His thumb brushes a strand of hair off my cheek. It’s such a small gesture compared to what we just did that it almost undoes me.
“You okay?” he asks quietly.
I nod, throat tight. “Yeah.”
The amber light catches the line of his jaw. The faint bruise of my nails along his shoulder.
“We shouldn’t have done that,” I say, though my body is still humming.
His mouth curves slightly. “Probably not.”
“But you’re not sorry.”
“No.”
The honesty is immediate. Unflinching.
Neither am I.
I slide off the bar, legs a little unsteady, and reach for my jeans. He watches me the whole time, eyes dark but calmer now. Controlled again… mostly.
When I pull my shirt back down, he steps in close enough that the space between us disappears again, but this time he doesn’t grab me.
“You know this changes things,” he says.
I meet his gaze. “Everything has already changed. You know that.”
A muscle ticks in his cheek.
“I don’t regret you,” I say, before I can lose my nerve.
His eyes flicker. “I don’t do casual.”
“I know.”
“And I don’t compete.”
“I’m not a prize.”
His gaze hardens. “You’re not something I’m willing to lose either.”
Then he exhales.
“Founders Day,” he says. “We do it right.”
I nod. “Our way.”
“Our way,” he agrees.
And as I step back, gathering my things, heart still racing, one truth settles deep in my bones:
This wasn’t a mistake.
It was a line crossed.
And neither of us is stepping back over it.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
