She sits up a little straighter, a mischievous smile forming. “Truth or dare.”
My eyebrows raise. “We’re not twelve.”
She grins wider, leaning in closer until I can smell the faint vanilla of her lotion. “That’s not a no.”
I let out a laugh because resisting her is becoming impossible. “Fine. You go first.”
She taps her chin thoughtfully before asking, “Truth. What’s the strangest thing you’ve seen at Boots & Bourbon?”
I grin and answer easily, “A guy trying to ride the mechanical bull completely naked because he lost a bet.”
She winces and laughs simultaneously. “That sounds… unsanitary.”
“It was,” I say. “We Cloroxed the hell out of it after.”
Her laughter dissolves into a soft smile. “Your turn.”
I consider her for a moment, then ask, “Truth. Why did you really come back here?”
She looks down at her hands, twisting her bracelet softly. “I needed to breathe somewhere else.”
I nod once, accepting the truth without pushing any further. “Your turn.”
She pauses for half a second, her eyes locking onto mine with a boldness I didn’t expect.
“Dare,” she says, choosing for herself.
“You’re daring yourself now?”
“Yes,” she says, leaning in, the tiny spark of challenge lighting beneath her words. “And I dare you to kiss me.”
My heartbeat stumbles so hard it nearly hurts.
The room feels like it’s shrinking around us, the air growing thicker, and the distant crickets outside sounding impossibly loud.
She sits quietly, no teasing now, no nervous fidgeting, just patient anticipation, as if she’s giving me all the time I need to decide.
My hand still rests on the back of the couch, just inches from her shoulder.
Indulging in her presence, I take in her wide, bright blue eyes, her plump, parted lips, and her slightly unsteady breathing, feeling the same pull toward her as when Catalina introduced us three years ago.
I won’t let this moment pass, even if it makes me selfish and the bad guy.
My hand moves from the back of the couch to the cushion beside her hip, seeking something to hold onto before I do something I can’t take back.
“Layla,” I mumble breathlessly. Her eyes flick to my mouth, and the movement steals the last of my breath. “You’re engaged.”
“I know, and I don’t care,” she whispers, as her fingers curl into the fabric of the sofa.
Inhaling sharply, the air tastes like vanilla from her lotion and anxiety I can’t swallow down. “This is not a small line to cross.” My hand lifts, brushing the hair behind her shoulder so I can see every inch of emotion inher face. “If we do this, I’m not going to pretend it didn’t happen.”
She leans in closer, pressing her palms flat against my chest, and the warmth of her touch reaches straight through my olive green Henley. “I don’t want to pretend,” she says. “Not with you.”
Her forehead brushes against mine, the slightest, most devastating touch, and everything I’ve been holding back rises to the surface.
I tilt my head just enough so our noses graze. Her breath comes out in a desperate moan as it fans across my lips.
“You really want this?” I ask, my thumb softly brushing her jaw, the slight tremor in my touch revealing how badly I need her to say yes.
