“Yeah.”
We went to the door—which was all of five strides away—but instead of holding it open for him, I pushed it open and stepped out, pulling Chase with me and closing the door behind us.
“What are you doing?” Chase asked.
“Getting us away from the all-seeing, all-hearing Priya.”
I leaned against the wall and looked up at him. “I’m sorry about the ambush. I should have warned you.”
“Don’t apologize.” Chase stepped closer, crowding into my space. “I liked meeting her, even if she did threaten bodily harm.”
I snorted. “She really did threaten you.”
“I’m choosing to take it as a compliment.”
I smiled. “You’re weird.”
“You like it.”
“Damn it, I do.”
Chase’s hand came up to cup my jaw, his thumb brushing over my cheekbone. “I had a fun time tonight.”
“Me, too.”
“Even with the Instagram thing?”
“Especiallywith the Instagram thing.” I reached up, covering his hand with mine. “That was . . . you were . . .”
“What?”
“Crazy. Embarrassing. Totally amazing.”
Chase smiled, and then he pushed me flat, his body pressing against mine, his mouth finding mine; but this wasn’t like the kiss at the restaurant—careful and public and aware of cameras. This was private and desperate and real.
His hands dug into my hair.
My hands slipped under his shirt, feeling the warm skin of his back.
We were pressed together from chest to thigh, and I could feel—
Oh God, I could feeleverything.
I made a sound—half groan, half whimper—and Chase pulled back, breathing hard.
“Finn,” he said, his voice rough.
“Yeah?”
“We should stop.”
“Probably.” I didn’t let go of him. “But I don’t want to.”
“Me neither.” He kissed me again, softer this time. “But we’re standing outside your apartment.”
“I know.”
“Where your neighbors could see.”
