Chapter Five #2
Then she pulls me back down, kissing me again, harder this time, more certain. I slide my hand down to her waist, fingers pressing into the leather of her jacket, and she hooks one leg around mine, leveraging closer until there’s no space left between us.
The world could end right now, and I wouldn’t notice.
I don’t know how long we stand there, seconds, minutes, or hours. Time blurs, loses meaning, and becomes irrelevant compared to the taste of her mouth and the way her body fits against mine.
When we finally break apart, we’re both breathing hard, our foreheads pressed together.
“Okay,” she whispers.
“Okay?”
“Okay.” She exhales shakily. “We have to stop.”
“Do we?”
“Yes.”
“Are you sure?”
“No.” She laughs, a breathless, disbelieving sound. “But we can’t do this in the middle of the street.”
“We could go inside.”
“Absolutely not.”
“My place?”
“Reece.”
“Kidding.” Mostly. “Kind of.”
She pushes at my chest, and I step back, giving her space. She looks wrecked, beautifully, thoroughly wrecked, and I know I probably look the same.
“This was…” She stops, pressing her fingers to her lips. “This was…”
“Amazing?” I offer.
“Stupid.”
“Can’t it be both?”
She drops her hand, her expression shifting from dazed to conflicted in the span of a breath. “My father—”
“Doesn’t have to know.”
“He’s going to know. He always knows.”
“Then we’ll deal with it.”
“Easy for you to say. He’s not your father.”
“No,” I agree. “He’s my coach, who could bench me, cut my playing time, or make my life a living hell if he finds out I kissed his daughter outside her shop at midnight.”
“Then why did you do it?”
“Because I wanted to.” I reach up, brushing a strand of hair away from her face. “Because I’ve been thinking about it since the bleachers. Because you looked at me the way nobody else does, and I couldn’t walk away without knowing what this felt like.”
“And now you know.”
“Yeah.”
“So?”
“So now I’m obsessed.”
She blinks and barks out a laugh. “What?”
“Obsessed,” I repeat. “Completely, irrationally obsessed. With you. With this. With whatever the hell happens next.”
“Reece—”
“I know it’s a bad idea,” I say, cutting her off gently. “I know all the reasons we shouldn’t do this, but I also know I’m going to see you again. And when I do, I’m going to want to kiss you again. And I’m going to keep wanting it until you either let me or tell me to go to hell.”
She stares at me, her expression unreadable. “You’re serious.”
“Dead serious.”
“You barely know me.”
“Then let me know you.”
“It’s not how this works.”
“Then tell me how it works.”
She opens her mouth. Closes it. Opens it again before she finally admits, “I don’t know.”
“Then we’ll figure it out.”
“There’s nothing to figure out.” She steps away, putting distance between us. “This was a mistake. A one-time, heat-of-the-moment mistake. It can’t happen again.”
“Can’t or won’t?”
“Both.”
I should accept it, walk away, let her have the last word, and move on with my life.
But I don’t.
“You’re lying,” I say softly.
Her eyes flash. “Excuse me?”
“You’re lying. To me. To yourself.” I take a step forward, and she holds her ground. “You felt what I felt. You wanted this as much as I did. And you’re going to keep wanting it, no matter how many times you tell yourself you don’t.”
“You’re arrogant.”
“I’m honest.”
“You’re infuriating.”
“And you’re still talking to me.”
She glares. It’s fierce, furious, and beautiful, and for a second, I think she’s going to shove me, slap me, or tell me to leave and never come back.
Instead, she grabs my jacket, pulls me down, and kisses me again.
It’s brief, barely three seconds, but it sears through me the way the first one did.
When she pulls back, her eyes are blazing. “There… now we’re even.”
“Even?”
“You kissed me. I kissed you. We’re done.”
“Ava.”
“Go home, Reece.”
She turns toward a beat-up yellow sedan a few spaces down and unlocks it. Then she looks back at me. “Before we do something we’ll actually regret.” She slides into the car and starts the engine.
I step back and watch as she pulls away, disappearing down the street. After she’s gone, I stand there for a long time with the taste of her still on my lips, the feel of her hands in my hair still buzzing against my scalp.
This was a bad idea.
The worst idea.
And I’m already planning how to do it again.
Sleep doesn’t come.
I try. I flip between my back, my side, and my stomach. Right now, I’m staring at the ceiling and counting backward from a thousand, but every time I close my eyes, I see her, feel her, and taste her.
By three a.m., I give up and head to the gym in my building, running on the treadmill until my legs burn and my lungs ache.
It doesn’t help.
By six, I’m back in my apartment, staring at my phone, resisting the urge to text her even though I don’t have her number.
I could get it. Dante’s girlfriend works in the stadium’s PR department and probably has access to vendor contacts. Or I could swing by the shop, ask under the pretense of finally booking a consultation.
But I don’t.
Because she’s right.
This is a bad idea.
Coach Bishop would lose his mind if he knew. The team would have a field day. The media would turn it into a circus.
And yet…
I can’t stop thinking about the way she looked at me before she drove away. The way her voice softened when she said my name. The way she kissed me back, twice, even knowing all the reasons she shouldn’t.
My phone buzzes, and I grab it, hoping.
Marcus: Film review at 10. Don’t be late.
I drop the phone onto the counter, exhaling hard.
This is fine.
I’m fine.
I’ll go to practice, throw some bullpens, and pretend last night didn’t happen. And maybe, if I’m lucky, I’ll believe it.
But I doubt it.
Because Ava Bishop is under my skin now.
And I have no idea how to get her out.