Not blocking, just there.
She stops when she sees me. "You're hovering."
"Just making sure you're okay."
"I went to the bathroom, Rush, not into a war zone."
"I know."
She steps closer, and I can smell that clean, sharp scent of hers. It makes my jaw tight. "You always this paranoid?"
"Pretty much."
"Must be exhausting."
"It is."
She tilts her head and studies me. Her eyes are dark and they miss nothing. "What are you so afraid of?"
The question lands like a punch, and for a second I can't breathe.
What am I afraid of?
Losing control, hurting someone, becoming the person I was in juvie.
But I can't say that, so I just say, "Nothing."
"Liar." She says it with a small smile but there's something sharp underneath. "You're wound so tight I'm surprised you don't snap."
"I don't snap."
"Everyone snaps eventually."
"Not me."
"We'll see." She moves to walk past me and her arm brushes mine—just barely, but the contact makes my skin hot.
I grab her wrist without thinking—not hard, just enough to stop her.
She goes still and looks down at my hand, then up at my face. "Rush."
I should let go, should step back, should put distance between us.
But I don't.
Instead, I pull her closer—just slightly, testing.
She doesn't pull away, and that's all the permission I need.
I lean in and her breath catches. Her eyes drop to my mouth and everything else disappears.
The clubhouse, the noise, the people—all of it fades until it's just her.
I'm a second away from kissing her when someone calls my name.
"Rush, Pyro needs you in the chapel."
The spell breaks and I let go of her wrist, step back fast.