“I’m not smug.”
“You’re very smug.”
He glances down at me, expression unreadable. “You’re shaking.”
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
I pull my hand free. “Because that wasn’t just performance.”
“No,” he agrees.
“It crossed a line.”
He steps closer, lowering his voice. “You’re the one who said public affection.”
“Not like that.”
“You want me to kiss you like I don’t mean it?”
The question makes my chest tighten.
“You meant it?”
“Yes.”
My breath catches. “You weren’t supposed to.”
He leans in, just enough that his mouth hovers near my ear. “Then maybe we need new terms.”
My pulse spikes. “We had rules.”
“We did.”
“And now?”
“Now,” he says quietly, “we figure out if we’re still pretending.”
The bar erupts in cheers again as our KissCam moment replays on the screen inside.
I watch it for half a second. The way I melted into him. The way he pulled me closer. It doesn’t look staged. It looks inevitable.
I turn back to him. “This is dangerous.”
His hand slides back to my waist. “I know.”
“And you’re okay with that?”
He doesn’t hesitate. “Yes.”
The honesty steals my breath. “Levi…”
He tips my chin up gently. “You wanted ninety days.”
“I did.”
“You still have them.” His thumb brushes lightly along my jaw. “But I’m not kissing you halfway again.”
