Page 40 of Flag On The Play
I stop a few feet from her, trying not to devour her with my eyes.
“Nova, I know you don’t believe me, or maybe you don’t want to, but something happened between us. And I’m not talking about just hooking up. I’m talking about this. Whatever this is. It’s been years in the making, and I’m not about to walk away because you’re scared.”
She exhales slowly. “I’m not scared.”
“Bullshit. You’re terrified.”
Her mouth opens ready to fire, but then she closes it again. Her gaze drops for half a second before snapping back up. “I don’t want to be your good luck charm, Finlay. I don’t want to be some weird performance booster that you latch onto until you’ve gotten what you want. I want to matter or not be anything at all.”
My chest tightens. “You already matter. You always mattered. Even when I was too young and stupid to understand why.”
Silence stretches between us. Heavy and uncertain.
She shakes her head slowly, voice quieter now. “You really wanna go all in on this, huh?”
I step close enough that we’re toe to toe, our bodies just not touching. “I’m not giving up on us before it even starts.”
“And if I push you away again?”
I smirk. “Then I’ll come back again. You should know by now, I don’t give up easily.”
Her eyes search mine, like she’s trying to find the lie in all of this.
And when she doesn’t find one, she finally whispers, “You’re exhausting, Reed.”
“You’re infuriating, Wilde.”
Then we both laugh, soft and breathless.
God, I love this fire between us.
And I’m not about to let it burn out now.
“You really think this is a good idea?” she asks, her voice barely above a whisper, eyes locked on mine.
“No,” I admit. “But when have we ever done things the good way?”
That earns me a small eye roll, but she doesn’t pull back. Doesn’t move. So I take one slow step closer until our chests nearly brush. The heat between us pulses like a live wire.
“Tell me to stop,” I murmur.
She doesn’t. She won’t. Her breathing hitches instead, chest rising just enough that I feel it, even without touching her.
So I take her face gently in my hand, my thumb brushing the corner of her mouth.
“Still not stopping me,” I whisper.
“I hate how good you smell,” she mutters back.
I chuckle. “That’s not a real protest.”
“It’s all I’ve got right now.”
And then I kiss her.
It’s not fast. Not rough. But it’s deep. Slow. Like I’m taking my time memorizing her mouth. And when her hands fist the front of my hoodie and pull me tighter to her, I know I’ve completely lost the last shred of self-control I was clinging to.
She walks me backward until the back of my knees hit her couch, and I drop down. She follows, straddling my lap, her thighs hugging either side of my hips, same as the other night, only this time it’s different. Slower. Hotter. More dangerous.
