Page 157

Get it together. You’re no bleedin’ romance hero.

“Ah, yes, my apologies.” She rolled her eyes and chuckled.

The snowfall eased the closer we inched to campus, leaving only a few slender snowflakes swaying in the headlights as we made our way back.

The road was entirely different from the one we’d taken after the movie, with the lingering scent of her skin curling in the air between us, her knee bouncing in tune with the music, and her fingers scorching a handprint through mine.

And just when I thought it couldn’t get any worse for my heart rate, her soft sleeping sounds settled in my ears, drawing that idiotic smile on my face again.

I focused on the road, cradling her hand on the console and shifting with my right so I wouldn’t jostle her, knuckles white on the rubber as I tried to remind myself why wrapping her in a blanket and tucking her in my bed so I could fall asleep to that sound was a bad idea.

The need for a smoke kicked up like an itch under my skin, one I couldn’t scratch, but not because of my “no smoking in the car” rule.

I cursed the streets for being clearer the closer we inched to the city. I could’ve done with a challenge, a patch of ice, a thick layer of snow—anything but the thoughts swirling in my mind.

The drive back stretched interminable, but when the familiar shape of the iron gate and the silhouette of the Academy came into view, a vice wrapped around my ribs.

She’d slipped towards me in her sleep, until her shoulder pressed into mine and her breath ghosted over the side of my neck. Her scent had settled in every crevice of the car, in my sweater, in my coat, and I wasn’t sure I ever wanted to get it out.

I cleared my throat. “Mia.”

Unbuckling my seatbelt, I leaned in. “We’re here, baby,” I murmured, unsure whether I wanted her to wake up or not.

She blinked open her eyes, and her unfocused and unguarded gaze landed on me, stealing my breath again.

My lips found hers as I cradled the back of her head, fingers knotting into the silken strands like they didn’t want to let go.

Her soft hum of contentment vibrated into my chest, and I wanted to pick her up, carry her upstairs and—

She deserved me to take it slow, but I wasn’t sure I could be that person, not tonight. I was hanging by a thread, with no clue when it would snap, when I’d haul her over my shoulder and damn the consequences. Or worse, open my mouth and say something I couldn’t retract.

Hand trembling, molars aching, I withdrew, unbuckled her seatbelt, but made no move to get out.

A confused frown drew between her brows, and I almost arched in to smooth it with my lips.

She gave me a little double-take, chewing on her lip.

Before she could ask—or worse, invite me up—I murmured, “Goodnight, Mia.”

My knuckles brushed over her cheek, once, twice, before my hand fell and the words stilled on the tip of my tongue.

Every second she searched my face gnawed at my resolve.

Finally, she nodded.

“Goodnight, Josh,” she said, voice a gentle hum.

My fingers flexed under hers, giving them a squeeze, then let go. She passed me my coat, eased out of the car, and gave me a little wave.

The door shut with a soft click, and she turned and shuffled away, knees still wobbly.

The loud clang of the iron gate echoed like a gunshot in my ear, before I pulled out sharply onto the road, tires screeching, stupid, malfunctioning heart thrashing against my ribs.

My knuckles blanched on the wheel and my head tipped back against the headrest, shoulders slumping, as a raw, strangled “fuuuck” rasped through gritted teeth.

Freezing air whizzed past my ear as the window cracked open.

My fingers still trembled as I lit a cigarette, breaking my own rule.