Chapter Nine
To: Project Win
Wanna meet up and smoke? Xo
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By noon, Myah felt like she was wearing her skin inside out.
Jace’s car smelt faintly like vinyl, old coffee, and whatever incense he’d tried to neutralize both with. Tonight there was a thinner scent layered over it–weed and something citrusy from the blunt wrap–the windows cracked just enough to let the smoke drift out into the warm evening air.
They were parked behind the record store, the neon sign humming softly above them. Myah had clocked out from the coffee stand an hour ago and walked over, sliding into the passenger seat like it was habit. Like it was hers.
He’d been perfectly normal all evening and that was the problem.
He’d smiled when she got in. Passed her a blunt without comment. Said it was hers to smoke and lit it for her. A perfect gentleman. Said he needed to stay as sober as possible to drive with the terrible traffic.
Told her about a guy who tried to argue that Fleetwood Mac was “underground.” He’d laughed when she snorted at that. Their knees had bumped twice in the cramped space between the seats, and each time he’d just let them rest there for a second before shifting naturally.
Normal.
Easy.
Unbothered.
And that made Myah’s stomach tie in knots. What was she doing here, playing with the heart of one of the nicest guys she’d ever met in this city?
He hadn’t texted first today. She had. He hadn’t lingered at her stand this morning; he’d just grabbed his coffee and kissed her cheek like it was routine.
There had been a few small pauses in conversation tonight, the kind that happened when people were comfortable, and her brain had taken each one and stretched it thin like fragile glass.
He’s pulling back. You’re too much. He knows about the bet and thinks you're a piece of shit human. Worse, he’s getting bored of you.
She hated that voice for many reasons, one of the main being that it didn’t need proof.
It built entire arguments out of silence.
He leaned back into his seat, head tipped slightly against the window making his loose, dark waves look almost blue in the night light.
He looked relaxed. Like he wasn’t mentally replaying every second of the last twenty-four hours searching for signs of abandonment.
She studied his profile. The curve of his mouth, the faint flush high on his cheekbones, the way his lashes cast shadows under the parking lot light. And of course, he caught her staring.
“What?” he asked, amused.
“Nothing,” she said quickly, turning toward the windshield, letting smoke billow out her mouth.
He didn’t push. Just watched her for a second longer than necessary before looking forward again.
That tiny shift–that moment of attention leaving her–felt bigger than it should have. Her chest tightened instinctively, bracing for a rejection that hadn’t happened.
If you leave first, it won’t hurt as bad.
The urge to test it rose fast and hot in her bloodstream, intensified by the weed buzzing softly behind her eyes. Before she could overthink and give into the voice, she said, “We should go to the mall.”
The words came out casual, like they’d just occurred to her. Like she hadn’t been spiraling for the last ten minutes.
Very impressive Myah.
He blinked, turning his head slightly toward her. “The mall?” He didn’t sound annoyed. Just surprised.
But surprise was close enough to hesitation for her stomach to drop.
There it is. Too random. Too clingy. He’s tired. He wants to go home. He doesn’t want more time with you.
She shrugged, forcing lightness into her tone. “Yeah. A field trip. We can people-watch. Try on stupid sunglasses. Judge teenagers. I don’t know.” She took another hit. “Or not. It was just a thought.”
He didn’t answer immediately but thankfully the silence wasn’t long. But in the half-second before he spoke, she imagined him saying he had stuff to do. Imagined him dropping her off and driving away. Imagined the gradual cooling of whatever this was until she was the only one still holding it.
“It’s dumb,” she added, already retreating. “Forget it.”
His head lifted fully now, expression sharpening. “It’s not dumb.”
The steadiness in his voice made her more aware of how quickly she’d tried to take it back. How reflexively she offered exits before anyone asked for one.
“I just didn’t know you were a mall person,” he said, rubbing his thumb over the steering wheel. “That’s all.”
It wasn’t a no. It wasn’t even close to a no. But her body had already reacted like it was.
“You don’t have to,” she said quickly. “I was just throwing it out there.” She hated how defensive that sounded.
How small.
He studied her for a long moment, really looked at her, and his expression shifted from amusement to something softer.
“Hey,” he said gently. “I didn’t say no.”
Her throat tightened. The car suddenly felt smaller. Warmer. Stupid weed. She was totally blaming the weed.
“You hesitated,” she said, trying to make it teasing, but it landed quieter than she meant.
