“To the roommates? No idea. But I do know that one night I got home late from a show and discovered about twenty fake spiders waiting for me in my bed. So that was fun.”
“Aiden went into your bedroom?” His voice sharpens, and I see the tension in his jaw.
I roll my eyes and wave him off. “Eh. He was probably looking for Lyss. They’ve got this cat-and-mouse thing going on.”
“Kind of like us.”
“Nothinglike us. You’re more like a lost golden retriever puppy begging for attention.”
He laughs. “And you’re the black cat pretending you don’t want me rubbing up against your ankles.”
I raise my brow, looking away pointedly. “Believe me, if I were a black cat, I’d have my claws out the second a dog came near my ankles.”
He clutches his chest dramatically. “You wound me, Princess.”
“I'll do a lot more than that if you keep calling me Princess.” But there's no heat behind my words, and we both know it.
My hand rests against the door handle, but I don’t open it yet. I don’t know if I want to. “Thank you,” I say quietly. “For the ride.”
“No. Thank you for giving me the opportunity to redeem myself,” he replies, equally soft. “Even if I’ve got a lot more to go.”
“Walk me to my door.” The words slip out before I can stop them.
What the hell am I doing?
His face lights up. “As you wish.”
He's out of the truck and around to my side before I can process what I just asked. He holds out his hands, and when I lean forward to take them, his palms slide to my waist and he’s lifting me effortlessly, carrying me straight to the sidewalk.
“What are you doing?”
He shrugs. “Didn’t want your dress getting wet in the puddle.”
He settles me down gently, and sure enough, there’s a puddle right where my feet would’ve landed. He grabs my bag, rests his hand on the small of my back, and guides me toward Lyss’s rickety porch. With every step, I become more aware of him. Of his presence. Of the fact that I asked him to walk me to my door like this is some kind of date.
It's not a date, I tell myself firmly.
He just gave me a ride. That's all.
When we reach the front door, and I turn to face him, I can’t honestly say to myself that it was just a ride. Not when every single part of me feels seen.
“Thanks again,” I say. My voice comes out softer than I mean it to, almost wistful, like I’m afraid that if this ends, the spell will be broken, and I don’t want to break whatever…this is.
“Anytime.”
He steps closer, and my heart races because for one wild second, I swear he’s going to kiss me, and the terrifying part is that I don’t know if I’d stop him.
I should back away, but my feet stay rooted to the porch.
I take in a sharp breath as he leans down, fully expecting his lips on mine. Only his arms slide around me instead, pulling me into him, careful of the ridiculous dress.
For a second, I stand there, frozen.
He’s hugging me. A real hug. Warm and steady and far too intimate for someone I keep pretending I don’t like.
“You're the most talented person I've ever seen,” he says quietly, his voice a low rumble against me. “And I can’t wait for the world to realize it.”
My throat tightens. If I open my mouth, something humiliating will fall out—like a sob or a confession or a ‘yes, kiss me.’ So I don’t speak. I just cling to the moment, feeling my carefully constructed walls bending in ways they absolutely should not.
