Wade pov
I know I should move my hand. But I don't. Because knowing and doing aren't currently on speaking terms. So, it stays at her waist, steady and certain, like it found the right place and decided not to question it. My palm rests there as if it belongs, as if it has always belonged, and for the first time in longer than I want to think about, something inside my chest doesn't feel hollow.
She doesn't pull away either.
That's what gets me.
Not the closeness.
Not the way her body fits just a little too easily against mine.
It's the fact that she lets it happen.
That she stays.
That she doesn't correct me.
That she doesn't create distance the way she should.
And God, that settles something deep.
She's close enough now that I can feel her heat through both our clothes, close enough that every small shift of her body registers against mine like I'm tuned into it without choice. If I tilt my head just slightly, I could-
I stop myself.
Not because I don't want to.
Because I want it too much.
But I don't want to take it.
I want her to want it.
"You're going to fall if I let go," I say quietly, my voice low near her ear.
It's half a joke.
Half not.
Her lips part like she's about to argue, but what comes out is softer than it should be.
"I'm not that drunk," she says, and then laughs, the sound light and a little unsteady.
I huff out a quiet breath, my thumb shifting just slightly against her side.
Barely anything.
But I feel it.
The way her breath catches and that does something to me I don't even try to name.
"Are you always this careful with women?" she asks, tilting her head up toward me.
Careful.
I almost laugh.
That's not the word I would've chosen.
"Only when it's someone who matters."
Her eyes search mine, holding just a second too long, like she's trying to decide if I mean it.
I do.
I mean it more than I should.
Because the second I say it, I realize something that hits harder than it has any right to.
The noise is gone.
Not the music or the people.
The noise in my head.
The beeping sound of the monitors in the hospital. The smell of cheap disinfectant that wouldn't leave no matter how many times I washed my hands.
That sterile, suffocating air that clung to everything.
The memory of sitting there, watching someone I couldn't fix, couldn't help, couldn't save.
It's gone. Replaced by the soft warm body pressing up against me. By the sound of her laugh and the sweet smell of her perfume.
And the space inside my chest that's felt like something was carved out of it, doesn't feel all that empty right now.
"You do this a lot?" she asks.
"Do what?"
"This," she gestures faintly between us, her hand brushing my chest before dropping again. "Pick up women in bars."
I let out a breath that almost turns into a laught.
"No."
She raises a brow.
"I don't come here much," I add.
"That's convenient."
"It's true."
She studies me, slow and deliberate, then takes another sip of her drink, her eyes still on mine.
"You don't seem like someone who doesn't come here."
"What does that even mean?"
"It means you look comfortable."
I shake my head.
"I'm not."
My gaze drops back to her.
"With this," I gesture around us, "no."
Then I hold her eyes.
"With you. Incredibly."
The second it leaves my mouth, I feel the shift. Her breathing changes and she shifts her weight slightly.
I shouldn't say things like that, I realise too late.
She's going to pull away. Her fingers tighten around her glass.
But she stays.
"That's a dangerous thing to say," she murmurs.
"Why?"
"Because I might believe you."
Something tightens in my chest.
"Maybe you should," I say anyway.
I don't take it back.
I don't soften it.
I can't.
"You don't even know me."
"I want to."
"I'm only this version of me in here," she says, shaking her head slightly. "Out there, I'm someone else."
I don't like that.
The way she says it.
Like she's warning me.
Like she's trying to convince me she's not worth it.
Like someone made her believe that she isn't worth every bit of effort.
"You said I should come see your shop," I say, watching her carefully, pulling her back here before she drifts too far.
Her eyes flicker.
"I did."
"You invite a lot of strangers into your space?"
She pauses, then laughs softly.
"It's a coffee shop, Wade. Strangers walk in all the time."
That lands harder than it should.
Of course. I'm nothing special. Just another face. Another person she won't remember in the morning.
I look away, dragging my hand briefly over the back of my neck.
"You don't seem like the type who takes risks on people you don't know," I say.
"You don't know what type I am."
"I want to." I say way to quickly and she lifts her brows slightly.
"Oh yeah?"
I hold her gaze. Abso-fucking-lutely.
"I want to know everything about you."
That wasn't what I meant to say, but it's the truth nonetheless.
"I want to know what you're like when you're not here. When you're not careful."
A combination of caution and interest shift her expression into a wry smile as she bites the corner of her bottom lip. And I swear something feral wakes up inside of me at the sight of it.
"And what if you don't like what you find?" she asks.
"What is there not to like?"
She doesn't answer.
"You're very sure of yourself," she says.
"Just about this."
My hand presses more firmly against her back, pulling her just slightly closer.
I don't explain what this is.
