Page 81 of Shots & Echoes

Her jaw tightened at my words. “What do you want from me?” For a moment, silence filled the air again—a heavy pause thick with possibilities—and I could see it in her eyes: uncertainty mingled with something darker beneath it all. Something dangerous.

The real question lingered between us: Would she take that step toward the fire?

“Why are you playing with him when you know it won’t ever be the same?” I asked.

Her breath hitched—just slightly—but I caught it. The flicker of hesitation, the way her fingers curled against her jersey like she needed something to hold onto. It was all the confirmation I needed.

I took another step forward, closing the distance between us, my presence pressing against her like a storm rolling in. She didn’t back away.

“Tell me I’m wrong, Evans.” My voice was quieter now, rougher, barely above a whisper.

She swallowed hard, her throat working around whatever response she wanted to give—but didn’t. Instead, she exhaled sharply, her chin lifting in that stubborn way that made my blood burn.

“I don’t have time for this,” she muttered, turning toward her locker like she could just shut me out.

Wrong move.

I reached out, bracing my hand against the metal beside her head before she could fully turn away. Not trapping her—not yet.But keeping her here, keeping her in this charged, inescapable moment.

Her breathing quickened. I could feel it—hell, I could practically hear her heart hammering, matching mine beat for beat.

“You think Langley’s the better choice?” The words scraped out of me, darker than I intended. “Think he can push you like I can? Make you better?”

Her head snapped toward me, eyes burning with irritation—and something deeper, something she didn’t want to name. “Chris isn’t?—”

I huffed a quiet laugh, cutting her off. “Chris isn’t what? What you want?”

The silence between us thickened. Daring her to say it.

Her lips parted, but no words came out. I watched her fight against the truth, fight against herself. But I saw it—I felt it.

She was already gone.

My fingers twitched against the locker, itching to grab her, to pull her in and end whatever this war was between us.

Instead, I waited—waited for her to break first.

I could see it—the way her body betrayed her. The rise and fall of her chest, the slight tremor in her fingers as she gripped the edge of the locker behind her. She was trying to fight it, trying to shove down whatever this thing between us was, but I saw right through her.

She wanted this.

I leaned in, just enough for my breath to brush against her skin. “Tell me I’m wrong,” I murmured, my voice dark, daring.

She stayed silent.

That was all the answer I needed.

I reached out slowly, my fingers trailing along the edge of the metal beside her head—not touching her, not yet, but caging her in. She tensed, but she didn’t move away. She held my stare, fireflickering in her eyes, that same damn defiance that made me want to push her, break her, own her.

“You think I don’t know what’s going on in that head of yours?” I tilted my head slightly, watching as she sucked in a sharp breath. “You can fuck around with Langley all you want, but when you lay in bed at night, when you can’t stop thinking—who is it that gets under your skin?”

Her lips parted slightly, her throat bobbing as she swallowed, but she still didn’t speak.

I smirked. “That’s what I thought.”

My hand finally moved—slow, deliberate—trailing down, just barely grazing the hem of her jersey. Not enough to be innocent, but not enough to be a touch either.

Her breath shuddered, and for a split second, she leaned into it.

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