She’s moving toward me now. Fast. Furious. Fists clenched like she might actually try something.
Good.
I straighten, meeting her halfway. The air tightens between us, electric and sharp.
She’s close enough now that I can feel it—her breath, and her heat. She has to tilt her head back to glare properly, and the injustice of that seems to make her angrier.
I watch her closely. The anger is real. But it isn’t alone.
There.That flicker.
She doesn’t want to acknowledge it, but I know that look. I’ve seen it in dark rooms, where bodies pressed together, when she thought she was anonymous.
This time it’s aimed straight at me.
I lower my voice. “Something wrong, Vi?”
“You’re a stalker.”
I laugh quietly. “That’s dramatic.”
She fires back without missing a beat. “You stocked my closet down to my exact sizes. The bathroom is full of my shit. And the waffles—how the hell do you even know what waffles I buy?”
I shrug. Lazy. Infuriating. “I pay attention.”
Her nostrils flare. “Those waffles aren’t even mine. They’re Ella’s.”
That one lands. I feel it a second too late.
She folds her arms, smug now. “Not so clever, are you?”
I recover quickly, tilting my head. “I know everything else.”
“Oh, good. So only ninety-eight percent obsessed.”
I step closer. Her breath hitches before she can stop it.
“You’re angry,” I say.
“Groundbreaking.”
“But you’re also turned on.”
“Fuck you.”
I smile. “Soon. Not yet.”
Her body betrays her immediately. A sharp inhale. A shiver she tries—and fails—to hide.
I let my fingers brush her hip. Barely there. Testing. Her pulse jumps under my touch, fast and wild. I trail my hand up her side, slowly, watching the fight drain from her eyes inch by inch.
The space between us disappears.
I lean in, lips grazing her jaw without kissing.Let her feel the heat.“I could ruin you.”
She clenches her teeth. “You already have.”
“Not yet.”