Someone brushes past behind her and I shift automatically, turning so she's shielded again, my hand tightening at her waist without thinking.
Her back presses against the bar.
And before I even realize what I'm doing, my hands are on either side of her, bracing against the counter, boxing her in. She's breathing so heavily now that it almost consumes all my thoughts. I look down at her parted lips. How easy it would be to just lean down and close the space between us.
"You're doing that thing again," she says softly.
"What thing?" I shake my head trying to get a grip on my thoughts.
"That thing where you act like I might disappear if someone bumps into me."
I tilt my head, studying her.
God, I want to kiss her so badly it hurts.
"Would you?"
Her breath catches and her eyes drop to my lips. And linger. Yes, she wants this as much as I do.
"I should go," she says, but doesn't move.
Her hand is curled into my shirt. I'm not sure when that happened but I never want her to let go.
"Then go," I say quietly, leaning in just slightly.
I don't move my hands or give her space. She doesn't take the bait either. She stares up at me, a small defiant smile on her lips.
And somewhere in that moment, something settles into place behind my ribs. My heart starts to beat to the rhythm of her breathing and I don't want this to end here.
Not in a bar. Not in a moment that disappears the second she walks away.
I want more.
I want her in the quiet she talks about.
In the mornings that smell like coffee instead of antiseptic.
I want to see what she's like when she stops holding back.
I want to know what it would take to make her stay.
Her shoulders slack and the heat that was between us a moment ago dims a fraction.
"They want to leave," she says suddenly, her attention shifting past me.
I follow her gaze across the room to a group of women waving her over.
For fucks sake. Not now. They can't leave now when I was this close. I drop my head letting out a shaky breath and then reluctantly step back.
I take her hand in mine and start towards her friends. Her fingers curl around mine and even that has my jeans straining.
When we reach her friends she lets go of my hand quickly. They are all smiling far too brightly at me. They're all piss drunk, no doubt.
The one looks me up and down and then leans in to basically scream at Lizzy.
"Is this where you've been all night?" She's much louder than she needs to be, I'm sure Lizzy can hear her just fine.
I move my hand to rest on Lizzy's lower back. I'm not ready to let go of her just yet.
"I approve." The lady calls out again.
I look down at Lizzy, her cheeks are bright red and avoiding my gaze.
So I lean down, my lips just brushing her ear.
"I'll walk you out." I say, softly in her ear.
She stiffens, but nods and I take that as the only response I'm going to get
Outside, the cold air bites at my heated skin. It drags reality back too fast.
She wraps her arms around herself slightly and I want to kick myself for not having a jacket I could wrap around her.
She feels miles away already, pulling away from me as her friends start piling into the cab.
"I want to see you again."
The words come out before I can stop them.
Before I can make them safer, more appealing somehow.
"If that's not possible… at least give me your number."
She smiles, gentler than before and it feels like my heart is being ripped apart all over again.
"Oh, dear boy," she says quietly, "you don't want this to go anywhere else."
My jaw tightens, my hands clenching into fists at my side.
I don't interrupt. I can't even begin to find words that would make her stay at this point.
"I have a whole life outside of this," she continues. "And you are far too young to get caught up in it."
It hits harder than rejection would have.
Like a knife twisting in my chest.
My hand lifts without my brain's permission, fingers brushing her chin, tilting her face toward mine.
I press my lips against hers in a quick, impulsive kiss.
The second my brain catches up and I realize what I've done, I pull back too fast.
"I'm sorry—"
I don't finish. Her hand slides into my hair, firm, pulling me back down. Her warm lips crashing into mine.
And this time there's no hesitation.
My hand finds her waist again, pulling her closer, and everything else disappears.
The street.
The cold.
The world.
Gone.
There's only her and the sweet intoxicating taste of her mouth on mine.
And the realization hits me, deep and undeniable.
I have never felt anything like this.
Not even close.
When she pulls away, it takes everything in me not to follow.
Not to close the distance again.
Not to stop her.
"Maybe in another life," she says softly.
And then she's gone, slipping into the cab with her friends without another word.
I'm frozen in place. My lips still tingling.
I just stand there, staring after the cab like I might be able to undo it if I move fast enough.
If I go after her.
If I don't let her leave.
Every instinct in my body is screaming to follow. To jump on my bike and chase them down.
I pat my jeans pockets for my keys and realise uncontrollable desire that my fucking keys are in my jacket. My jacket that I handed in with my helmet at the bar because didn't want to have to carry it around all night.
"Fuck!" I call out into the night as I kick at a rock on the floor.
I grab fist fulls of my hair as I sit down on the edge of the pavement. Settling my elbows on my knees.
I take in a deep breath.
I can still smell her, taste her.
This isn't over for me. I have to find her again.