His gaze drops to my mouth.
My body answers so fast shame follows right behind it.
I stand abruptly. “I should go to bed.”
He stands too, not moving toward me. “Yeah.”
Neither of us moves.
The hallway waits.
The couch waits.
The house waits.
I pick up my water glass because I need something to do with my hands. “Thank you for tonight.”
“Which part?”
“All of it.”
“Even Cornbread?”
“No.”
“Fair.”
I smile.
So does he.
For a second, it’s almost easy.
Then the almost-kiss returns between us, heavy and hot and unsolved.
I take one step toward the hall.
Derby’s voice stops me.
“Amelia.”
I turn.
He stands by the couch, blanket in one hand, cut draped over the chair behind him, hair messy from the ride, eyes dark in the lamplight.
“You did good tonight,” he says.
My throat tightens.
I want to tell him I’m tired of doing good. I want to tell him I’m tired of surviving. I want to tell him I wanted his mouth because for one second in that alley, wanting felt like something I chose instead of something taken from me.
Instead, I say, “So did you.”
His expression shifts.
Like maybe no one says that to him often.
Or maybe no one says it about things that don’t involve violence, bikes, or blood.