Page 37 of After All This Time

I raise my hands in surrender, and her laugh fills the car—bright, unrestrained, beautiful.Dangerous.

But even as I laugh alongside her, I can feel the tension coiling low in my chest.

We make it back to the apartment, and I follow her inside, watching as she heads straight for the fridge, grabbing a bottleof water. She unscrews the cap and takes a long sip, her throat moving in a way that pulls my attention, before she settles onto one of the stools at the kitchen island.

"You got plans tonight?" I ask her.

"Thinking about getting an hour of dance in, maybe a bath, then an early night."

I find myself grinning. "Rock 'n' roll, Firefly."

She rolls her eyes, and a playful smile dances across her lips. "What are you doing tonight?"

"I was going to see if Harry wanted to grab a beer."

"Are we still going out tomorrow night?"

"Yeah. I think everyone's in."

"Okay." She stands and screws the cap back on her bottle. "I'll see you tomorrow."

And with that, she's gone, strolling down the hall and out of sight. I run a hand through my hair, the frustration hitting hard as I let out the breath I've purposely been holding.

I'm so far beyond fucked-up right now, it's not even funny.

Pushing that down, I pull out my phone and fire off a message to Harry.

TOBIAS

Beers tonight? I can get there by 8.

HARRY

Sure. Where?

TOBIAS

Frank's?

HARRY

I'll see you there.

Chapter 15

Tobias

After a quick shower, I put on some black jeans and tug a white T-shirt over my head. My rings slide back onto my fingers before I add a quick spray of cologne.

When I step out of my room, the house feels quiet—except for the faint hum of music drifting from Amelia's door.

She's dancing.

I know I should turn around, keep walking, and pretend I didn't hear anything, but my feet betray me, pulling me closer. Each step feels heavier than the last, like some part of me knows exactly how bad an idea this is.

Her door is cracked open, and before I can talk myself out of it, I find myself standing there. My fingers reach for the edge of the little sliding door that leads to her makeshift dance room. I know I shouldn't—God, I really do know—but my hand moves anyway, sliding the door open just enough for me to peer inside like some kind of deranged voyeur who's clearly lost his fucking mind.

She's in this baby-blue crop top and matching shorts that are doing me no favors. They cling to every curve, every damn line tracing the dip of her waist and the soft swell of her hips. My imagination betrays me, racing off on its own twisted little adventure—her stripped bare, back arched against that barre, my body caging hers, her legs spread while I slide...

---