Page 139 of Before We Were

Her answer comes in the form of a kiss—soft at first, then igniting.

"Stay," she breathes against my mouth.

She's my worst fucking addiction.

I recognize it in every tingling nerve ending, every fixated thought. Wanting her is pure compulsion, raw need. Guilt wars with desire as I back her onto the workbench, hands pushing her dress up to grip the soft curves of her thighs. Her whimper shoots straight through me as I explore her mouth, tasting sweetness that puts honey to shame. Her kiss is shy but electric, setting my blood on fire in ways no one else ever has. Her body presses against mine, drawing out a groan as I pull her closer, fingers threading through silken hair that smells of vanilla and summer promises.

One second.

That's all it took for everything to change.

One second to come alive again.

One second to fall even harder for the girl who's held my heart hostage since we were kids.

"Your heart is beating so fast." She smirks against my lips. "Do I make you nervous, Nate?"

"Yeah," I admit. "You do."

Her laugh is pure music, melting my defenses. I kiss her again, pouring everything I've never said into her before slowly pulling away, letting the taste of her linger on my lips.

"Sometimes I don't know how to be in the same space with you."

"Why?"

"You make me feel," I confess rawly. "Everything. All at once. You make me feel better, and I'm not sure if I'm allowed to feel better. When I find what I want, I fucking drown in it." The truth burns my throat. "I can't do that with you. I can't drown you in my shit."

Her eyes soften like morning light. "You're right. You do drown in the things you want. You always have. But you want to know what I think? Someone who gets their addictions confused with a true need to feel things. That energy, that passion, it's yours to own, not the substances around you. When you love, you love hard. That fire inside you, Nate… it's you."

She retrieves the pills from the table, and shame threatens to swallow me whole.

"This," she holds up the bags, "this isn't you. Fight me on it all you want, but your walls are useless when I've seen the parts of you the rest of the world doesn't see. So, no. I won't walk away. And no, you won't be doing this on your own anymore. And no, the devil doesn't get to win this time."

She stands close enough that I can map every shade of green in her eyes—emerald, sage, olive, moss, mint—all swirling with intensity that steals my breath. A glance becomes an intimate exchange, a peek through the keyhole of someone's world into a vault containing everything they are. Their vulnerability, pain, vitality, power.

"Your demons don't scare me, Nate."

Our hands intertwine, and the universe tips sideways. It's more than touch—it's collision, sending shockwaves through my system. Her skin against mine feels like fate, like no matter how broken the path, we were always meant to find each other.

Again and again and again.

"Want to get out of here?" My voice comes out rough with need.

She hesitates, eyes darting between me and the evidence of my almost-breakdown, before nodding. I grab the bags of pills and hand them to her.

"Thank you."

"For what?"

"For saving me from myself."

Again.

The Mustang'sengine rumbles through the night, a steady heartbeat beneath our unspoken words. The pull between us is magnetic, impossible to ignore.

"I have your birthday present," I say softly when we stop.

"Nate, you didn't have to??—"

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