His mouth curved, self-deprecating. “I passed stuff, held stuff, and didn’t faint.”
“Hey.” I nudged the tips of our sneakers together, just quickly. “You held steady under high pressure. That’s no small thing.”
He didn’t reply, but his dimples staged a comeback, small twin craters pressed into his cheeks.
At my stop, we exited together, pushed close by the crowd, and immediately sprang apart again. Just in case. Two guys heading in the same direction, maybe off to grab a triumphant beer, talk through the adrenaline crash. Nothing untoward.
His jacket ended just above the delicious swell of his ass.
I dragged my attention away while a busker crooned a vaguely familiar pop cover into a microphone, minor-keyed and wistful. An incoming train threw a gust of stale, damp air at me.
We emerged into the night three blocks from my place. Rain-slick pavement reflected neon lights and broke them into fragments of color, the road quiet at this hour—quiet enough that I dared to shift a little closer, our elbows bumping with each step. Still enough of a distance that we’d pass for colleagues about to exchange a half-muttered, “What a day, huh?” before talking about sports.
Finn laughed, sudden and quick. “Man. Novak saying ‘no cowboy nonsense’ in thattoneof hers.”
I failed to stifle a smile. “Like she’s the smartest person in the room and opposing her would be sheer and utter madness?”
“To be fair, she probably is the smartest person in the room at any given point.”
“I mean, yeah. Valid.” I grinned, blinking through another echo of her offhanded praise. “Solid assist, Dr. Maddox.”
What aday.
Finn stumbled on thin air. Or maybe it was exhaustion, a crack in the pavement—either way, he pitched forward.Fuck. I grabbed for him, instinct before thought, clamped his elbow and yanked him toward me. He got a foot under himself just in time, and we breathed together, pressed close, gazes catching. Then he laughed—a low, ragged burst that felt like fireworks, sudden and beautiful.
I didn’t let go. His fingers were curled into my jacket as if he’d decided I was his solid ground.
Jesus, we were inpublic. But the sidewalk stretched empty on our left, and the couple to our right were a half block away, strangers in an animated conversation, their dog skipping ahead to lavish attention on a parked van. When I turned back to Finn, his head was already angled for a kiss.
Not a crash. We’d done that—but not tonight. This was soft like an intake of air, warm and familiar. I thumbed the hinge of his jaw as our mouths opened, tongues nudging together. Easy, almost sweet, even while something strange and heavy pulled at my stomach.
A car’s headlights dragged a ribbon of light across us. We startled apart, glanced over as it kept going, uncaring and indifferent like the streets around us. Finn huffed a small laugh, holding on to my shoulder, and I drew him back for another kiss—smaller, featherlight. Another car slowed next to a parking spot about three feet too short, our reflected outlines briefly distorted by tinted windows. Then it was just us again.
“We should—” I jerked my chin in the direction of my building.
“Yeah,” Finn agreed, his nod and smile quick.
We let go, my hands oddly empty for a second before we started walking again, shoulder to shoulder now. Our steps measured, my pulse tripping in my ears.
Yes.
From one minute to the next, exhaustion pulled me sideways and frayed the edges of my vision. I slumped against the mirrored wall of the elevator.
“You all right?” Finn asked.
“Post-adrenaline crash.” I exhaled through the vertigo and reached for him. He came easily, leaned into me as red numbers counted floors—six, and seven. The doors slid open, and we straightened.
His voice dipped low. “You want me to leave? If you’re too tired.”
“No.” I circled his wrist. “No. Stay, please?” An echo of the last time he’d been here, but this felt different—tinged with a soft kind of radiance.
“Of course,” he said, as if it was really just that easy now, as if it couldn’t possibly be anything but yes. Not anymore.
I tugged him into my side and along with me, down the corridor and to my door. He hugged me while I unlocked it, one arm snaking around my middle, nosing at my cheek, his breath warm. We stumbled into my dark hallway, the door falling shut behind us.
For a beat, we simply pressed close. Silence. Just…us. Here. Together. I was a balloon, ready to float to the ceiling, and he was the tether that kept me on the ground—except he lifted me up, too, made me feel like flying, andJesus, get it together.
“Shoes,” I said. “C’mon, babe.”
