Page 75 of Top Shelf

His words slice through me one by one because part of me still feels like that girl. Shattered. Lost. Powerless. But when Ronan says it, when he looks at me like that, I almost believe I’m something more. Someone stronger.

“You are no longer that woman who has been hiding away. You are stronger than that. I know it, and you know it.” He watches me, eyes sharp and knowing. “You’re letting fear cloud your true potential. Open your eyes and realize you don’t have to be afraid anymore, because you are no longer alone. We arehere. We have been from the very beginning. We’ve just been waiting foryouto realize that.”

He removes his other hand from the wall. The backs of his fingers brush my cheek before his thumb skims the edge of my throat. He leans in, his lips ghosting along my jaw. My eyes drift shut, my head falling back as my blood dances with glee at having him so near.

He trails a path up to my ear, whispering. “You have no idea how much it is killing me not to kiss you right now.”

“So why don’t you?”

The words are out of my mouth before my brain has a chance to process them, but I don’t regret them. Don’t scramble to take them back. Iwantto feel his lips on mine. I want it so badly that every fiber of my being strains to eliminate the last bit of distance between us.

“Because when I kiss you, it’s going to change everything. And you don’t get to have that until you’re ready to face the truth.”

A lump forms in my throat, but I don’t feel the usual fear when I consider asking that question. After talking it through with Dylan, I think I might actually be ready.

Despite saying he wouldn’t go any further, Ronan lingers there, his lips brushing my skin like he can’t bring himself to withdraw.

“Cap! Coach wants you!”

The call from down the hall breaks the wrought moment between us. However, Ronan doesn’t move immediately. His hand rests against my cheek, thumb pressing lightly into my throat as his eyes blaze.

Then, slowly, as though pained, he pulls back.

“Find a new seat,” he practically orders, voice deep and commanding,so it takes me a second to register his words.

I blink. “What?”

“The guy sitting next to you.” His voice hardens. “Don’t think I didn’t see him. Sit somewhere else, or so help me God, I will hop the boards and drag you to a vacant seat.”

With a final brush of his fingers along my skin, he turns, stalking out of the stairwell like a soldier on a mission.

Alone, I fall back against the wall again and let out a long, shaky breath.

Holy. Shit.

The TV bathes my apartment in flickering pastel light. There’s half-eaten popcorn in the bowl between us, our mugs of hot chocolate long since drained, although the scent of chocolate and cinnamon still lingers in the air. I sniffle quietly at the closing montage of the rom-com we just finished. Dylan—being the decent friend she is—is pretending not to notice, even though I’ve cried at this ending too many times to count.

We’ve done this a hundred times before—blanket forts, sugar highs, emotional damage courtesy of whatever love story I decided to subject us to—but somehow, it still feels like home.

Dylan sighs contentedly, her legs tangled with mine beneath a shared blanket, her head tilted back on the couch cushion. We came back to my apartment after tonight’s game, choosing the quiet and time to ourselves over going out to celebrate the Steelhawks’ win. It feels exactly like old times, and a pang glances through my chest at the thought of Dylan leaving tomorrow.

Oh, how I’ve missed this.

“I’ve missed this,” Dylan murmurs, as though reading my mind. She rolls to her side, elbow propped on the couch arm. “I hate that I have to leave in the morning.”

“Me too.” I pick at the fraying edge of the throw pillow between us. “It’s been really good having you here.”

She gives me a soft smile, even as she kicks me in the shin beneath the blanket. “Then stop ignoring my calls and texts. We could be doing this virtually. I know it’s not the same, but I need my Wren-time.”

I smirk, shaking my head at her humor. “I will,” I promise her.

She narrows her eyes, then jabs me in the side with two fingers. “Swear on your love of all things color—which, by the way, why does this place still look like the inside of an insane asylum?!” She shakes the beige throw pillow in front of me to emphasize her point.

I snort, batting her hand away, before I shrug. “I dunno. Guess I haven’t really felt like decorating.”

A beat passes, the smile fading from her lips. “Well, you’ll decorate when you feel like it.” Her hand moves to rest over mine on top of the blanket. “You’re not alone in this, Wren. I mean it. I might be two hundred and fifty miles away, but if you need me, you know I’ll be here in a heartbeat.”

My chest tightens. “I know.”