I don’t let him finish another word.
I close the space between us and kiss him—hard. My bike crashes to the ground next to us, but I don’t care. I don’t even blink. My hands are on his chest, his arms wrapping around me like he’s scared I’ll vanish if he doesn’t hold me tight enough.
I kiss him like I mean it. Like I believe him.
His hand slides behind my neck, thumb grazing my jaw, pulling me in deeper. The way he kisses me makes my knees weak like he’s chosen me.
Heat blooms in my chest, coiling tight.
“Let’s go back to your room,” I whisper, breathless, lips brushing his.
He pauses, just long enough to look in my eyes. “Are you sure?”
“Yes,” I breathe out the word. “Troy, yes.”
He grabs my hand and starts walking me up the driveway, urgency in every step.
“Shit—the bike!” I blurt out, turning to look.
“Got it,” he says, sprinting back and lifting it like it weighs nothing, then disappearing around the side of the house to stash it in the backyard.
I stand just inside the door, heart pounding, still trying to catch my breath. I can hear laughter from the lounge. Voices. Music. I pray no one hears us sneak back in.
The door opens behind our back, his lips already finding mine again, his hands greedy and sure as he pushes me against the inside of the door. The air leaves my lungs like I’ve been hit. But in the best possible way.
The lounge door swings open.
“Oops.” Ethan’s voice is way too casual.
I freeze, lips still parted. Troy doesn’t even flinch.
Ethan blinks at us for a moment, I swear I see his face drop but then he smirks.
“For the record,” he calls over his shoulder, “our lovebirds are very much back on good terms!”
A chorus of cheers and teasing shouts echoes from the lounge.
I groan, hiding my face in Troy’s shoulder.How does he smell so freakin’ good?
Troy just yells, “Get a life, Ethan!” over his shoulder, before scooping my hand.
His hand is warm in mine, pulling me up the stairs like he already knows I won’t change my mind.
We pass the hallway light, and for a second, I see our reflection in the dark glass of a picture frame—his impressive biceps, my hand tight in his, my mouth already swollen from his kiss. We look like we’re crazed.
He pushes his bedroom door open with one hand, letting me go only to shut it behind us. The soft click of it closing feels louder than it should.
The room is dark. Troy turns, eyes on me.
And suddenly, I feel the weight of this.
He crosses the room slowly, but not like he’s hesitating.
He’s giving me time.
And God, that somehow makes it worse.
Better.
