Page 8 of One Night Rebellion
"What are we doing here?" I ask quietly.
"I don't know what you mean."
"Yes, you do." I let go of her wrist but don't pull back. "This thing between us. This tension. We both feel it."
She finishes pouring my beer with hands that are just slightly unsteady. "JT..."
"I know things are complicated. I know I left when I hurt my knee, didn't look back, and you're Malcolm's little sister."
Her cheeks flush as her eyes look around the bar. "I close in twenty minutes," she says quietly.
I nod, understanding that the serious part of our conversation is over for now. "I should probably head home anyway."
But I don't move. Neither does she.
"Addie," I say finally, my voice rougher than I intend.
"Yeah?"
"I need to know something."
She waits, her eyes locked on mine.
"What do you want? Do you want me to finish this beer, pay my tab, and go home to my parents' house like a good boy? Or..." I lean forward, my voice dropping to barely above a whisper. "Do you want to come out to my car with me when you're done here and let me kiss you the way I've been wanting to since the moment I saw you again?"
Her breath catches, and I can see her pulse hammering at the base of her throat. For a moment, I think she's going to tell me to leave. That this is too complicated, too risky, too much.
Instead, she leans forward until we're close enough that I can feel her breath against my lips.
"Just give me enough time to close up," she whispers.
I can’t fucking wait.
5
Addie
It’s stupid. It’s the dumbest damn thing I’ve ever done, and I’ve done plenty of dumb things. But this thing with JT feels like a boulder rolling downhill. Inevitable. Dangerous. Damaging. Unpredictable. Is any of that stopping me? Nope.
My hands are shaking a little as I lock the doors to the bar and head toward the parking lot. He’s there, leaning back against the door of the Mustang, arms crossed over his chest, the sleeves of his T-shirt stretched tight over biceps that are beyond impressive. It hits me then just how much he’s changed—physically. When he was younger, JT had that typical basketball player physique. Long, lean, definitely in shape but with no bulk. Now, without racing up and down the court constantly, he’s filled out some—his chest and shoulders a lot broader than they used to be, and his thighs? Well, that’s dangerous territory.
“I thought you might sneak out on me,” he says as I approach.
“I thought about it,” I admit. And I had. A dozen times. And each and every time I talked myself out of it because I know thatmy curiosity, my need to figure out this pull between us, will not just go away.
“You wanna go for a ride?”
“Are you gonna drive fast?” I ask him.
“Do you want me to?”
“It’s a Mustang,” I reply, the “duh” in my tone unmistakable.
He just grins and opens the door for me. I sink into the seat and try not to whimper as I finally get off my feet. One day, I will not be tending bar, waiting tables, or doing any work that will require me to stand on my feet all night long in uncomfortable shoes.
“You okay?”
I glance over at him and he’s watching me with concern. “Just feels good to sit down. Been a long night.”
