Chapter 9 #2
I circle the car and fall into step beside her.
The street is quiet except for the faint hum of streetlights and the rhythmic click of her heels on the pavement.
Her hand swings close enough to mine that my fingers itch with the urge to touch her.
Just once. Just to see if she’d shatter or lean in.
Each sound feels too loud, too intimate.
Neither of us speaks. We don’t have to. The air between us hums with everything we’re trying not to say.
At the door to her building, she stops in front of the card reader, digging through her bag for the fob.
I see it glint in her hand just before she drops it.
“Shit.” She bends to pick it up, but I’m already there. Our hands brush in the half-light, and the contact hits like static—sharp and everywhere at once.
Heat flares across my palm so fast it feels like my body recognizes her before my brain can catch up.
“Got it,” she murmurs, swiping the fob against the reader. The soft beep feels too loud in the quiet.
When the lock clicks open, I catch the edge of the door before it swings shut. “Ladies first.”
“You really don’t quit, do you?” Her lips twitch like she wants to smile but refuses to.
“Not when it comes to you.”
The words slip out before I can stop them, and she shakes her head like she’s pretending not to hear.
Two flights of stairs pass faster than they should.
The tension follows us the whole way—our steps out of sync, breaths catching for reasons that have nothing to do with the climb.
At her floor, she slows. Her hand trembles as she fits the key into her apartment lock.
“This is it,” she says quietly, without turning. Her voice wavers, a tremor that comes from holding too much inside. Her fingers tighten around the keys, that tiny tell she gets when her anxiety starts spiraling.
I move closer before I can stop myself, the warmth of her body pulling me in. “You sure you want me to go?”
“That’s probably a good idea.”
“Probably,” I echo, my voice low. “But I’m not good at doing what I should do.”
She turns then, eyes flicking to mine. One breath. Two. That’s all it takes for the distance between us to disappear.
I reach out, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear. For half a second, she hesitates, but then leans in. It’s not a decision; it’s instinct. I meet her halfway, stopping a breath short.
The air between us is so charged it feels alive.
She blinks up at me, pupils wide, chest rising fast. Neither of us moves, suspended in the pull of waiting for the other to cross that last inch.
I should walk away. I know I should. But she tilts her chin the smallest bit higher, and that’s all it takes.
Every muscle in my body goes tight, holding on to the last shred of restraint I’ve got.
It won’t last long. Not with her this close.
I keep still, giving her the space to come to me.
When her fingers brush the side of my neck, it’s barely a touch, but it detonates something so dangerous inside me I forget to breathe.
“We shouldn’t,” she whispers, but her hand doesn’t move.
“I know.” My voice sounds rough, closer to a confession than agreement. “Tell me to stop.”
Her thumb traces the edge of my collar, slow and uncertain, her gaze flicking between my eyes and my mouth like she’s torn in half.
Caught between logic and want, running and seeing what happens if she stays.
The silence that follows hums full of everything she’s too scared to ask for and everything I’m already offering without a single word.
I can see the fight in her. The fear. The spark that’s been burning since the elevator.
She’s tried to rebuild the walls all night.
I want to tell her she doesn’t have to pick a side tonight.
That I’ll wait, and she’s already got me, but the words die on my tongue.
All that escapes is a broken sound that someone makes when they’re done pretending they don’t care.
She moves first. Or maybe I do. It doesn’t matter because the moment she leans in, the space between us ceases to exist. My hand finds her waist, her fingers fist in my shirt, and everything unravels at once.
Every held breath, every almost, every rule we’ve been clinging to collapses under the weight of this single, reckless need.
Alycia gasps softly against me, and I drink it in. Tilting my head, I chase the sound and lose myself in the heat of her mouth. Her perfume surrounds me—vanilla, rain, and something that already feels like home—and the second our lips finally meet, the world stops.
She startles slightly, like she didn’t mean for this to happen but can’t stop it now that it has.
My hand slides into her hair, fingers threading through the silk, holding her close without taking.
She tastes like nerves and something that ruins every plan I ever had for keeping this simple.
She exhales into the kiss, a shaky little sound that goes straight to my chest. I slow down, not because I want to but because I have to.
Because if I don’t, I’ll forget what she needs and take what she’s not ready to give.
Her hand curls at the back of my neck, fingertips trembling against my skin. I feel every stutter of her breath, every second she lets herself lean in instead of running. I pull back just enough to look at her, lips parted and eyes half-lidded. God, she’s fucking beautiful.
“I didn’t mean for this to happen,” she whispers, voice barely there. A flicker of fear cuts through her expression, and it guts me because I don’t want her to run.
“I know.” My thumb traces her cheek reverently. “But I’m not sorry.”
Something flickers in her expression, but then she swallows hard, grounding herself.
“Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”
“I won’t,” I murmur, even though I already have.
She closes her eyes, and I can see her fighting the pull, the need, the tiny part of her that’s already mine.
And for the first time all night, I don’t want to win.
I just want her to feel safe. So, I let her go, easing back slowly, my hand lingering in her hair until the very last second.
The space between us feels immediately wrong, but I don’t move closer again.
She’s breathing hard, staring at me like she’s trying to decide if she’s grateful or furious.
“Goodnight, Kyle,” she whispers finally.
“Goodnight, sweetheart.” The word slips out softer than I mean it to, weighted with everything I didn’t say.
She steps inside and closes the door gently, the click of the lock cutting through the quiet. I stay there, staring at the wood grain, breathing in her perfume until it fades. This was supposed to be pretend, but there was nothing fake about that kiss.
And I already know I’ll spend every damn day trying to earn another one.