A Cheshire cat–like grin spreads across his face. “Youloveplaying this game with me, don’t you?”
I sip my drink, unbothered. “Clearly ...”
His eyes flick to my mouth.
The air between us tightens.
The noise of the bar fades.
It’sjust us now.
I keep my expression neutral, swirling my drink as if I’m completely unaffected. As if I don’t feel the heat rolling off him in waves. As if I haven’t memorized the sharp cut of his jawline, the way his clean shirt clings to his shoulders.
His lips twitch. “Iknewyou were looking.”
I roll my eyes toward the ceiling. “You were standing on a stage. Ripping your shirt open. Everyone within a one-mile radius was looking.”
He is so full of himself! Honestly!
My heartbeat picks up as he leans in more, elbows still braced on the table. “You wanna know what I think?”
I feign indifference. “Oh, please. Tell me what’s on thatbrilliantfootball mind of yours.”
He’s unfazed.Toocontrolled. “I think you’re tryingreallyhard not to let me know you liked it.”
I scoff. “Liked what?”
He tilts his head, voice dipping lower. “Me.”
“I think we’ve already established that I like you. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.”
“You know what I mean.”
Hmm, do I? “I’m not sure I’m following.”
“Youlike melike me.”
I snort this time. “What are we, five? Of course I like you.” I pause. “You’re fun. What’s not to like?”
The world around us disappears.
Harris stares at me, his jaw tight, his body tense in a way that tells me he’s already made a decision—one I don’t know if I’m prepared for. He exhales, low and controlled.
One second goes by.
Then another.
And another . . .
Tick.
Tick.
Boom.
Then he moves.
Before I can react, before I can process what’s happening, his hands are on me—strong. Steady.Decisive.
