Page 20 of Full Tilt
The silence stretches—too long. Too heavy. I can practically hear the sound of my own dignity crumbling. I pull myself together, or try to. My lips part, ready to mumble another awkward goodbye and retreat like the grown-arse man I’m not?—
“I can show you those sketches properly if you want,” he says suddenly. “Have a play with some of those changes you mentioned?”
I nod once, then again like my body’s been possessed by that damn car insurance dog. Because everything in me is screamingbad idea, walk away, rules, distance, control. But none of it’s stronger than the part of me that wants more.
His smile spreads, slow and brilliant. And fuck me dead, I am so screwed.
“You want to walk with me? Or your car…?”
“It’s safe in the car park around back,” I manage, voice slightly rough. “Macca, the owner, keeps it secure for players.”
He nods. “Come on, then.” He beckons, just a little gesture of his hand, and my feet?
Yeah, they move. Like he’s gravity. Like I’m the tide.
We fall into step side by side, the pub’s rowdy noise fading behind us. The air is cool, mist soft against the back of my neck. The path leads us past a few small shops—all closed up for the night, shutters down and glowing with the spill of distant streetlamps. The florist’s window still has fairy lights blinking across a sign that says, “Back tomorrow, unless the plants killme first.” A bakery sits next door, the scent of something faintly sweet still clinging to the pavement.
We pass an alley that cuts behind the row—narrow and dark, leading to the other side of the block where there’s an old mural half gone with age and probably a dozen foxes nesting in the bins.
The silence between us hums. Not awkward. Not exactly. It’s tense. Thick.
Every step is heavy with awareness. Of the space between our arms. The brush of his shoulder. The fact that I can hear his breathing shift when I glance at him from the corner of my eye.
I cast him a look—half a glance, just to gauge. He swallows. His throat bobs. And then he goes and does it again. He plays with that fucking lip ring, and I might actually self-destruct.
The alley catches my eye—the narrow one, shadowed between the newsagents and the mural-stained wall. It’s barely lit, tucked out of view from the main street, and before I know what the hell I’m doing, my hand is on Brent’s wrist.
He looks over, surprised—but not alarmed.
He’s still smiling, still following.
I tug him towards the mouth of the alley and press him back against the wall before I can talk myself out of it. He gasps—not shocked, more breathless—and his eyes flare wide. His back hits the brick, and he laughs under his breath, lips parted, gaze locked on me with something that looks a lot like yes.
“Well,” he says, voice low and playful, “hello, Captain.”
I freeze. Just for a second. Because fuck—I didn’t plan this. Didn’t think. I don’t do this. Dragging someone into the dark like some walking cliché.
Brent’s not just anyone, though. He’s a guy I have to work with on my tattoo, someone whose voice has been living in my head since I met him. Someone who makes me want things I’ve trained myself not to want.
And here I am, pressing him to a wall like I know what I’m doing.
My heart’s thudding loud enough that I can feel it in my throat. And now? Now I’m second-guessing everything. “Shit,” I murmur, dropping my head for half a second. “Sorry, I don’t usually drag… this isn’t?—”
He tilts his head, still smiling. “Camden.”
My eyes lift.
“Breathe.” That smile’s still there, softening everything. His hand curls lightly around my wrist. “You’re not dragging me. I came.”
His words tug something loose in my chest. Still, I can’t quite let the tension go. “I don’t do this,” I admit, voice gravelled and too honest. “I don’t… react like this. I don’t know you.”
“Not yet,” he says gently. “But you could.”
That lands harder than I expect. Not pushy. Not smug. Just… possible. Then he moves and spins us.
I let him, too stunned to stop it.
My back hits the wall with a muted thump, and he steps in, close enough that his breath skims my jaw. One of his arms braces beside my head. The other curls just slightly at my waist.
