The metal is warm against my back. He cages me there with one arm braced beside my head. The world narrows.
“You think this is a game?” he asks quietly.
“I proposed it.”
“You proposed fake.”
“And this isn’t?”
His hand slides from my waist to the small of my back. “No,” he says. “This isn’t.”
The air between us crackles.
“Then why are you still holding back?” I challenge.
His eyes flash. “Because once I stop, I don’t start pretending again.”
The words slam into me. My heart pounds so hard I’m sure he can feel it through the space between us.
“Levi—”
He leans in so close that I can feel the heat of his mouth without contact. The parking lot erupts in another round of applause at something unrelated, but it feels like it’s for us.
His lips hover a fraction from mine. My entire body hums. I want him to kiss me.
Not for the town.
Not for the gossip page.
For me.
For the girl who left.
For the boy who stayed.
He inhales sharply, like the scent of me is something dangerous and then he pulls back. His forehead rests briefly against mine.
“This is dangerous,” he repeats, voice rough.
My chest rises and falls too fast. “I know.”
He brushes his thumb along my jaw once. Soft. Then he steps away completely. Sunlight floods back in. The noise returns. He grabs the hose like nothing happened.
“Back to work,” he says evenly.
The crowd resumes its chaos. Mrs. Dottie sighs dramatically. The cheer team whispers and points. And I stand there behind the fire engine, soaked and breathless, staring at the man who just almost kissed me again. Something shifts inside me. Because this isn’t just fake dating anymore. It isn’t playful banter or strategic affection.
It’s heat.
Real heat.
And the most terrifying part?
When he leaned in—I didn’t want him to stop.
Not for the town.
Not for the rules.
