"At what?"
"Pretending you don't care."
"I'm not pretending."
"You are, and you're doing a shit job of it." I lean closer and lower my voice. "You want me, Rush. Just admit it."
His eyes meet mine and there's heat there. Real heat. "You don't know what you're talking about."
"Don't I? Your pupils dilate when you look at me, your jaw gets tight, and you can't seem to stay away even though you keep saying you should."
"You're observant."
"I'm Diesel's daughter. I grew up learning to read people."
He's quiet for a second, then he says, "You should stay away from me."
"Why?"
"Because I'm not good for you."
"You said that already. Try a new excuse."
"It's not an excuse. It's the truth."
I laugh. "You're scared."
"I'm not scared."
"You are. You're terrified of wanting something so you push it away before it can hurt you."
His hand tightens on his beer bottle. "You don't know anything about me."
"I know more than you think." I finish my wine and set the glass down. "I know you watch me like you're waiting for something bad to happen. I know you're wound so tight you're about to snap. And I know you want to kiss me, but you won't let yourself."
"Everly."
"Am I wrong?"
He doesn't answer, and that's answer enough.
I step closer, close enough that I can feel the heat coming off him. "Here's what I think. I think you've convinced yourself you're too dangerous or too broken or whatever bullshit story you're telling yourself. But the truth is you're just scared."
"You should walk away."
"Probably. But I've never been good at doing what I should."
His eyes drop to my mouth and the air between us feels charged, like static before a storm.
"This is a bad idea," he says.
"Most good things are."
He's about to respond, when Bozo calls his name from across the room.
Rush closes his eyes for a second. "I need to go."
"Of course you do."