My wolf didn’t like it one bit. I forced the reaction down before it showed on my face.
“What about you?” I asked. “You don’t mind?”
Chris’s mouth curved slowly. “A couple more days with you?” he said. “I guess I could manage that.”
I rolled my eyes automatically.
He leaned in before I could brace myself and pressed a quick kiss to my temple.
It was barely more than a brush of lips, but a slow, insistent heat still crept up my neck despite my best efforts. My wolf, traitor that it was, preened instead of protesting.
Before I could say anything else, Sheila’s voice rang out from the other end of the table.
“Hey, lovebirds!” she called. “Better get your order in!” She pointed at the waiter making his way down the line. I scowled at her.
Chris was openly grinning now. “Finals it is,” he murmured quietly.
I huffed, but I didn’t argue.
It was only a few more days, and somehow, sitting there with his knee still pressed against mine, that didn’t feel like nearly enough.
10
CHRIS
Ileaned back on my stool, nursing the last inch of my beer while laughter rolled around us. The handlers had claimed a long table near the back, the kind that bore the scars of years of elbows and spilled drinks. For the first time since the show started, the tension had loosened its grip.
The culprit had been caught. People no longer had their guard up.
I was pleasantly buzzed, warmth humming under my skin, my thoughts floating just a fraction slower than usual. Alcohol didn’t affect shifters as easily as humans, so I wasn’t drunk.
I was feeling relaxed, an unfamiliar feeling after days of coiled alertness. When the group finally started breaking up, chairs scraping and goodnights exchanged, I slid off my stool and grabbed my jacket.
“Ready?” I asked him.
Jaime nodded. “Yeah.”
We stepped outside together, the night air cool against my flushed skin. The street was quieter now, most of the evening crowd already gone.
Streetlights cast soft halos on the pavement, and somewhere down the block, music drifted faintly from an open window. Jaime and I walked side by side, not touching but close enough that I was acutely aware of him.
The easy warmth from the bar followed us. I glanced at him.
Jaime’s expression was softer than I’d ever seen it. His shoulders were relaxed, his mouth curved into a small, unguarded smile like he hadn’t bothered to tuck it away yet.
His eyes caught the light, warm and dark and focused on nothing in particular. On impulse, I stopped walking.
“Hey,” I said.
He turned to me, brow lifting in quiet question. I didn’t give myself time to think. I reached for him, fingers curling into the front of his jacket, and pulled him in for a kiss.
Jaime made a quiet sound of surprise, his breath hitching as my mouth met his. The first contact was all heat and urgency, my buzzed courage surging into something bold and unfiltered.
His lips were warm and firm, tasting faintly of beer and something uniquely him. For a heartbeat, he froze. Then he kissed me back.
His hands came up, one gripping my jacket, the other sliding to my waist, anchoring me as he leaned in.
The world narrowed to the press of his mouth. The way he tilted his head to deepen the kiss, the soft exhale against my lips that sent a shiver straight down my spine.
