Chapter Thirty-One
Oliver
I should’ve known the night wasn’t over.
Nothing about the last few days had been normal, so expecting quiet now? Yeah… that was on me.
The hallway of the clubhouse was dim, the low hum of voices from the common room fading the farther I walked. My boots thudded softly against the worn wood floor—steady, familiar.
Behind me, lighter steps from Lark.
I stopped at the last door on the right, the only empty room left in the place right now, and pushed it open.
It was simple. Bed, dresser, a chair in the corner. Nothing fancy. Just space.
Safe space.
“For now,” I said, stepping aside slightly, “this is yours.”
She didn’t move past me right away.
Instead, she stepped closer. Closer than necessary. My body went still.
She leaned up on her tiptoes, her hand pressing lightly against my chest, right over my cut.
I looked down at her.
Big mistake because her eyes were lit up with something that was equal parts trouble and curiosity.
“Since you’re stuck with me,” she said, her voice dropping just enough to shift the air between us, “how about we have a little bit of fun, Ollie?”
Get ready for Oliver and Lark in Fallen Flame