I almost smile. “No. I think you’re trying to hold onto it.”
“And you’re not?”
“No.”
Her breath stutters. “Why not?”
“Because I don’t need to.”
That hits her, and I see it in the way her shoulders shift, the way her gaze sharpens even as her body leans just slightly closer.
“You’re a lot to handle,” she mutters.
“You haven’t handled me yet.”
Her eyes flash. “Maybe I don’t want to.”
I lean in just enough that our breaths mix again. “That’s not what your body says.”
Her inhale is sharp. “Cocky.”
“Honest.”
Silence falls between us again, heavier now, not uncertain, just waiting, waiting for her to push me away.
She doesn’t.
Instead, her hand lifts, slower this time, deliberate, her fingers brushing my wrist before settling lightly against my handwhere it still holds her chin. She doesn’t stop me and she doesn’t pull away, she just stays there.
“You always this sure of yourself?” she asks.
“Only when I’m right.”
“And you think you are now?”
I hold her gaze. “Yeah.”
Her lips part again, her pulse jumping under my eyes, and for a second I think she’s going to close the distance herself. I almost let her.
Then something shifts outside, a faint sound most people wouldn’t notice, but I do, and everything in me stills.
Her hand tightens slightly. “What?”
“Stay here,” I say, stepping back at last.
The loss of contact is immediate and sharp, and we both feel it.
“I am here,” she says, her voice edged again, but there’s something underneath it now, something reluctant.
“Stay,” I repeat.
“I’m not?—”
“Maddie.”
She exhales sharply. “You don’t get to just?—”
“I do when it’s him.”
