Page 67 of Make the Play

But the press is watching, and the moment is stretching. This is our first public outing, and I know exactly how this plays if we screw it up. We have to sell this.

So, before I can talk myself out of it, before I can fully think it through, I turn, grab the lapels of his jacket, and pull him in.

Chase stills for half a second, his breath catching as his hands hover, still processing what’s happening. Then his fingers snap to my waist, pulling me flush against him as his mouth meets mine.

He tilts his head, deepening it just enough to be dangerous, and before I know it, a palm slides up along my jaw, fingers threading into the nape of my neck.

His mouth moves against mine, so firm and warm and a little too eager. Like he’s not thinking about the cameras at all, like he’s forgotten this is supposed to be fake.

And suddenly, it’s not just one kiss.

It’s two as we smile against each other’s lips.

Three, when we laugh into it.

It’s his grip tightening at my waist, my fingers curling against his jacket, the way his breath hitches like he’s just as caught in this as I am.

But just before I can fully register that this might be a mistake, that it might mean something it shouldn’t, he’s the one to pull away first. Not me. Him.

Chase exhales roughly, blinking to try and clear his head, looking as though he can’t figure out what the fuck just happened either. His hands fall away, his gaze flickering over my face.

I take a step back, forcing a slow and easy smile, keeping up the act even though my heart is slamming against my ribs.

“See?” I say lightly, even though my fingers are still curled into his jacket. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

Chase stares at me, but it’s not playful and it’s not funny. Because for the first time since I’ve known him, he doesn’t have a comeback.

Just a soft breath of laughter, as if he’s trying to pull himself back together.

Then, without a word, he grabs my hand and tugs me toward his SUV, leaving behind the cameras, the questions, and whatever the hell that just was.

He opens the door for me, and I slide into the passenger seat. I watch as he rounds the hood, movements a little too controlled, before sinking into the driver’s seat.

As the SUV pulls away from the restaurant, Chase remains quiet.

Not his usual scheming kind of quiet, where he’s planning his next dumbass move. This quiet is different.

His jaw tics as he stares out the windshield, one hand gripping the wheel, the other resting on the gear shift. Normally, he’d be smirking, teasing, finding some way to get under my skin. But right now, he’s somewhere else entirely.

And I don’t know why that bothers me.

I clear my throat, shifting in my seat. “Not even gonna gloat? I’d think a public make-out session would be the highlight of your night.”

Chase huffs a quiet laugh, but it’s barely there. “Funny.”

I wait for him to follow it up with something. A joke. A cocky remark, anything.

But nothing comes.

He just keeps driving, fingers flexing against the leather steering wheel while he works something out in his head.

My stomach twists, a strange flicker of discomfort creeping in. I don’t know what I expected after that kiss, but it wasn’t this.

So I try again. “If you’re spiraling because I took charge, I get it. It’s gotta be humbling, getting manhandled like that in front of an audience.”

“Humbling? Sweetheart, I’d let you manhandle me anytime.”

The words come out a little too slow, a little too deliberate, as if he’s trying to settle back into his usual rhythm. But it doesn’t land the same way.

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