Page 6 of Triple Play
“I’m broken.”
“You’re human.”
He looks at me then. Really looks, as if he’s seeing me for the first time.
“When did you get so smart?”
“I’ve always been smart. You just never paid attention.”
“That’s not true.” His voice drops lower, dangerous. “I’ve been paying attention.”
My breath catches. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
The air between us is electric, charged with two years of unspoken want and tonight’s bourbon-soaked honesty.
“I’ve wanted to do something for three years,” I hear myself say—brave or stupid, or both.
“What’s that?”
Instead of answering, I lean in and kiss him.
For one terrible second, he doesn’t move. He just sits there frozen while my heart tries to climb out of my chest.
Then his hand slides into my hair, and he kisses me back.
It’s not gentle. Not careful. It’s desperate and hungry, tasting like bourbon, recklessness, and hope. His other hand cups my jaw, tilting my face up, and I open for him with a sound that’s embarrassingly needy.
He makes a noise low in his throat and pulls me closer. I end up half in his lap, my hands fisted in his jacket, kissing him like he’s oxygen and I’ve been drowning.
When we break apart, we’re both breathing hard. His forehead rests against mine, and his eyes are closed.
“I’ve wanted to do that for three years,” I whisper against his mouth.
His eyes open. They’re no longer ice; they’re molten.
“Three years?”
“Give or take.”
“Elise—”
I kiss him again before he can overthink it, before he can talk himself out of this, before reality comes crashing back.
This time, when we pull apart, he’s smiling. Really smiling. It transforms his face, making him look younger, lighter.
“We should probably go back.” But he doesn’t move. Neither do I.
“Probably.”
“Teddy’s going to wonder where we went.”
“Let him wonder.”
He laughs. The sound is rusty, as if he hasn’t used it in months. “You’re trouble, Hart.”
“You have no idea, Wilder.”
