between breaths, thick and impossible to ignore.
I let go of the doorknob and press my palm flat against the wood. It feels warm where his hand was; maybe that’s impossible, but the thought makes it worse. I take one step back, then another, and by the third, my knees give, and I slide down the door. I sit on the floor, back pressed against it and legs folded awkwardly beneath me. My breath comes out shaky and uneven as I tilt my head back and stare at the ceiling until the burn behind my eyes eases.
He called mesweetheart.
He kissed me like he meant it.
And I let him.
I press trembling fingers to my still-tender lips. The memory hits fast: the rough scrape of his jaw and the soft sweep of his thumb along my cheek. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. It wasn’t supposed to feel like this. That kiss was supposed to be the kind you can walk away from. Instead, it cracked something open I didn’t even know I’d locked shut.
I close my eyes, but that only makes it worse. His voice plays in my head, rough and unguarded. It twists something deep inside me, sharp and sweet all at once. Because for one impossible second, he saw me. Not the version of me who’s always smiling, always managing, always fine. And for one reckless second, I let him.
“What the hell was that?” My whisper sounds foreign in the empty room.
The apartment doesn’t answer. It just sits around me, too quiet and too still. I try to breathe through it as my therapist taught me, but nothing steadies. I draw a shaky breath and exhale slowly, counting like my therapist taught me.In for four. Hold for two. Out for six.
