“What else is it?” Bryce stood. “It was a game. Two minutes. Do you want a paper or something?”
“You’d fail the format,” Sage snapped.
Bryce glared at him. “Funny.”
“Not trying to be.”
They stood with the coffee table between them.
“I’m not—” Bryce stopped, then dragged a hand through his hair. “I’m not doing this. I don’t know what it makes me. I don’t know what it makes us. I don’t want to ruin the one good thing I have.”
“You won’t,” Sage whispered.
Bryce glanced at him. “You don’t know that.”
“I know you.” Sage straightened. “And I know me. We don’t break easily.”
“That’s not the same.”
“No,” Sage agreed. “It isn’t.”
Bryce’s jaw hardened, and he looked at the floor.
“Do you regret it?” Sage asked.
Bryce didn’t answer.
Sage tried again. “It’s not a trap. I need to know where your head is.”
“My head says it was nothing,” Bryce told him. The edge had gone from his voice. “Can we go with that?”
“If you want to lie.”
Bryce’s eyes snapped to his. “That isn’t fair.”
“No, but it’s honest.”
Bryce laughed once. “Fine. It didn’t feel like a joke, and that freaks me out. Happy?”
“No.”
“There.” Bryce spread his hands. “Now you know why I don’t want to talk about it.”
“You wanted to kiss me again,” Sage said. Not a challenge. A fact.
Bryce fired back before he could stop it. “So did you.” He grimaced like he wanted to take the words back and ran his hand through his hair.
“Yeah,” Sage said. “I did.”
Silence fell between them, the air heavy with tension.
“I’m not built for this,” Bryce said quietly.
“For what?”
“This.” He gestured between them. “Whatever this is. I don’t have a label for it.”
“You don’t need one tonight.”
