“Sixteen.”
She fell quiet, drawing one knee to her chest and hugging it.
“That sounds like some impressive boundary setting,” she said at last.
“I guess you could put it that way.”
We sat there, close enough that I could feel the heat from her skin as the water warmed her body. I forced my attention to her face and nowhere else.
The humor had fallen away, revealing something deeper. Her mouth softened first, then her posture changed, slowly and deliberately, like she had made a decision and was giving me time to catch up.
She leaned in close enough that every instinct I had started lining up and asking permission. Yet I stayed where I was. I didn’t move to meet her. I needed to know this was her choice, not momentum.
Her gaze dropped to my mouth, then flicked back to my eyes. A strand of blue brushed my jaw.
The space between us shrank, becoming charged until it felt like one wrong move would either snap it or ignite it. Her knee pressed more firmly into my thigh. She didn’t apologize or pretend it was an accident.
My heart beat faster. I locked my jaw and kept still.
Our mouths hovered so close that I could count the seconds it would take to close the distance. One. Two. I waited for her to stop. She didn’t.
I lifted a hand between us and said, “Hold on.” The words landed with more weight than I intended.
Her brows shot up, her eyes flashing with annoyance and curiosity.
I kept my palm between us, not touching her, but needing to pause the moment without breaking it. “I need to make sure that this is you. Not the alcohol or the circumstances. Just you.”
She searched my face, then her mouth curved into a lazy smile. “You think I don’t know what I’m doing.”
“Ithinkyou do,” I said. “I need to be sure.”
She leaned in another inch. “Ask me something,” she whispered. “Test me.”
I smiled despite myself, tension pulling tight through my shoulders. “Are you serious?”
“Painfully,” she said. “Go on.”
I didn’t drop my hand or move closer.
“Tell me the number,” I said. No way she would have memorized my phone number, but if she had, that would be one way of guaranteeing her capacity for consent.
Her lips curled in pleasure. “From the card?”
“Yes.”
She didn’t look away. She recited it cleanly. When she finished, she added, lightly, “And you used a font with open fours. Most people don’t. I approve.”
I gaped at her. “How did you do that?”
She shrugged, like it hadn’t been impressive enough to merit commentary. “Photographic memory. If I see something clearly, it sticks.” She let out a dry laugh. “When I’m drunk, everything looks blurred together. Right now, it doesn’t.”
Her focus stayed on me, present and unmistakable.
“You didn’t expect me to remember it.”
Something inside me loosened and tightened at the same time. I lowered my hand and closed the distance between us. Our mouths met in a slow, controlled movement, as if we were both still deciding. Her blue hair tickled my cheek.She sighed against me, sliding her hand into the space between my shoulder and neck like it belonged there.
I pulled back just enough to look at her, and she smiled at me, small and certain in a way that settled one thing inside me and ruined something else.
