Chapter 10
10
T he drive back was thick with silence.
Amaya sat beside me, arms crossed, jaw tight, eyes locked on the passenger window like she was searching for an exit that didn’t exist.
But I felt her. Felt her body still pulsing beside me. Felt her breath catch every time we hit a red light.
Felt the echo of her mouth on mine—warm, sweet, parted in a way that made me think about places we’d already been and the ones we hadn’t reached yet.
Even with that space between us, she was everywhere. That kiss had cracked something open. Not just tonight.
But then .
Back when she was in my hoodie, legs trembling, voice whispering please.
I gripped the steering wheel tighter.
That moment was burned into me. Just like today would be. The way her body melted into mine. The way she didn’t pull back until the world interrupted us.
She hadn’t said a word since we left Vibrations, but I could feel the storm rolling through her. The shift was undeniable. The line we’d crossed wasn't just blurred—it was gone. And now we were both pretending we didn’t notice.
But I noticed everything.
My tongue darted out to wet my lips, catching the faintest trace of her gloss. Vanilla. Warm. Slightly sweet. Familiar.
My jaw clenched as the hunger twisted in my gut. The kiss hadn’t been long enough to fully taste her, hadn’t been deep enough to answer the need she stirred every time she looked at me like she wasn’t sure what she wanted— or if she was ready to want me out loud.
But it had been enough to ruin the space between us.
I couldn’t stop thinking about the way she felt—pressed against me, her breath ragged, her thighs tense like she was remembering just how much of her I already knew.
Her scent still clung to my hoodie. Her warmth too. Like memory wrapped in cotton. Like unfinished business that had never cooled.
“You good?” I asked, my voice rougher than I meant it to be.
She inhaled sharply, like I’d touched something with just the sound of my voice.
Then finally, she answered. “Yeah. Fine.”
But she wasn’t and I knew that. Because neither of us were.
I didn’t press. I just smirked to myself, eyes still on the road. She was rattled. Trying to cover it with calm, but I knew her better than that. Her silence wasn’t peace—it was protection. And I’d learned over the years that when Amaya got quiet, it meant something loud was happening inside her.
We pulled up in front of her apartment building, the weight of everything between us heavy as hell. She reached for the door too fast, like she couldn’t get out of the car quick enough.
I caught her wrist before she could.
"A."
She froze, breath catching, her pulse hammering against my thumb. When she turned to look at me, our eyes locked—and it was all there. The heat. The uncertainty. The need neither of us wanted to name. Her eyes held mine like she was afraid I’d see too much. Maybe I already had.
“We good?” I asked, quieter now. Slower.
She hesitated. Then nodded. “Yeah. We’re good.”
Another lie.
But I let it ride.
Inside, she tossed her bag on the couch and drifted toward the dining table where her tablet was already lit up, stylus beside it, screen waiting. I watched her the entire way, the way she moved like she couldn’t get far enough away from what we’d just shared.
She reached for her glasses on the counter, but I beat her to it. Held them in my fingers.
“Don’t strain your eyes staring at that screen,” I muttered, passing them to her.
She took them without a word, sliding them on like armor. A soft barrier between her eyes and mine. Like if I couldn’t see them, I couldn’t call her out.
But I knew those eyes. Better than most people knew their own reflection.
I’d watched them dance when she felt free. Flame when she was mad. Flicker when she was uncertain. And right now, she was hiding. Tucking it all behind those clean, curved lenses like they could shield her from what just happened.
Like they could shield her from me.
For half a second, I wanted to tilt her chin up. Make her look at me. Make her feel this thing with her chest, her mouth, her damn breath—whatever she was trying to deny.
But I didn’t.
I just stood there, fighting every urge to touch her again. Fighting the memory of how her lips felt against mine. How she tasted. How her body trembled when I held her like it wasn’t the first time.
I dragged a hand down my beard, exhaled slow, and stepped back.
“I’ll be back later,” I said.
She didn’t respond. Didn’t even look up.
Just tapped her stylus against the screen like I hadn’t kissed her in the middle of a damn record shop like I meant it. Like I hadn’t held her like I remembered the weight of her on my tongue. Like we hadn’t just ripped through the line we’d spent half our lives pretending wasn’t there.