I look straight ahead. I try to remember how stop signs work.
“You’re doing it again,” she murmurs.
“Doing what?”
“Staring.”
“I’m literally staring at the road.”
She hums like she’s unconvinced, then lifts her hand just enough to slide it higher—barely an inch—before settling it again.
My entire body goes rigid.
And she watches my reaction like she’s collecting data.
I drag in a breath. “You’re playing with fire.”
She tilts her head, eyes bright. “Maybe I like fire.”
I glance at her, just for a second, and immediately regret it.
Her face is closer than it should be, and her eyes flick down to my mouth like she’s remembering exactly what it feels like.
My pulse trips.
Sloane’s voice drops to a whisper. “Eyes on the road, Brooks.”
I choke on air. “They are.”
“Your eyes, yes,” she says, entirely too pleased with herself. “Your brain? Debatable.”
I laugh, short and helpless, because she’s not wrong. “My brain hasn’t been functional around you since high school.”
We hit a red light, and she turns fully toward me, still in the middle seat, still with her hand on my thigh like it belongs there.
Her expression softens for a heartbeat—just enough that I see the real thing under the teasing.
The girl who’s been surviving.
The girl who’s letting herself want.
“Thank you,” she says quietly, like it costs her something.
My chest tightens. “For what?”
“For…not making me feel stupid,” she says, and her fingers squeeze my thigh once. “Even when I act a little crazy.”
I shake my head, softer now. “You’re not crazy.”
Her mouth curves, but her eyes are serious. “I tracked your location.”
I smirk. “That’s not crazy. Plus, I’m the one who shared it with you in the first place. That’s…possessive.”
She snorts. “Don’t start.”
“I’m serious,” I say, sending her a wink. “Gets me all kinds of hot and bothered.”
“Pretty sure that’s more so to do with my hand being close to your dick.” Then she leans in like she can’t help herself and presses her lips to my jaw, gently nipping me. She pulls back, satisfied. “So…about this make-up sex.”
