My body remembers before my head catches up—steam, her breath against my mouth, the way she chased mine when I pulled back.That near-miss still lives under my skin, a low simmer I haven’t shaken since that night.
I’ve replayed it more times than I’ll admit, the brush of her lips, the sound she made when I stopped.I promised myself I wouldn’t do that again.
Grace lifts her eyes, and whatever resolve I had fractures.Her arms fall away from her chest, shoulders loosening as the line she’s been holding quietly gives way.She steps close enough that her warmth bleeds into mine.
The dishtowel hits the floor, and my hand rises slowly, stopping just short of her waist.A question.A warning.She answers by closing the distance.
Her mouth finds mine, and there's nothing tentative about it this time.Certain and warm, her lips part—she's done waiting, last night's fuse finally burning down to this.
I groan into her, low and helpless, hand gripping her hip hard enough to anchor us both as I deepen the kiss.Grace melts into me, fingers curling into my shirt, body brushing mine.I devour her mouth, claiming it as mine, slow and thorough, enough to make my head spin and my control quietly unravel.
She tastes like want and speed, the hit I used to chase on the track when everything turned feral and right.I always believed nothing would ever match it.
Until now.
We break apart fast at the sound of footsteps.My chest heaves, jaw rigid, every nerve still lit with her name.
The color drains from her face as Blane freezes inside the kitchen doorway, camera strap sliding off his shoulder, eyes bouncing between us.A slow, knowing grin spreads across his face, sharp and satisfied, like he’s confirmed a theory he’s been running since he arrived.
“Well.”He adjusts the strap with elaborate casualness, gaze sliding to Grace with something that sits on the wrong side of friendly.“Interesting angle for a profile piece.Pretty sure Toby has opinions about reporters getting this close to their subjects.”He takes a beat, light as air, pointed as a blade.
“Guess who’s officially moved in.”He grins, clapping his hands together.
“Lucky us.”I open a cabinet I don’t need anything from to keep from saying what I’m thinking.
Because I clocked it—the threat wrapped in his too-big smile.What I can’t work out is whether Blane would go to her editor—I think that’s who Toby is—or whether it’s just leverage he’s filing away for later.
Either way, the fact he’s holding it over her head and timing the drop tells me everything I need to know about him.A man who’d use Grace’s career as a weapon isn’t someone who has her best interests at heart.
“Although there are still a few bags to haul up those stairs.”He grumbles, clearly looking for help.“On Monday, I’ll start getting footage at the school.”He drops into a chair, all loose limbs and manufactured ease.“Practice sessions, interviews, the works.”
“Fine.”I keep my tone even.“Just stay out of the kids’ way.”
“Of course.”He shoots Grace a wink.“I’ll stick close to Gracie.Always do.”
The nickname lands the same way it did at dinner—a clean spike of irritation I have no right to feel but can’t help.And Blane, who absolutely knows what he walked in on, is enjoying every second.
Grace produces a painful smile, the kind that costs her something.“Let’s get the rest of your stuff upstairs.”
She’s already moving toward the hallway, and he follows—too close, still grinning.Even from behind, I track the tension in the way she holds herself, the oversized sleeves of my sweatshirt swallowing her hands.
My guess is she’ll do damage control; after all, he threatened her career.While it makes sense, I don’t like it.A sharp burning sensation radiates from the center of my chest as I watch her go to clean up a mess he created.
I stay in the kitchen long after the house quiets, and when I finally head upstairs, sleep takes its time arriving.My mind keeps pulling me back to tonight.
Grace laughing softly into her napkin, tucking her hair behind her ear, leaning incrementally closer without seeming to notice.The way she’d fisted my shirt.The sound she made against my mouth.The scent of her still clinging to my hands.
Somewhere between the fire and tonight, I stopped seeing her as someone temporarily passing through my world, and that rattles me.Because wanting her—really wanting her—might be the biggest mistake I could make.And I’m starting to suspect I’m going to make it anyway.
Sunday morning comes too fast, and Blane is already at the kitchen table when I walk in.My mother hums at the stove, and his equipment and bags somehow take over half the kitchen.
“Good morning, Coach.”He’s insufferably bright, the kind of cheerful that comes from having something to smile about.
He glances at his watch as Grace comes in from what looks like a run, hair pulled back, a few damp strands escaping at her temples, cheeks flushed, chest rising with steady breaths.
She’s wearing a fitted long-sleeve shirt that hugs every line of her torso and leggings that leave absolutely nothing about the shape of her legs to the imagination.And I’m not sure if I prefer her in these skin-tight clothes or my sweatshirt.
The sight of her hits low and immediate, and I square my shoulders, ordering my hands to stay where they are.