His fingers tighten around the seatbelt. “I would.”
“Then you can ask me tomorrow. When you haven’t been drinking.”
He stares at me.
There’s frustration in his face now, but beneath it is something else.
Heat.
Need.
The realization that he wants something he can’t have tonight.
“You’re doing this on purpose,” he says.
“Yes.”
His lips part slightly.
That answer does something to him.
I can see it.
“You’re not even pretending,” he says.
“Not right now.”
The car feels too warm. Too small.
His focus lingers on my mouth.
This time, when it lifts back to mine, there’s something darker there.
Less confused.
More certain.
“I want to kiss you,” he says.
My heart gives one hard beat. “I know.”
“Violet.” His voice is nearly a groan.
I lean closer. “You can kiss me tomorrow,” I whisper.
His eyes close for half a second.
When they open, they’re heated, frustrated, and fixed entirely on me. “That’s cruel.”
“It’s honest.”
I reach over and press the button to release the seatbelt. The buckle clicks free.
My hand lingers for one second too long before I pull away.
“Go check on Luna.”
He doesn’t move.
