Her eyes flick up to meet mine, and I see it, the same electricity I felt in the bleachers, the same pull I’ve been trying to ignore since the moment she told menoin her studio.
“Why?” she asks.
“Why what?”
“Why are you still here?” She gestures between us, the movement sharp and frustrated. “You know this is a bad idea. I know this is a bad idea. My father made it very clear—”
“Your father…” I interrupt gently, “… isn’t here.”
“He will be. Eventually. And when he finds out—”
“Finds out what?” I take another step, closing the gap. “We’re standing outside your shop. Talking. I helped you with a stuck door. It’s not exactly scandalous.”
“It feels scandalous.”
“Does it?”
She swallows, and I watch her throat move, the pulse at the base of her neck fluttering fast. “Yes.”
“Good.”
Her breath hitches. “Reece.”
“I can’t stop thinking about you,” I say, and the words come out rougher than I intend. I feel raw, honest, and stripped of the charm I usually hide behind. “Since the moment you shut me down in your shop, I haven’t been able to get you out of my head.”
“You don’t know me.”
“I know you’re talented. Stubborn as hell. You also don’t take crap from anyone, including me. And I know…” I pause, searching her face. “I know you felt it too. In the bleachers. Whatever this is.”
She doesn’t deny it.
Doesn’t confirm it either.
“This can’t happen,” she says quietly.
“Why not?”
“Because my father will kill you. Because you’re his star pitcher. And I don’t date athletes, and you probably don’t date women who tell you no.”
“You’re right,” I admit. “I don’t usually get told no.”
“Shocking.”
“But I’m not asking you to date me.”
Her eyebrows lift. “Then what are you asking?”
“I don’t know.” And it’s the truth. I don’t have a plan, a smooth line, or a calculated move. I’m standing on a dark street outside a tattoo shop at nearly midnight, talking to a woman I barely know, and for the first time in years, I have no idea what I’m doing. “I’m asking you not to walk away yet.”
“Why?”
“Because I want to know what happens if you don’t.”
The silence stretches again, heavier this time. Charged.
Ava takes a slow, deliberate breath, and I brace myself for the rejection. The smart, rational, self-preserving rejection I absolutely deserve.
Instead, she steps closer. “This is a mistake,” she murmurs.
