Page 62 of On The Edge

I think that’s what stings more than anything.

“Forget I said anything,” I say. “They’re just words.”

Cruz just stares at me with an intensity and a million words loaded in those eyes of his that I have a feeling he’ll never say.

“Welcome to Club Navarro,” he exclaims, arms out and sarcasm dripping.

“What the hell does that mean?”

He angles his head to the side and reaches out, cupping the side of my cheek. It’s a completely unexpected action that has me holding my breath and pushing my heart back under lock and key.

Kiss me.

It’s the stupidest, most selfish thought and yet it repeats over and over.

I’m not supposed to want him. He’s a player who has already played me in a sense, and yet there’s a vulnerability to him right now that makes me see the man I believe he can be. The man I genuinely like. The man I get glimpses of every now and again.

And now I’m just talking crazy. It must be the cloud of night or the emotions of the day, but Cruz Navarro has already dealt his cards when it comes to me, and that hand was a bust.

His Adam’s apple bobs and a soft smile ghosts his lips as his thumb brushes over my bottom lip.

The moment feels right and wrong and everything in between.

My body thrums with a need I don’t think I’ve ever felt before. A knowledge of what he feels like. What he tastes like. How he can make my body feel.

“Cruz.” His name is a whisper on my lips. A single word laced with the confusion and desire rioting within my body.

There is so much in his eyes that I can’t decipher but want to. And just as I think he might soften, might let me in, might replace the pad of his thumb with the softness of his lips, he drops his hand and abruptly takes a step away, turning so his back is to me.

He clears his throat. Rejection eats at the ache still simmering inside me. “For what it’s worth, my dad’s disappointed in me and taking it out on the one thing he thinks he can control—you. He can’t.”

And yet the sting remains. From him. From his dad. From this whole damn night.

This isn’t about you, Maddix.

“I don’t understand. What in the world does he have to be disappointed about? You’re one of the top drivers in the world. A success in so many ways. I’d say that’s pretty damn impressive.”

“Humph.” It’s the only response he gives as he glances back at me, regret swimming in his eyes before moving even farther away from me and to the edge of the patio. He’s a striking silhouette, haunting almost, with the city’s lights beyond and him bathed in darkness. There’s a sadness to him I’m not used to. A withdrawal.

“I’m here if you want to talk about it,” I say softly.

“Rooftops are my thing.” I barely get my chuckle of confusion out before he continues changing the subject. “The higher the better.”

“Should I be worried about that preference?” I try to add some levity.

“Sometimes you just need a minute, you know? Where you can go and just . . . be.”

“I get that.” I murmur the words more to let him know I’m listening, but I’m almost afraid to speak because he’s finally talking. I don’t want him to pull back into himself.

“You live your life under constant scrutiny, sometimes you need the distance to reset your shit.”

“I thought you enjoyed the limelight. The attention.”

He takes his time answering. I get the sense he’s not one hundred percent certain he knows how to. “If that’s what you want to call it. It doesn’t unnerve me if that’s what you’re implying.”

“You grew up with it. You probably don’t think twice about it.”

“I grew up a Navarro where I didn’t have a choice. That and I don’t give a fuck.”