“Then let’s lose our minds together.”
We don’t go all the way. Not yet. But the way she shudders when I suck a bruise into her neck, the way her hips roll when I press my palm between her legs over her jeans?
It’s enough to wreck me.
We part only when the sound of tires crunching gravel warns us someone’s back.
She pushes me off, breathless. “I need—space.”
“Too late,” I say. “You’re in my head now.”
She swallows hard and bolts toward the locker room.
I watch her go, jaw tight.
Because this?
This is going to get complicated fast.
And I’m not sure I’ll survive it twice.
Chapter Nine
Ember
There’s a moment—right before he walks into the pottery studio—when I forget how to breathe. My mind replaying that kiss at the firehouse from this morning.
Clay Walker, firefighter, resident grump, panty-melter. Myfakeboyfriend turned very real distraction.
He’s leaning against the doorframe in that slow, unhurried way of his, like he’s got all the time in the world to watch me scrape clay off my apron and try not to look like I’m internally combusting. He’s in uniform—black tee stretched tight across his chest, soot still smudged on his jaw—and his stare? Unforgiving. Like he sees straight through the apron, the pretense, the dampness gathering between my thighs.
“You done playing with mud, sweetheart?” he asks, voice gravelly, laced with a smirk.
I don’t rise to it. Much.
“I’ll have you know I created a stunning ashtray-slash-salsa-dish hybrid,” I say, brushing past him, ignoring the jolt that lights up my spine when his hand grazes the small of my back.
He leans down, close enough I can taste the smoke clinging to his skin.
“I’ve got something else you can put your hands on,” he murmurs.
God help me.
The other women in class are watching, giggling like I’m walking off set with theSexiest Man Alive. Which, to be fair, isn’t far off.
I try to keep my cool as we make it to his truck. Try to remind myself this isn’t real. We’re just... playing house. Teasing fire.
But when he opens the passenger door for me, places a hand on my hip to guide me in, I almost forget the rules I swore to keep.
“You pick me up in that thing one more time and the town’s going to assume we’re married,” I mutter, buckling in.
He shrugs. “Let ‘em.”
We ride in silence for a beat, the tension between us thick and humming. Then he pulls into the firehouse.
“You’re feeding the crew again?” I ask, grabbing the takeout bags from the backseat.
His smirk returns. “They only like me because I bring ‘em food. You? They like because you make me insane.”
