And that does something to me.
I take a breath. "This place. The job. It's not the whole story. There's shit I don't talk about. Family. My mom. Things that make me… fucked up."
She steps closer, close enough that I can smell her shampoo. "I'm not asking for your life story. I'm asking why you pulled away."
"Because if you knew," I say, voice low, "you'd leave."
The silence after that is deafening.
She studies me for a long beat, then reaches out and touches my arm. Light. Steady.
"Try me."
I pull my arm away from her touch like it burns.
"You should go," I say, voice flat.
Her hand freezes mid-air for half a second, then drops.
But she doesn't move.
Instead, she steps closer.
"Raul."
"No." I back up, hitting the counter. The trailer feels tight, the air too thick. "I told you. It's complicated."
She stares at me, hurt flashing across her face before it hardens into something else. Determination, maybe. "That's it? You're just gonna push me away?"
"You shouldn't be here."
"Why?" Her voice rises. "Because of this place? Your secrets? I don't care about that."
"You will." It comes out rougher than I mean it to. "Trust me."
She shakes her head, stepping even closer until there's barely any space left between us. "You don't get to decide that for me."
"Yeah, I do." My arms cross, but my voice wavers. "Go home, Olivia."
She doesn't.
Her eyes search mine for one long beat, then she surges forward.
Her mouth crashes into mine.
It's not soft. It's not tentative. It's angry and desperate and everything I've been trying not to want.
My hands come up on instinct, gripping her waist like I can't decide whether to push her away or pull her closer. She kisses me like she's proving a point, her fingers curling into my sweats at my hips, body pressing flush against mine.
I kiss her back before my brain catches up, hard and hungry, months of tension spilling out in the heat of it. Her lips part, and it feels like she's been waiting for this as long as I have.
When she finally pulls back, we're both breathing hard.
She doesn't let go.
"Stop telling me what I should do," she says against my mouth.
I stare at her, chest heaving, every wall I've built cracking under the weight of her. Her attitude makes the corner of my mouth twitch up. She's fucking adorable when she's irritated.
