Chapter 4 #2
"It is that simple. You're just making it complicated."
He looks at me for a long second, then he says, "What do you want from me, Everly?"
"I want you to stop running. I want you to admit you want this. And I want you to kiss me without pulling away."
"I can't."
"Why not?"
"Because if I start, I won't stop. And then what? What happens when you realize I'm not what you thought? When you see what I'm really like?"
I step close enough that our bodies are almost touching. "Then I'll deal with it, but you don't get to make that decision for me."
His hand comes up to my face again, and this time he doesn't stop himself. He cups my jaw and his thumb brushes across my bottom lip.
"You feel like fire," he says quietly.
"You feel like barely contained violence."
"Does that scare you?"
"No. It makes me want you more."
He makes a sound low in his throat and leans in. His mouth is so close to mine I can almost taste him.
"Everly."
"Yeah?"
"This is a really bad idea."
"I know."
Then he kisses me, and everything else disappears.
His mouth is hot and demanding and exactly what I wanted. He tastes like beer and danger and something darker I can't name.
His hand slides into my hair and he tilts my head back, deepening the kiss, and I make a sound that would be embarrassing if I cared.
But I don't care about anything except the feel of him against me, the heat of his mouth, the way his other hand grips my hip like he's trying to anchor himself.
I grab his cut and pull him closer. He groans, the sound vibrating through his chest into mine.
This is want, raw and unfiltered, and it's better than I imagined.
He pulls back just enough to breathe. "We should stop."
"Probably."
But neither of us move. We just stand there breathing hard, his forehead against mine.
"I want you," he says, and the admission sounds like it's ripped from somewhere deep.
"I know."
"This is going to end badly."
"Maybe. But right now, I don't care."
He kisses me again, slower this time but no less intense, and I feel it everywhere.
This is dangerous—he's dangerous—but I want it anyway.
I want the risk, the heat, the barely controlled violence that's simmering just under his skin.
I pull back, and his eyes are dark, pupils blown wide.
"We can't do this here," I say.
"I know."
"People will talk."
"Let them."
I almost laugh because that's so not what I expected him to say.
But then reality crashes back and I remember who I am, who he is, and what this would mean.
"My dad will lose his mind," I say.
That stops him.
Rush steps back and runs a hand through his hair. "Fuck."
"Yeah, fuck."
We stand there in the cold and the moment shifts, reality seeping back in around the edges.
"This can't happen," he says finally.
"You keep saying that."
"Because it's true. Diesel will gut me if he finds out I touched you."
"So we don't tell him."
"Everly..."
"What? You think I'm going to run to Daddy and tell him you kissed me?"
"No, but someone will see and word will get back."
He's right and I hate it.
The club talks, gossip spreads fast, and my dad has eyes everywhere.
"So what do we do?" I ask.
"We stop, we go back inside, we pretend this didn't happen."
"And then what?"
"And then I stay away from you."
I laugh but there's no humor in it. "You can't stay away from me. You've proven that already."
"I'll try harder."
"Bullshit."
He closes his eyes. "What do you want me to say?"
"I want you to admit that this is going to happen whether we want it to or not."
"It doesn't have to."
"It does. We both know it does." I step close again. "But here's the thing, I'm not doing this if you're going to keep running. I'm not chasing you, Rush. If you want me, you come get me. But you don't get to kiss me and then disappear."
"Everly…"
"I'm serious. I'm setting a boundary right now. Either you want this or you don't, but you don't get to keep playing this game where you push me away and then pull me back."
He's quiet for a long time, then he says, "I don't know if I can give you what you want."
"What do I want?"
"Someone who's not fucked up, someone who's not one bad day away from violence, someone who's good for you."
"I never said I wanted that."
"You should."
"Stop telling me what I should want."
His jaw tightens. "You're impossible."
"You're infuriating."
We glare at each other. The tension is back but it's different now, sharper.
"I'm going inside," I say finally.
"Okay."
"And you're not following me."
"Okay."
"I mean it, Rush. Give me space, figure your shit out, and when you're ready to stop running you know where to find me."
I walk away before he can respond. My heart's pounding and my lips still feel swollen from his kiss.
I can feel him watching me, but I don't look back. I just keep walking.
Inside the clubhouse, I go straight to the bathroom and lock the door, then I lean against the sink and take a breath.
My hands are shaking and my skin feels too hot.
That was intense—more intense than I expected.
I touched fire and I liked it, liked the burn, liked the danger.
But I meant what I said. I'm not chasing him.
If Rush wants me, he's going to have to decide he's worth the risk, because I already know I am.
I wash my hands and fix my hair, then I go back out to the old ladies like nothing happened.
But everything's changed, and we both know it.