“I blinked,” he replied, the corner of his mouth lifting.
“You blinked like you were calculating escape routes.”
He huffed a quiet laugh and leaned a little closer across the center console, not touching her but close enough that she could feel the heat of him.
“I was surprised,” he said. “That’s different than not wanting to go.”
She searched his face for signs of obligation and found none. Aaahh! She was too high for this.
“I’d like to,” he added. The words settled heavily in her chest. “I’d like to go. With you.”
The simplicity of it disarmed her more than a grand gesture would have. He wasn’t performing. Wasn’t appeasing. He sounded like he genuinely wanted another hour with her.
“You’re sure?” she asked, and she hated how vulnerable it came out.
He nodded once, steady. “Yeah. I’m sure.” There was a small pause, and then, softer, “Are you okay?”
That question always got under her skin. Rejection she knew how to armor against. Indifference she could fight. But gentleness made her feel seen in ways she wasn’t sure she deserved.
“I’m fine,” she said automatically, though her voice had lost its earlier edge.
He didn’t call her out on it. Didn’t interrogate her spiral. He just reached over and tucked a loose piece of hair behind her ear, his fingers brushing along her jaw in a slow, deliberate line that made her breath catch.
“Let’s go judge strangers,” he murmured.
The relief that flooded her was almost embarrassing. It hit so hard she had to look out the window, blinking against it like the smoke had suddenly gotten stronger.
He wasn’t pulling back.
He wasn’t bored.
He’d just blinked.
Jace started the engine, one hand resting casually at the bottom of the steering wheel. As he shifted into drive, his other hand found her thigh automatically, warm and steady, thumb tracing an absentminded line just above her knee.
The touch wasn’t overtly sexual, but it wasn’t neutral either. Her pulse jumped.
He wasn’t leaving.
He was just here.
And somehow that steadiness–that easy, unforced desire to stay–felt far more dangerous than rejection ever had.
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The mall smelled like pretzels and perfume and recycled air, warm and artificial and almost sweet enough to make her dizzy.
It wasn’t packed, but it wasn’t empty either.
There were clusters of teenagers orbiting the escalators, couples walking too close together, parents negotiating with small children in the middle of the walkway.
The noise created a kind of anonymity she’d always liked.
In a mall, no one paid attention for long.
You could be anyone here. You could do almost anything if you moved with enough confidence.
The mall didn't close for another two hours so she and Jace wandered without a plan. That had been the unspoken rule–no destination, no objective, just drifting. She liked that he didn’t try to steer them.
Didn’t try to lead. He matched her pace automatically, hands in his pockets, shoulder occasionally brushing hers like it was accidental.
The sunglasses kiosk was her idea. The lighting was aggressive and unflattering, mirrors on every side reflecting them from angles she wasn’t prepared to analyze. She grabbed the most absurd pair she could find, neon lightning bolts, and held them up with a grin.
“Absolutely not,” Jace muttered, though he was already reaching for them.
“Try them,” she insisted.
He slid them on, squinting dramatically. They were atrocious. Bright yellow against his pale skin, crooked on his nose. But somehow he still looked ungodly attractive.
She laughed so hard she had to brace herself against the display rack, and when she did, he reached out to catch her. His fingers brushed her arm in the process and she could feel her stomach tighten.
“You look like you DJ exclusively at middle school dances,” she managed through a giggle.
“I take requests,” he said dryly. “But only for Imagine Dragons.”
She rolled her eyes, swatting at him, and he retaliated with oversized pink frames that swallowed half her face. When he placed them on her, his hands lingered just slightly too long at her temples, thumbs brushing near her ears before sliding away.
The laughter softened first. Then the space between them.
They were still standing too close in the narrow aisle, fluorescent lights humming overhead. She could feel the warmth of him through her shirt, could see the exact moment his eyes shifted from playful to something heavier. Not serious.
He didn’t step back. He waited.
That was the thing about Jace. He hovered at the edge of contact like he was waiting for permission that didn’t need to be spoken. He never crowded her. Never assumed. And that carefulness made her pulse jump in ways she didn’t want to unpack. Aaaaah! Was she still high?
They moved on, drifting into a clothing store next. He held up an offensively ugly wolf graphic tee against her chest with exaggerated seriousness. She shoved herself into an oversized denim jacket in retaliation, sleeves swallowing her hands.