"This is bad," Sadie said, her voice shaking. "This is really bad, Easton."
"Why?" I gentled my tone, trying to calm the panic rising in her eyes. "Because we finally stopped dancing around what we both want?"
"Because I have a daughter who's just starting to feel safe with you!" The words burst out of her. "Because if this goes wrong, Casey loses you. I can't do that to her."
"So, we pretend Saturday night didn't happen?" My jaw clenched. "Pretend I don't know how you sound when you come? How you taste? The way you said 'Yes, Sir' like you were born to say it?"
Her breath hitched, cheeks flushing. "That's not fair."
"None of this is fair." I braced one hand on the shelf beside her head, not trapping her but making it clear I wasn't backing down. "But it happened, Sadie. We happened. And you can't run from this."
"I ran on Saturday night." Her voice was barely a whisper.
"I know. I came out of the bathroom, and you were gone." The memory still stung. "You left me there."
"I was scared." Her eyes met mine, and I saw the truth in them. There was fear, but also the want. "I'm still scared."
"Of me?" My voice roughened. "Or how you felt?"
She didn't answer, but she didn't need to. The way her pulse jumped in her throat, the way her breathing had gone shallow.
She wasn't afraid of me.
She was afraid ofwantingme.
I reached behind her and pushed the door shut with a soft click.
Her eyes widened. "Easton, we can't do this here," she started, but I was already moving closer, crowding her against the shelving.
"You're right," I said, my voice dropping. "We should talk about this. Figure it out." My gaze dropped to her mouth.
I didn't give her time to protest. I didn't give myself time to think about why this was a terrible idea.
I kissed her.
Not gentle. Not tentative. I'd wanted to kiss her for months. I would have kissed her Saturday night if I'd known it was her.
She made a small, surprised sound against my mouth, and then she was kissing me back just as desperately. Her handsfisted in my shirt, pulling me closer, and I pressed her back against the shelves, swallowing her gasp.
This. This was what Saturday night had been missing. The knowledge of who she was. The freedom to touch her without masks, without pretending, without the careful distance we'd been maintaining for weeks.
I kissed her like I was drowning and she was air. Like Saturday night and every near-miss before it had been building to this moment.
Her fingers threaded through my hair, nails scraping against my scalp, and I groaned into her mouth. She tasted the same as she had at Sassy's.
Sweet and wanting and perfectly her.
"Easton," she breathed against my lips, and hearing my real name in that breathy tone nearly undid me.
I pulled back just enough to look at her. Flushed cheeks, swollen lips, eyes dark with want. Beautiful.
"We need to stop," she whispered, but her hands were still tangled in my hair.
"I know." I didn't move. Couldn't.
"Anyone could—"
"I know."
