Garrik exhales sharply through his nose, and I think—oh no, did I say that out loud?
Wait.
Did I say any of that out loud?
I blink up at him, catching the tension in his jaw, the way his golden eyes flick down to me for only a second before snapping forward again, like he can’t look at me too long or something terrible will happen.
Something about that makes me giggle.
I wiggle a little in his arms, enjoying the unfair way he just…carries me like this is normal. Like it’s not a little bit insane. I squeeze his bicep again, just to feel it, and sigh dramatically.
“You know,” I murmur, letting my cheek rest against his chest, “I used to think you were just big. But you’re actually really…uhm. Nice to hold.”
Garrik groans softly, tightening his hold on me like he’s physically restraining himself from saying something extremely stupid.
Good.
I’m being extremely stupid. He should join me.
I let my head loll back, looking at the soft glow of the lanterns strung across the alleyways of the city, the winding rooftops, the way the air feels crisp and golden tonight. There’s a lightness in my chest that I haven’t felt in so, so long—like something was missing and I didn’t realize it until right now, in this moment, when I’m finally pressed against the one person I really, truly missed.
I missed him.
I missed him so much.
Garrik, my best friend, my partner in chaos, my?—
I blink, feeling too much all at once.
His scent—honey and flowers and home—wraps around me, pulling me further into the hazy, reckless warmth. The way his arms hold me, the way his voice rumbles deep in his chest when he speaks, the way his fingers dig just a little too tightly into my thighs like he’s barely hanging on.
How have I never noticed?
He’s beautiful.
He’s strong and kind and safe and steady and?—
Oh no.
Oh no, oh no, oh no.
This is a dangerous train of thought.
I shake my head as if that’ll fix it, as if it’ll somehow shove everything I’m feeling back into a neat little “do not touch” box. But I’m drunk, and I’m happy, and for once in my life, I don’t want to think. I just want to feel.
I want this.
Right now, in this moment, I want him.
And god help me—I’m going to do something about it.
We reach the bookstore and the winding staircase beside it, and Garrik takes them two at a time. The door is so close, and I think yes, I’ll get down and unlock the door, and then we’ll go in and I’ll find outexactlyhow we’re going to make this fit, and Garrik is going to look so pretty shirtless and naked in my tiny apartment?—
But he sets me down and takes a step backdown.
I turn around without unlocking the door and he gestures over his shoulder, antennae blushing bright pink and twitching.
“I’m going,” he says. “Should get home.”
