My pulse jumps so hard I feel it in my throat.My breath catches—annoying, traitorous—and I hate myself for how fast I want more.How fast my mind starts stacking moments like evidence.He did that.He meant that.He’s doing this on purpose.
Then there’s Monty.
Monty watches it happen with that stare he never wastes.Quiet.Still.Controlled in a way that makes my nerves hum.His jaw flexes like he’s biting down on words he refuses to give away.His eyes track Callaway’s hand at my waist, the brush of lips, the way my body betrays me by leaning in even when I pretend I’m not.
And when Monty finally moves, it’s small.
He steps in behind me in the food line, close enough that my back almost meets his chest.Close enough that my breathing turns into something I have to manage.I can feel him shift when I shift, like we’re connected by a thread neither of us is willing to name.
His fingers skim my elbow as he reaches past me for a plate—barely there, a casual sweep that shouldn’t mean anything.
It means everything.
I’m mid-sentence, halfway through some dumb joke, and the words die in my throat like they’ve been cut.My brain blanks.My body goes alert in a way that makes me furious, because it’s him.He doesn’t even have to try.
A second later, his knuckles graze my cheek as he “fixes” a strand of hair caught in my hoodie string.It’s careful in the way that tells me he’s fighting himself.It’s soft in the way that makes me want to grab his wrist and demand he stop being careful.
His thumb drifts near my mouth.
Not touching.
Almost.
My lips part on instinct, and I hate that my first reaction is yes—a silent, pathetic yes my pride never would’ve approved.
Then Monty leans in and kisses me.
It’s never a full kiss.
Just a quick, casual press to the corner of my mouth, like he’s done it a hundred times and it’s no big deal.Like he’s saying hello.Like he’s saying goodnight.Like he’s sayingthis is ourswhile pretending it’s nothing at all.
And then he pulls back, calm as sin, and reaches for his plate like he didn’t just ruin me in front of everyone.
Like he didn’t just leave my lips tingling and my stomach flipping and my whole body screaming for more.
I’m not desperate.
I’m not.
Except I am—so badly it makes my eyes sting, so badly I swallow hard and pretend I’m irritated when really I’m one second away from turning around and begging him, out loud, to do it again.This time take my mouth and everything he can.
Monty doesn’t look at me as he steps away.
He drops his hand like he’s fine.
Like he didn’t feel my reaction.
Like he isn’t counting on it.
Callaway smiles like he noticed everything.
And I stand there between them—trying to breathe normally, trying to act like my entire life isn’t balancing on the edge of one more almost-kiss.
I tell myself we’re just close.
We’ve always been close.
But closeness turns into hunger so slowly I don’t realize I’m starving until I’m already shaking from it.
