My breath catches. The bees in my chest are going absolutely feral now, buzzing so loud I can barely think.
“This is still a terrible idea,” I whisper.
“Absolutely.”
“We’re going to regret it.”
“Maybe.”
“My dad is going to kill you.”
“Worth it.”
He’s close enough to kiss now. I can see the slight stubble on his jaw, the way his eyes have gone dark and focused. I could close the distance, and…
The bell chimes.
We spring apart seconds before my six p.m. appointment walks through the door.
Marcus, a regular who’s been adding to his sleeve for six months, stops when he sees us. His eyes flick between Reece and me, clearly assessing the situation.
“Bad timing?” he asks.
“Perfect timing,” I say brightly, probably too brightly. “Reece was leaving.”
Reece’s mouth twitches. “Right. Leaving.” He heads for the door, then pauses. “I’ll text you.”
“Don’t.”
“I’m going to.”
“Reece…”
“Bye, Ava.”
He’s out the door before I can throw something at him.
Marcus settles into my chair, grinning. “So, that’s interesting.”
“We’re not discussing it.”
“That was Reece Steele. Number thirty. Best pitcher in the league.”
“Allegedly.”
“You’re blushing.”
“I’m not.” I am absolutely blushing. “Let me see your arm.”
Marcus extends his arm, but his grin doesn’t fade. “For the record? I won’t say anything. But you might want to lock the door next time you have a moment with a famous athlete in your studio.”
“There won’tbea next time.”
“Sure, there won’t.”
I focus on his tattoo, pretending my hands aren’t shaking slightly. Pretending my phone isn’t burning a hole in my pocket waiting for a text. Pretending I didn’t agree to the most reckless thing I’ve done in years.
My phone buzzes forty minutes later while I’m finishing Marcus’ shading.
