I should argue.
Instead, I nod once and slide out of the booth, my pulse racing like I just did something reckless.
Because I did. I let him take control.
And my body likes it.
Outside, the air hits my face and wakes me up a little.
The parking lot is damp, the yellow lights making everything look softer than it is. Jace walks beside me, not touching me, but close enough that I can feel his heat.
I hate that I can feel it.
I hate that I want it.
He stops near my car, turning to face me. “Talk to me.”
I lift my chin. “About what?”
His eyes narrow. “Don’t do that.”
I laugh once, sharp and humorless. “Don’t do what? Be aware of reality?”
“Sarah.”
The way he says my name pulls something low in my stomach.
I grip my keys harder. “What do you want me to say?”
“The truth,” he answers.
I stare at him, and the truth rises up in my throat like it wants out.
‘I want you.’
‘I’m terrified of you.’
‘I don’t know how to be in the middle of this without getting burned.’
But I don’t say any of it.
I shrug instead, because it’s easier to play cold than admit I’m scared shitless. “That woman was doing what people do. It’s not your fault.”
His mouth tightens. “It’s not your fault either.”
My chest aches at that, because it’s the exact thing I don’t know how to believe.
I look away. “I should go.”
“Sarah.” His voice drops. “Look at me.”
I don’t want to.
Because if I look at him, I’ll remember. The bed. The heat between us. The moment I wanted him more than I trusted myself not to ruin everything.
I force my gaze back to his anyway.
The look in his eyes is quiet and intense, the kind that doesn’t need volume to feel heavy.
