His gaze flicked up, sharp. “Sorry. Sorry — I’m not — fuck. I’mtryingto be calm about this.”
“You’re failing.” I attempted a smile, but the concern in his eyes was too much.
“Iknow.”
He bandaged it with too much tape. When he was done, he didn’t move away — just stayed there, crouched between my knees, hands on my thighs, head bowed like he was trying to catch his breath.
“I don’t think I’ve ever wanted to hit someone more in my life,” he said, voice low. “Except maybe Joel.”
My breath caught.
“You should be proud of me, baby. I didn’t even punch that guy,” he added after a beat, like that proved how strong he was being.
I tilted his chin up until his eyes met mine. “You’re kind of terrifying like this.”
“I’m not trying to be.”
“I know,” I whispered, sliding my fingers into his hair. “But it’s also… kind of hot.”
That broke the tension — just a little.
His mouth twitched.
“You’re bleedingandyou’re flirting?”
“You’re flaring your nostrils and monologuing like Batman— what do you expect me to do?”
He huffed a laugh, resting his forehead against my sternum. “I don’t know what to do with you.”
Slowly, so as not to startle him, I slid off the bench, kneeling in front of him. My hands found his cheeks, cupping his face gently. His arms came around my waist, holding me tight — as if he needed to hold on to something to keep him from flying apart.
My fingers slid into his hair, soft and slow, and I felt the breath he took — deep, shaking, like he wastryingto be calm for me. Like he didn’t trust himself not to storm back outside and put someone through a wall.
“Hey,” I whispered.
He didn’t meet my eyes.
“You’re scaring me a little, cowboy.”
His arms tightened around me. “I don’t mean to.” He finally looked up. Eyes blazing. Lips parted. Still furious, still shaking. Still mine.
And I couldn’t help it.
I kissed him.
I pulled him down and caught his mouth with mine, slow and deep and aching, like I could soothe the tremble out of his bones with nothing but my kiss. His hands tightened around my waist, then slid to my back, pulling me closer until I could barely breathe.
It wasn’t desperate like it had been in the car. It was slower.Heavier.Hottersomehow, because it wasn’t about getting lost — it was aboutfindingeach other again.
His tongue slid against mine, and I whimpered into his mouth, nails digging into his shoulders. He pulled back just enough to kiss the corner of my lips, my cheek, my jaw, like he couldn’t get enough, like he was drinking me in one piece at a time.
“You’re killing me,” he murmured.
“Funny,” I breathed, “I was about to say the same thing.”
He laughed — a breathy, broken sound against my throat. And then he stood,liftedme in one smooth motion, and started walking toward the kitchen with me in his arms like it was the most normal thing in the world.
“What are you doing?” I asked, half-laughing, half-melting.
