My hand.
Someone is holding it. Fingers laced through mine, palm pressed against palm, and I don’t remember reaching for anyone but here we are.
I open my eyes.
Trey.
He’s turned toward the couch sometime in the night, hip pressed against it, arm across the cushion with his fingers wrapped around mine. His cheek rests on his forearm, face inches from where my hand lies.
I should pull away. I should—
But his skin is warm and his grip is loose and something about it feelsrightin a way that settles into my chest instead of making me panic.
I look at his face.
He’s already watching me. Gray eyes half-lidded, mouth curved up at one corner like he’s been waiting for me to notice.
“Hey,” he says. Barely a whisper.
“Hey.”
He pushes up on his free arm, leans in. Stops. Like he’s checking to see if I’ll run.
I don’t.
His nose bumps mine and I smile before I can stop it. And then his mouth finds mine and it’s softer than I expected. Tentative. I let myself sink into it.
He makes a small sound against my lips, surprised, and I feel him smile into the kiss—
Someone shifts.
I pull back. Turn.
They’re all awake. Every single one of them. Watching.
Oh god.
My face floods with heat. I’m already pulling my hand free, already trying to figure out how to explain, how to apologize, how to—
“Nova.”
Locke’s voice. Low. Steady.
I make myself look at him. He’s still in the chair, eyes half-lidded, expression unreadable.
“You don’t need permission to act on what you feel. Not with us.”
I stare at him.
“What?” My voice comes out wrong. Too high. “You can’t be serious. I mean you guys can’tall—”
I look around the room. They’re all watching me. Something in their eyes I don’t understand. Something that looks like—
I’m on my feet before I decide to stand. My legs are shaky but they hold.
“Shoes. Where are my shoes?”
“Nova—”
