“You sure about that, Trouble?” I call out, pushing off the hatchback.
Her head snaps up, gaze meeting mine, as I close the final few steps between us. I turn my hat backward as I stride right into her space.
When I reach her, my hand sweeps into her hair, and I press my thumb against her jaw, tilting her head back.
“What are you doing here?” she asks breathlessly, staring up at me.
“I told you I missed you.” Nerves spike through my bloodstream, but she makes no move to retreat or get out of my hold.
“Gareth—”
My name on her tongue ignites the pilot light that’s always burning for her. Slanting my mouth against hers, I kiss her hard.
There’s nothing hesitant between us, and I feeleverythingas she sighs and melts against me, parting her lips enough for our tongues to tangle together.
I forgot how much I missed the way she tasted. Like mint and vanilla, and everything I’ve always wanted.
My heart pounds in my chest, her own pulse fluttering beneath my thumb as I hold her jaw, deepening the kiss as I take a step and back her against the wall.
And she kisses me back, reaching between us to dig her manicured nails into my chest and pull me closer, gripping onto the fabric of my shirt.
She moans softly, and I brush my tongue against her lower lip, our bodies against each other, connecting like magnets.
Then she pushes me off her.
Her eyes blaze as I take the step back that she’s demanded of me, my messy hair falling over my eyes a little. I’m lust-drunk on her, my dick aching and begging for more.
But there’snevermore.
Just stolen kisses and desperation so palpable it should be illegal.
Indy’s eyes dart around us, looking for something—orsomeone.
Clenching my jaw, I wait for her gaze to return to mine and shove my hands in my pockets, waiting.
“You shouldn’t be here,” she says, voice tight. Her eyes flick back to the entrance of the bar again. “You need to go.”
“Why?” The word feels like sandpaper in my throat, rough and raw. Pain spears through me like a knife twisting in my heart. I already know the damn answer. I shouldn’t have kissed her this time, but the thought of her with someone else is tearing me apart.
What type of person does that make me? Kissing someone I know is taken?
But she kissed me back.
Annoyance flickers through her irises. “I know Dylan told you. Please don’t make me say it out loud.”
“Just the fact that you won’t say it aloud tells me it’s not serious.”
“It is this time, Gareth. What Zach and I have is new, but he’s a good man.”
“He can’t give you what I can,” I argue, and fuck, all I’m doing is digging myself a deeper hole in pathetic-town cemetery.
“You can’t give me anything, Gareth. Not without betraying Dylan, and I won’t do it. I can’t.”
It’s the same argument we’ve been having for years.
At sixteen. At eighteen. Twenty-two. Twenty-three. Twenty-four. Twenty-six. Seven months ago.
It’s always the same. One of us breaks and seeks out the other. We allow ourselves to indulge in the sweetest sin, then we’re whipped back into reality.
