And I let her.
Almost.
Until I don’t.
I don’t think—I move. Hand out, catching her waist before she can pass me fully. Her body stills beneath my touch, her breath hitching, but she doesn’t pull away. She waits. And that—God help me—is what undoes me.
One heartbeat. Two. The weight of what I shouldn’t want hangs heavy between us.
And then I’m kissing her.
Not carefully or slow. Just reckless contact—heat and guilt and something far more dangerous clawing its way to the surface. And Christ, it feels so damn good. She tastes so good.
She stumbles back, startled. Eyes wide, searching mine like she’s deciding whether to hit me or—
She grabs the front of my shirt and pulls me in.
And I fall.
The kiss turns hungry. Fierce. Her fingers curl into the fabric at my chest like she’s anchoring herself and setting fire to me all at once. Everything spins, and with it every line blurs.
And then just as suddenly, she pulls away. Slips past me without a word, without even a glance. Just gone as quick as it all happened.
The room feels too still in her absence. I stare at the space where she stood, heart pounding, already cursing myself for letting that happen. But I can’t pretend I didn’t want it. And worse—I already want more.
22
Nell
I make it two steps down the hall before my breath decides to compete with me.
It rushes in sharp and ragged, like I’ve just surfaced from deep water. My hand finds the wall—steadying, anchoring—because everything feels off-kilter now, like the floor’s tilted and no one warned me.
He kissed me.
No warning. No lead-in. Just heat and want and a hand at my waist like he knew exactly what would happen the moment he touched me.
And I let him.
Worse—I kissed him back.
I can still taste him on my lips. Still feel the press of his body against mine like an echo. And it wasn’t soft. It wasn’t gentle. It was a break in everything we’ve both been pretending isn’t there.
I should feel ashamed. Or furious. Or something other than this frantic, aching buzz pulsing under my skin.
But instead, I feel… seen. Exposed in a way I wasn’t ready for.
God, what the hell am I doing?
Boomerang winds around my legs like nothing’s changed. Like I didn’t just detonate a live wire in a house already built on tension.
I crouch and scratch behind his ears, pretending that helps. Pretending I’m still the same girl who stumbled into this place with a bruised skull and too much sarcasm. But something shifted in that room—something I can’t put back.
He hasn’t followed me. Which, I guess, is a good thing… right?
Space is good. Space is neutral. Space means I can breathe and maybe scrape together some kind of emotional sense out of what just happened.
Except I can’t.
