“You like angst, huh?” His voice was so close to my ear now. “You like the buildup.”
My stomach did something stupid.
He leaned back a second later, earbuds back in, but I saw the way he adjusted his sweats a minute later. Like he wasn’t as unaffected as he tried to be.
And when I turned the page to a particularly filthy paragraph, I caught him reading again.
I tilted the book slightly, pretending I didn’t notice, but the paragraph wasn’t subtle. His eyes flicked up to mine for a second—sharp, heated—and then down again.
My heart slammed once, hard.
“You’re still reading,” I murmured.
He didn’t look away this time, his pupils larger than before. “So are you.”
I tried to swallow, but my throat was dry. The words on the page blurred slightly, something about fingers and mouths and a desperate grip. My skin prickled.
“What happens next?” he asked, voice lower than before. “Does he push her up against the wall?”
I inhaled sharply. “You’re impossible.”
He smirked, but it wasn’t cocky. It was something heavier—something that sank beneath my skin and settled low. His hand was still on my thigh, thumb resting against the inside seam of my joggers. His touch hadn’t moved, but now I felt every molecule of it.
“You’re blushing,” he whispered.
“No, I’m not.”
“You are,” he said again, softer. “Is it the book, or is it me?”
I didn’t answer.
He leaned closer, his mouth near the curve of my ear. “Because I’m sitting here picturing you like her, Sloane. Needingsomeone that badly. Getting taken in a barn. Or hell, right here in this seat.”
My pulse pounded in my ears. I couldn’t look at him. I couldn’t breathe right.
“And the worst part?” he added, like he hadn’t set my body on fire. “I’d give it to you. Every word on that page. Every sound. Every grip and gasp and?—”
“Noah’s awake,” I blurted, desperate to save myself.
Oliver leaned back with a grin that promised this wasn’t over. Not even close.
Noah pulled off his eye mask, yawned, and stretched like a cat. “Did I miss anything?”
“Just turbulence,” I said, barely keeping my voice steady.
Oliver’s knuckles brushed my thigh once more, lingering for a beat before he moved his hand to his thigh.
He never mentioned the book again, but I caught him watching me every time I turned the page. I knew all the reasons we couldn’t be together publicly, but the restraint I had in private was getting smaller and smaller. Because one thing was glaringly clear: I was attracted to him, and it was getting harder to not give into him.
20
OLIVER
Icouldn’t sleep.
Didn’t even bother trying after the third time I rolled over and stared at the hotel ceiling like that would somehow help me settle the spiraling in my chest. My legs were too tight, my shoulders ached, and the noise in my head refused to quiet down.
Game day was tomorrow. I should’ve been in bed, focused, resting, but my body wasn’t listening to logic. Neither was my brain.
