Her finger finally lifted, but her hand came back quickly, slapping my chest.
Gosh, it felt good to get back to our old normal. Teasing her and getting her riled up had always beenone of my favorite pastimes. Feisty Roxie was one of my favorite Roxies.
I grabbed her hand before she let it drop, pressing it against my skin.
Her breath caught.
“But maybe I should go back to sleeping shirtless when we get home,” I said. “Give you a taste of your own medicine.”
“What are you talking about?” Her voice came out half breathy, half accusatory.
“Don’t act like you’re all innocent,” I argued. “With those short shorts you wear and the oversized shirts that fall off one shoulder, showing off your soft skin and that collarbone …”
I hated how easily my focus unraveled around her. How she could undo hours of mental discipline with nothing more than cotton fabric and bare skin. She was a temptation in the most dangerous way. Not loud or reckless, but quiet and constant. The kind that slipped under your defenses when you were already worn thin.
She wasn’t just distracting me from swimming.
She was distracting me from pretending I didn’t want more.
“What about my collarbone?” she asked, her voice threading curiosity with amusement.
She was wearing the exact outfit I’d been describing—shorts that showed most of her legs, an oversized shirt slipping lazily off one shoulder. Like she had no idea what it did to me. Or maybe she knew exactly.
I lifted my other hand, letting the pads of my fingersbrush her shoulder, slow and deliberate, before tracing the line of her collarbone.
“It drives me crazy,” I admitted quietly, my voice rougher than I meant it to be. “It’s hard not to think about how I’d like nothing more than to press my lips here.”
I traced the curve again.
“And here,” I murmured. “And here.”
My fingers stopped at the hollow of her throat.
I waited—hovering at the edge of a decision I knew I shouldn’t make. Every instinct told me to step back. To put space between us. To protect the thing I’d spent my whole life chasing.
But the truth pressed in just as hard.
I didn’t justwantRoxie.
I needed her.
Her breathing had picked up, chest rising faster now, her pulse wild beneath my fingertips. My hand slid up the side of her neck, thumb brushing just under her ear, her skin warm and unreal under my touch.
“Ledger …” she whispered. “What are we doing?”
I didn’t have an answer that wouldn’t sound like a lie.
Her hand was still pressed to my chest, right over my heart, probably feeling how fast it was beating. My other hand cradled the back of her neck, anchoring her there like if I let go, everything would spin out of control.
She kept talking, just like she always did when she was nervous. “What about your races tomorrow?” sheasked, breathless. “What about needing to focus and being locked?—”
I kissed her before she could finish.
For a split second, fear flared—that she’d pull away, that we were crossing a new line we couldn’t uncross. But when she leaned into me, when her lips parted and met mine with the same urgency, I knew this wasn’t one-sided.
This kiss was just as passionate as our first but held more vulnerability, heavy with unspoken words. We were both knowingly admitting we had feelings for each other—feelings that didn’t range on the I-hate-you scale.
Her lips were soft and warm, pulling me under in a way that made the rest of the world fade. When her hand slid from my chest to my shoulders, exploring like she was memorizing me, I wrapped my arm around her waist and pulled her closer, needing to feel her against me. I was wonderfully drowning in Roxie and didn’t know if I’d ever want to come up for air.
