“You’re whip-smart. You light up when you talk about your work like it’s a living thing inside you. You challenge people without even trying.” My gaze drops to her mouth, then back to her eyes. “And you’re beautiful in a way that has nothing to do with being noticed.”
She swallows.
“I see how much you hold back,” I continue, quieter now. “How carefully you stay inside the lines. And all I can think about is what you’d be like if you didn’t.”
Her fingers curl at her sides, like she’s grounding herself.
“So yeah,” I say softly. “I wonder what else you could be passionate about. What happens when you let yourself want something just because it feels right.”
I take a step closer, not touching her, giving her space even as I invade it.
“Aren’t you at least a little curious?” I ask. “About what this could be between us—if you stopped thinking about what everyone else expects and listened to what you want instead?”
She doesn’t answer right away.
Her hands curl into fists at her sides, knuckles whitening like she’s physically holding herself in place. When she finally speaks, the words tumble out too fast, too honest.
“I don’t want to want you,” she blurts. “It’s like a sickness inside of me. You’re not my type. You’re arrogant. You’re a playboy. You have way too many abs.” Her voice cracks, frustration bleeding through. “I don’t even like you—”
She cuts herself off, breath hitching.
I take a slow step toward her. The floorboards groan softly beneath my weight, the sound loud in the quiet room. I stop close enough that I can feel the heat coming off her, close enough that she has to tilt her head just slightly to keep eye contact.
“You’re a scientist, Ivy,” I say quietly. “You of all people should know you can’t just tell a physical force to stop existing. Gravity doesn’t quit because it’s inconvenient for the planet.”
Her laugh is breathless and sharp. “You’re comparing yourself to gravity now?”
“I’m saying resistance doesn’t make it disappear,” I reply. “It just makes the fall harder.”
Her gaze drops to my mouth.
The air between us tightens. Charged. Like the moment before something snaps.
She inhales—a shaky breath that trembles through her chest. For a heartbeat, I think she’s going to step back.
Instead, she steps forward.
I reach for her, my hand sliding into the soft, thick wool at her waist, pulling her closer. The height difference is jarring; she has to tilt her head back, her neck curving in a delicate arc. I bridge the gap, my other hand finding the nape of her neck, my thumb brushing the sensitive skin just behind her ear.
When our lips meet, it isn’t tentative. It’s a collision. A desperate, messy release of every suppressed want and every look deliberately avoided.
Ivy makes a small, muffled sound against my mouth, her hands flying to my chest. For a split second, I think she’s going to push me away—but then her fingers curl into my shirt, bunching the fabric in her fists. She leans into me, her body molding to mine—soft wool against my hard, post-practice heat.
I deepen the kiss, my tongue grazing hers, and the world narrows to the taste of her—clean, faintly sweet, cutting through the stale air of the room. She’s small, but she kisses with fierce, focused intensity, like she’s trying to memorize the feeling as it happens. My heart hammers against my ribs, heavy and relentless, matching the frantic way she’s pulling me closer.
I slide my hand from her neck to her cheek, my calloused thumb catching at the corner of her mouth, and for one perfect, irrational moment, she’s completely lost in it. No Marcus. No team. Just the friction of her lips against mine and the soft sigh she breathes into my mouth.
I can pinpoint the exact moment it changes.
Her body goes rigid in my arms. The hands that were anchoring her to my chest flatten and shove—sharp, panicked, reflexive.
I break away, stumbling back half a step, my breath coming in ragged bursts. The room tilts, my head spinning. Ivy stares at me, dark hair mussed, lips swollen and red from the kiss. Her eyes are wide, darting to the door like she’s just realized she’s standing in a burning building.
“Ivy—” I start, my voice wrecked as I reach for her.
“No,” she breathes. The word trembles, then hardens. She looks down at her hands like they’ve betrayed her, then back at me—pure, unfiltered terror in her eyes. “No. I can’t. This isn’t… I’m not—I can’t be this person.”
“Wait. Just talk to me,” I say, the cocky edge gone. I’m just a guy standing in the middle of a mess I helped create.
