My skin feels like it’s on fire. Like he lit a match just by existing in the same fucking dimension as me.
This is so stupid. This is monumentally, catastrophically stupid.
“Grayson.” His name slips out soft, like I’m confessing to a crime I haven’t committed yet.
He steps closer but doesn’t touch. Just stares like I’m the final question on a test he’s been studying for his entire life and he’s terrified of getting it wrong.
Say something sarcastic. Make a joke. Build a wall.
Instead, I just stand there like a deer caught in very expensive headlights.
“Say stop,” he murmurs, voice rough around the edges.
Say it. Say the word. Save yourself.
But my mouth won’t cooperate because apparently my self-preservation instincts are on permanent vacation.
“What if I don’t want to?” The words tumble out before I can stop them.
His eyes darken. “Then we’re both in trouble.”
“I like trouble.”
“Do you now?” His fingers graze my jaw, featherlight, like he’s touching something precious. “That’s interesting.”
“I’m full of surprises.”
“I’m starting to figure that out.”
His thumb traces down my throat, stopping at my collar. My pulse hammers against his touch like it’s trying to escape my body.
“Your heart’s racing.”
“Stellar observation skills. You should consider a career in medicine.”
“Smart-ass.”
“It’s one of my better qualities.”
“It really fucking is.”
Don’t smile. Do not smile at him. This is not cute banter, this is—
He kisses me.
Oh. Oh shit.
This isn’t like the chapel disaster. This is slower, more controlled, like he’s memorizing every second in case it’s the last time. His mouth moves against mine with this careful intensity that makes my knees forget how to function.
“Damn,” I breathe against his lips.
“Good damn or bad damn?”
“Jury’s still deliberating.”
My back hits the wall and suddenly his hands are everywhere—threading through my hair, skimming my waist, mapping territory I didn’t know I wanted him to claim.
“This is insane,” I whisper.
“Completely.” His lips find my neck. “Want me to stop being insane?”
“Ask me in five minutes.”
He laughs against my skin, and the sound does something absolutely traitorous to my stomach. “I’ve been thinking about this.”
“Thinking about what exactly?”
“You. Against this wall. Making those little sounds you’re trying not to make.”
Heat floods my face. “I’m not making sounds.”
“You will be.”
Jesus Christ.
My cardigan slides off my shoulders like silk, pooling at our feet. His mouth trails down my throat, and I can’t think, can’t breathe, can’t remember why this is a terrible idea.
“Still with me?” he murmurs against my collarbone.
“Unfortunately.”
“Unfortunately?”
“I was hoping you’d be terrible at this. Would make my life so much easier.”
“Sorry to disappoint.”
“You’re not sorry at all.”
“Not even a little bit.”
His hands slide down my sides, thumbs tracing patterns that make my brain short-circuit. When he reaches my hips, pulling me closer, I bite down on a sound that’s definitely not appropriate for public consumption.
“There it is,” he says, satisfied.
“Shut up.”
“Make me.”
Challenge accepted.
I kiss him this time, harder, less careful. He responds immediately, backing me further against the wall, one hand braced beside my head while the other—
Fuck fuck fuck this is happening this is actually happening and I want it to happen and that’s terrifying because I don’t want things like this I’m the girl who doesn’t want things—
His mouth moves lower, brushing the edge of my bra strap, and reality crashes back like a bucket of ice water.
“Wait—stop.” I shove him back, hard.
He freezes instantly, hands dropping, stepping back like I’ve slapped him.
“What’s wrong?” His voice is hoarse, concerned.
“This is—” I can’t catch my breath. “This is crazy.”
“Crazy bad or crazy good?”
“Crazy terrifying.”
He runs a hand through his hair, making it stick up in all directions. “We can slow down.”
“I can’t—” Breathe. Think. Function like a normal human being. “I don’t do this.”
“Do what?”
“Lose control. Make out with boys in abandoned rooms. Have feelings that aren’t perfectly organized and color-coded.”
“Juliet—”
“No.” I cross my arms like armor. “This was a mistake.”
“Was it?” He’s watching me carefully, like I’m a bomb that might explode. “Because it didn’t feel like a mistake.”
“It felt like drowning.”
“In a good way?”
Yes. In the best possible way. In a way that makes me want to drown completely.
“In a way that scares the shit out of me.”
He nods slowly. “Okay. We’ll figure it out.”
“There’s no ‘we’ll figure it out.’ There’s no ‘we’ anything.”
Something flickers across his face—hurt, maybe, or disappointment. “If that’s what you want.”
It’s not what I want. It’s what I need. There’s a difference.
“I need to go.” I grab my cardigan, shoving it into my bag with shaking hands.
“Juliet, wait—”
“I can’t do this, Grayson. I can’t be whatever you want me to be.”
“I don’t want you to be anything. I want you to be you.”
“You don’t even know who that is.”
“Then let me find out.”
My hand is on the door handle when he speaks again.
“You’re not the only one scared of this.”
I freeze. “What?”
“You think this is easy for me? You think I go around setting up candlelit rooms for every girl I want to kiss?”
Don’t turn around. Don’t look at him. Don’t give him another chance to destroy your carefully constructed world.
I bolt into the hallway, heart pounding, shoes echoing off cracked tiles.
This isn’t me. This isn’t who I am.
30
