I lean closer, not touching her lips, not quite. “Remind you what you walked away from.”
Her breath catches hard. “That’s not fair.”
“Neither was leaving.”
The words land heavier than I intend.
Her eyes flash. “You think that was easy?”
“I think you chose the world over me.”
“I chose myself.”
“You could’ve had both.”
She pushes at my chest, but not hard enough to move me. “You don’t get to rewrite history.”
“You don’t get to pretend it didn’t break me.”
Silence slams down between us. Our breaths mix. Heat builds. She looks at my mouth. I see it.
“You’re going to kiss me,” she whispers.
“Not yet.”
“Why not?”
“Because if I start, I don’t stop.”
Her pulse races under my thumb. “You always were dramatic.”
“And you always underestimated me.”
She lifts her chin. “Then show me.”
The invitation is reckless. I drop my forehead to hers instead. Close enough to feel her. Not enough to cross the line.
“You wanted rules,” I say quietly. “Private lines not crossed.”
Her fingers slide up my chest. “That rule was your idea.”
“You agreed.”
She smiles faintly. “You’re the one losing control.”
I pull back slightly, just enough to look at her fully. “You have no idea how much.”
She goes quiet. That’s the first crack in her composure. The first sign she feels it too. I step back slowly. She exhales like she’s been holding air for minutes.
“Terms and conditions,” I say evenly. “If we do this, you don’t walk away again.”
Her throat tightens. “This is fake dating.”
“Not for me.”
She freezes. The words hang there. Not a confession. But close.
“You’re changing the rules,” she says softly.
