Chapter 20 #2
I pause for dramatic effect.
Then I say, completely straight-faced, “I Want Your Sex by George Michael.”
Anna stills.
For the first time in this entire conversation, she doesn’t roll her eyes. She doesn’t throw a pillow. She just looks at me.
And something in the air shifts.
It’s subtle at first. Just the way her lips part slightly, like she wants to say something but thinks better of it. The way her shoulders go rigid—not in anger, not in exasperation, but in something else. Something that makes my pulse thud heavy in my ears.
She knows what I’m doing.
She knows I’m pushing it.
And she’s deciding whether to push back.
I let the silence stretch between us, waiting, watching. My smirk is still there, but it’s different now—heavier.
Her tongue darts out, wetting her lips, and I nearly forget how to fucking breathe.
I shouldn’t be thinking about this. About her. About the fact that she reads that kind of book and how—deep down—I like knowing it.
I like knowing that under all that sharp, biting sarcasm, there’s this part of her that gets lost in those kinds of stories.
That wants that kind of heat.
And fuck, now I’m imagining her like that—flushed, breathless, eyes hazy as she—
Nope.
No. Not going there.
I shift, suddenly feeling too warm, but I refuse to break first. Instead, I watch her watch me, neither of us moving. Neither of us daring to breathe too deep.
It’s reckless.
It’s stupid.
It’s so fucking dangerous.
And I love it.
Then—
Anna blinks.
And just like that, the moment shatters.
She grabs another pillow and hurls it at my head, her voice sharper than before—like she’s trying to convince herself this didn’t just happen.
I dodge, laughing, and she groans into her hands. “I cannot believe I have to do this with you.”
“Fine. We’ll stick to The Wiggles,” I say, forcing my voice to sound normal—steady, like I’m not still feeling the ghost of that moment hanging between us.
Like I’m not still feeling her eyes on me.
Like I didn’t just cross into dangerous fucking territory and like it way too much.
I clear my throat, shifting where I sit, stretching out like I’m completely unaffected—but my body knows better.
Because that wasn’t just teasing anymore.
That was something else.
Something sharp and tight and hot that curled low in my stomach, something that makes my fingers twitch like they want to test the tension instead of break it.
Anna exhales sharply beside me, her posture stiff, fingers gripping her laptop just a little too hard—like she felt it too.
Like she doesn’t trust herself to look at me yet.
And maybe that should feel like a win.
But all it does is make my pulse pound harder.
I let out a slow breath, rolling my shoulders. “Right. So. Kid songs.”
Anna doesn’t look at me. Just clicks aggressively through her playlist, jaw tight, still forcing herself to act like nothing happened.
And maybe that’s why I can’t stop looking at her. Because for the second time since I’ve been here, she’s not running.
The silence stretches for a second too long.
Then—
The most aggressively cheerful children’s song I’ve ever heard fills the air.
I blink.
Anna finally risks a glance at me, lips pressing together like she’s daring me to comment.
I stare at her. Stare at the ceiling. Stare at my goddamn life choices.
Then, exhaling hard, I lean forward, elbows on my knees, and scrub a hand over my face.
“Yeah, no. This is fine. This is all very, very fine.”
She groans so hard I swear she’s actively aging, but she doesn’t move. “No, it’s terrible, you moron.”
“Oh, thank god.” I practically sag with relief, looking over at her.
Part of me can’t believe she’s still here.
Still glaring. Still grumbling, sure. But still sitting right next to me, close enough that I can feel the warmth of her body beside mine.
Like she’s forcing herself to stay put—as if leaving now would mean admitting something happened.
I lean back, exhaling slowly, letting the moment settle.
She clicks through her laptop, aggressively scrolling, eyes fixed on the screen like if she looks at me for too long, she might give something away.
I watch her fingers move over the trackpad, a little too tense, a little too deliberate.
She’s rattled.
And fuck if I don’t like it.
Not in the way I like winning an argument with her. Not in the way I like getting under her skin just to watch her snap at me.
No—this is different.
This is her not snapping at me. This is her staying when she could have walked away.
This is her not trusting herself to look at me, but not trusting herself to leave, either.
I clear my throat, shifting slightly, stretching out my legs like I’m completely fine. Like my pulse isn’t still thudding from whatever the hell that just was.
Anna finally risks a glance at me, her mouth pressed into a thin, determinedly neutral line.
I smirk, just to see her eyes narrow.
She huffs, turning back to her laptop, clicking on the first song she sees.
Another bright, aggressively cheerful children’s song blasts through the speakers.
I groan immediately, scrubbing a hand over my face. “Oh, for fuck’s sake.”
Anna finally smirks.
The tension still lingers. The air between us is still charged, like a wire humming just beneath the surface.
But when she looks at me now, it’s different.
A little less guarded.
Less angry.
Like maybe—just maybe—she’s starting to let me in again.
And for the first time in years, I start to think—
Maybe I have a chance.