Page 61 of The Rookie

I swallow hard, tilting my chin up, refusing to let him see how much he’s affecting me.

But he already knows.

Because his eyes flicker down—just for a second.

Just long enough to trace the rapid rise and fall of my chest.

Just long enough to make my stomach tighten, my thighs press together.

His breath is warm, teasing, dangerous against my cheek.

My pulse is a frenzied drumbeat, my entire body betraying me.

Because suddenly, all I can think about is his mouth.

His lips, right there, inches from mine, hovering, waiting.

I should push him away. I should say something sharp, something biting, something to break the tension before I do something stupid.

But I don’t.

Because right now, I want him to kiss me.

Badly.

So badly it’s pathetic.

His gaze flickers back up, and then—the bastard smirks.

“Careful, Sinclair,” he murmurs, his voice low, knowing, devastating.

“You look like you want me to kiss you.”

I freeze.

Heat flares in my cheeks, creeping down my neck, and my entire body reacts before my brain does.

I shove my palm against his chest, forcing him to step back, hoping he can’t feel the way my fingers trembled for just a second too long.

“I told you. It was one time. That was a drunken mistake. Obviously, since as soon as my buzz wore off I came to my senses.”

He just chuckles, running a hand through his hair, completely unaffected.

“If you say so, Sinclair. If you say so.”

And as I push past him and storm out the door, my heart slamming against my ribs, I have one single, undeniable realization.

I wanted him to.

I really, really wanted him to.

nineteen

. . .

Avery

The outdoor restaurant is packed,the air thick with the sound of laughter, clinking glasses, and the rhythmic hum of the live band warming up on the patio. The string lights overhead give everything a warm, golden glow, and I can’t help but smile as our group finds a table near the edge of the dance floor.

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