"Good," he fires back, voice rough. "Because you sure as hell make me crazy too."
He's so close now that I can see a bead of sweat run down his temple, catching the last of the daylight. My breath hitches. His anger radiates off him, but underneath it, there's something else, something that coils low in my stomach. I try to back up, but he follows, every step forward closing me in until my back nearly hits the fence. My chest rises and falls too fast, and all I can think is how unfair it is that someone who makes me this furious can also make me want to drown in him.
And before I can stop myself, before I can think about what a mistake it is, my mouth is on his.
His lips are hot against mine, rough and demanding. For a split second, he freezes, like he can't believe what's happening, andthen his hands are in my hair, pulling me closer. I taste cola and mint on his tongue, feel the scrape of his stubble against my skin, and it makes my knees go weak. My fingers dig into his shoulders, feeling the solid muscle beneath his shirt.
I'm drowning in the taste of him, in the way his callused thumb traces my jaw, treating me as something precious he's afraid to break. The kiss deepens, and I lose myself completely, forgetting why I came here, forgetting the papers folded in my back pocket, forgetting everything except the way his body feels pressed against mine.
It's wrong. God, it's wrong. He's the enemy. He's the line I shouldn't cross. And yet I can't stop.
When we finally break apart, both of us breathing hard, and the world feels tilted. His forehead rests against mine for a heartbeat, his breath hot against my skin.
"That," he says, voice ragged, "was a mistake."
I swallow hard, my lips still tingling. "You think I don't know that?"
His thumb brushes my jaw before he pulls back, eyes searching mine with something I can't name. "It didn't mean anything."
I force a laugh that sounds brittle even to me. "Of course not."
But my hands are shaking. I try to settle them hoping he doesn't notice, but I know he does. His gaze drops to where my fists tremble against my hips, and something flickers in his eyes that scares me more than his anger ever could.
I take a step back, then another, until there's space between us again. Space I desperately need if I'm going to breathe.
"I should go," I manage, voice barely steady.
He doesn't stop me. Doesn't say a word as I turn and walk back to my car, each step heavier than the last. I slide into the driver's seat, hands gripping the wheel, heart pounding so hard I think it might bruise my ribs.
The drive back into town is a blur. My mind replays every second of that kiss, every word we threw like knives, every flicker of heat that should never have been there. My lips still burn with the memory of him, and no matter how hard I tell myself it was nothing, my body knows better.
At a red light, I lift my fingers to my mouth, brushing lightly over them as if I could erase the feel of him if I tried hard enough. But all it does is make the memory sharper, deeper.
I whisper into the quiet of my car, a confession meant for no one but me. "It meant nothing."
But my voice shakes. My hands shake. And the truth settles like a stone in my chest.
It meant everything.
Chapter 16
Asher
These dinners at Josh and Jenna's place are supposed to be simple. A little noisy, a little chaotic, but always grounding. Before I even park my truck, the smell of roast chicken drifts through the open windows. The sun dipping behind the ridge, the sound of my brothers' voices carrying across the porch, this is what I look forward to every week.
Then I see her car.
I freeze halfway to the front door, my stomach tightening.
Kassi.
She's here.
Mom's smile is waiting at the door, bright as ever. "There's my Bear," she says, tugging me down for a kiss on the cheek before I can even greet her. "Hurry up, everyone's already inside."
Kissing Mom's cheek, I step past her and head inside. I walk into the living room, where Zach and Finn are already sprawled out, trading jabs while Dad watches them. The living room smells like rosemary and biscuits, Jenna's touch in every detail, from the candles flickering on the mantle to the throw blankets draped over chairs.
Jenna is in the kitchen putting the finishing touches on the salad. Josh hovers over her shoulder, stealing croutons until she swats at him with the tongs. They look stupidly happy, and even though I'm glad for them, longing slips in uninvited.