Chapter 16 #2
Sav blinked in surprise, and I wasn’t sure if it was the question she hadn’t thought of or the fact that I had used the word sequestered in a sentence.
“I didn’t ask,” she murmured, leaning against her desk.
“Won’t she wonder who you’re talking to?”
“The bedrooms are soundproofed,” she said, avoiding my eyes. “Bev’s a music major — cello. Thankfully, I don’t need to hear it.”
“Nice.” Handy. I shoved the inappropriate thought about what Bev wouldn’t have to hear away.
We stared at each other in silence, her gaze roaming over my face, cataloging every cut and bruise.
Savannah hovered like she was debating whether to throw me out or shove another ice pack at my face. I moved farther onto her bed, so that I could lean back against the wall, keeping my expression lazy, casual.
“Want to tell me what happened?” she asked finally.
“Nope.” I shifted the ice pack to my jaw, winced, then pretended I hadn’t. “You got any snacks in here?”
Her glare could’ve cut glass. “Dante.”
I grinned, though it tugged the bruise forming on my cheek, and made my lip sting. “It’s nothing. Guys blowing off steam, that’s all.”
Her silence pressed on me, sharp as a blitzing linebacker. She wanted more, but I wasn’t about to hand her the truth. Not when she already saw more of me than most people ever did.
The thing was, I couldn’t stop noticing her.
The loose strand of hair brushing her cheek, the way her arms folded tight across that cream sweater, like she was bracing herself against me.
This close, with the door shut and the air charged, I wasn’t thinking about my jaw or the fight.
I was thinking about how rash it would be to lean forward, to test just how much she’d really let me get away with.
So I stretched out like I belonged there, in her too-neat dorm room, and let the weight of her stare try to pry me open.
But I wasn’t giving her — or anyone — that gratification. Not yet.
Her arms were still crossed, but her eyes kept flicking to my jaw, to the ice pack I held there. Like she wanted to check if I was okay, but refused to give me the satisfaction of saying it out loud.
“You look like hell,” she muttered.
“Appreciate the compliment.” My grin was lopsided now, but I held it anyway.
She rolled her eyes, but she didn’t look away. Neither did I.
The silence stretched, turning heavier, until even the hum of her desk lamp felt loud. I sat up to drop the ice pack onto the nightstand beside me. Leaning forward, I placed my elbows on my knees as I watched her watch me.
Her breath hitched — small, sharp — but I caught it. She caught me catching it. I got off the bed and walked over to her; there was barely any distance between us.
“This is a bad idea,” she whispered, but her voice wasn’t steady.
“Probably,” I admitted. She moved slightly, hands braced against the edge of her desk, her arm brushing mine as she moved them away from me, and I didn’t move. “But I noticed you’re not making me leave, Sav.”
Her throat worked as she swallowed. The distance between us was a breath, a dare, and every part of me screamed to close it. To press past her walls, past mine, just to see what would happen when we stopped pretending.
I could feel the heat rolling off her skin. Close enough that if I leaned just an inch farther, I’d have her trapped there between me and the desk.
But then she blinked, shook her head like she’d snapped herself out of it. “You need sleep, not—” She cut herself off, flustered.
“Not what?” I asked softly, knowing damn well what she wasn’t saying.
Her lips parted, but no answer came.
We stood there, the space between us crackling, a heartbeat away from something neither of us was ready to admit out loud that we wanted.
Her chin tipped up, defiant, but her breathing gave her away. Too fast. Too shallow.
“This is stupid,” she whispered, her voice so faint it could’ve been mistaken for a thought.
“Yeah,” I murmured, leaning my hand on the desk beside hers, caging her without touching. “Really stupid.”
Neither of us moved.
Her perfume was light, something clean with a hint of citrus, and it was driving me insane. I caught her gaze, saw the flicker there — want, fear, anger, all tangled — and for a second I nearly gave in. Nearly pressed my forehead to hers just to see what she’d do.
But I didn’t. Because if I did, there was no going back, and I was only supposed to be interested in Sav for what she knew about me. What she might say. I was still telling myself that.
So I stayed there, breathing her in, letting the tension coil tighter until it snapped in the only safe direction. I pushed off the desk, put a step of space between us, and forced a smile.
“You’re right, I need to sleep, Sav. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“You’re leaving?”
Did she sound disappointed? My head snapped up, searching her face for the lie, but all I saw were wide eyes and parted lips, like maybe she hadn’t meant to say it out loud.
I let the silence sit heavy between us. “Did you want me to stay?” I asked, my voice low enough that it sounded dangerous even to me.
Her throat worked as she swallowed. “I didn’t say that.”
“No,” I agreed, taking half a step closer, enough to see the shiver run through her. “But you didn’t say no either.”
“Dante—” Her whisper cracked, warning and plea tangled together.
One more inch, and we’d be touching. One more inch, and I’d lose the war I was barely fighting.
“Say the word, Sav.” My breath brushed her cheek. “I’ll stay.”
I pulled my head back slightly, and her gaze dropped to my mouth, and for a second, I thought she might say it. That she wanted me to stay.
But then she tore her eyes away, shaking her head, muttering, “No. This isn’t right.”
No. I stepped back, forced my hand through my hair, and pulled every scrap of strength I could muster to step away from her.
“Right,” I said roughly, heading for the door before I said something neither of us could take back.
The handle was cool in my grip, grounding me, forcing me to move. I didn’t look back, not even when I felt her stare burn into my spine.
Walking out was the only right call.
So why the hell did it feel like I’d just lost a game I hadn’t even known I was playing?