"Is that why you…" she starts, then stops herself.
"Why I what?"
She bites her lip, considering. "Why you keep everyone at arm's length? I mean, besides your sister and Hazel. And maybe Geneva.”
The question hits closer to home than I'd like. "Maybe," I admit. "It's easier to avoid getting too attached than to risk…" I trail off, suddenly aware of how close she's gotten.
"Risk what?" she whispers.
"Losing yourself," I murmur, "when they leave."
"Not everyone leaves."
Her eyes are a darker shade of blue in the low light and fixed on mine with an intensity that makes my heart race. She breaks the moment when she leans back and stretches her arms over her head. Her sweatshirt rides up slightly, revealing a sliver of skin. I shouldn't be looking. But I am.
I clear my throat, dragging my gaze back to the script in front of me. "I think if we make that change—it's stronger. It hits where it needs to."
Sophia turns her head toward me, studying my profile. "Yeah," she says softly. "It really does."
I can feel her looking at me, and it takes everything in me not to turn, not to meet her eyes. If I do, I'm not sure I'll be able to stop what's coming.
But then she does it for me. She shifts closer, and her knee brushes against mine again. Her voice is quieter now. "Grant."
I finally look at her, and the breath leaves my lungs. The way she's watching me—like she's seeing something she can't ignore anymore—sets every nerve in my body on fire.
"Sophia…" My voice comes out rough, a warning I barely believe myself.
She tilts her head, her lips parting slightly, her breath warm as it fans across my skin. "Yes," she whispers.
Something snaps.
My hand slides into her hair, and suddenly, my mouth is on hers. The kiss is hard, desperate, like I've been starving for it and didn't even realize how badly until now.
She makes a small sound when my fingers tighten in her hair, and it sends something electric through me. I pull her closer, with one hand on her waist, anchoring her to me. She fists my shirt, dragging me against her like she's just as wrecked by this as I am.
Her lips are soft, and her taste is something I already know will haunt me. I angle her back against the couch, pressing into her, my hands exploring the curve of her waist beneath her sweatshirt. She arches into me, her breath hitching when my mouth moves to her jaw, then lower, tracing along the delicate line of her throat.
"Grant," she breathes, her voice breaking.
"You're going to be the death of me," I murmur against her skin.
She laughs breathlessly, but it turns into a sharp gasp as I find a sensitive spot just beneath her ear. "What a way to go, though."
I pull back just enough to look at her, and for a moment, neither of us moves. Her hair is a mess from my fingers,her lips swollen, her pupils blown wide. She's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.
"We should stop," I say, my voice strained.
"We should," she agrees, but her fingers are still in my hair, and I can't bring myself to move away.
Neither of us moves.
It's only when a car alarm blares from somewhere outside that reality slams back into me. I shift, exhaling hard and running a hand through my hair. She pulls her sweatshirt back into place and clears her throat, but neither of us looks at each other right away.
"It's late." I exhale. "We should?—"
"Yeah." She straightens, still a little breathless. "We should definitely…"
"Get some sleep."
