I jerk back, and Human-Jason bumps the table.
“Uh, he’s hungry,” I say.
“Yep. Yep, totally, he sure is,” Human-Jason sputters. “We should—uh—we should end here.”
“Already?”
“Yes! I mean, yeah. But fried chicken next week?”
“Sure.”
“Next week,” he repeats, his voice sounding farther away.
“Next week,” I echo.
And then he’s gone.
I sit there, fingers still tingling where his touched mine, trying to slow my racing heart.
Chapter 13
Jason
What just happened?
No, really. What the hell just happened?
I mean, sure, I know what nearly happened. I was there. My lips were there. My hormones were practically doing somersaults. But did I actually almost kiss Violet?
The moment the front door is shut behind me, something snaps in my chest. I don’t walk. I bolt. Straight through the side yard, lungs burning, vision tunneling. If I stay still a second longer, I’ll go back inside and do something stupid.
My body shifts before my brain catches up. Bones crack, skin ripples, fur bursts through as I hit the grass at full speed. I skid into the cover of trees, paws digging into dirt, breath coming fast and uneven.
This whole evening is rattling around my skull, like a pinball with new elastics.
I can still feel the heat of her breath, the softness of her mouth parting, the flutter of her pulse like a lure designed specifically to break me.
Being that close to her… God.
It was torture.
Pure, exquisite torture.
It lights a fuse under my self-control and dares me to pretend I didn’t smell exactly what she was feeling. What I was feeling.
I pace, agitated, ears flat, teeth bared—not in anger, but in want. In recognition. In something I am absolutely not allowed to voice.
I rake my claws through the dirt, trying to ground myself, but her scent clings to me, sweet and warm and maddening.
One second more in that kitchen, and I would’ve done it.
I would’ve crossed the line.
I would’ve tasted her.
And God help me, I still want to.
Those beautiful hands I noticed the first time I met her feel softer than I could’ve ever imagined, softer even than when they rub against my fur, when she touches my shifter skin without knowing what I am. Helping her guide the knife while she was cutting damn near ended me. The second her fingers brushed mine, the subtle scent of her citrus shampoo hit me like a slap to the back of the skull.
