And for a few breathless seconds, I kiss him back.
Really kiss him.
Not the careful, polite kind of kiss you give someone you’re unsure about.Not the quick peck you can pretend didn’t happen.
This one is deep.Hungry.Reckless.
Like the dam I’ve been holding up for months just cracked wide open.
“If you want to back out, love, here’s your chance,” Noah growls against my mouth.
We’re both breathing hard now.The night air suddenly feels warmer, thicker somehow.
He drops a soft kiss to my temple, and then his forehead rests against mine.
And holy crap.
That tiny, gentle gesture?
It might actually be my downfall.
Because Noah Walker—big, sexy, intimidating rugby player Noah Walker—looks almost vulnerable right now.
Like he’s waiting for me to decide.
Giving me the choice.
My heart pounds.
All the reasons I told myself this was a bad idea rush through my mind.
Work boundaries.
Professionalism.
The wholedon’t shit where you eatspeech my father drilled into me growing up.
But then another voice pushes through.
A louder one.
The voice that’s been whisperingwhat ifevery time Noah walks into a room or onto the field.
YOLO, right?
Maybe if I give in—just once—we’ll get this out of our systems.
Maybe then I’ll finally be able to think straight again.
“I don’t want to back out,” I whisper.
His blue eyes lock on mine.
Intense.Searching.
Like he’s making sure I really mean it.
Then suddenly he moves.
