Page 36

"Okay," he says, his eyes tracking me.

"I’m pissed that you let me win."

Something in his expression catches me off guard as he takes a step closer. It's unfamiliar enough that I almost miss what he's saying. "I played the game," he says, his tone infuriatingly level. "You haven't actually won yet. You didn't take your last shot." Then, as if whatever I'd just seen was never there to begin with, the corner of his mouth lifts into that cocky grin I love to hate.

"You threw it," I yell, crossing my arms over my chest to hide the fact that my hands are trembling. "After Shae left, you just… quit. I know what you look like when you’re playing to win, Chace. And just now? You were playing to lose."

"Maybe you just got better." He takes another step closer, like he’s trying to calm a wild animal.

I know I'm being irrational. But him throwing the bet just to avoid kissing me stings more than it should. “You proposed this bet! Does the idea of kissing me really turn you off that much?” The words are out before I can stop them.

He’s quiet for a beat too long. The silence stretches uncomfortably between us.

"The bet was stupid," he finally admits, his gaze dropping to the pavement before snapping back to mine. "I didn’t want you to feel like you had to—"

"Oh, my God." The admission lands, cold and heavy in my chest. "You threw the game so I wouldn’t have to kiss you."

He doesn’t deny it. He just stands there, that stupid, stoic cowboy expression firmly in place. Something hot and volatile surges through my veins. It isn’t just anger. It’s a frantic, terrifying buzz of something else—something I refuse to name, something I am currently shoving into a locked box in the back of my mind. "So, you felt sorry for me," I say, my voice tight.

"That’s not—"

"You looked at me and decided I’m too fragile to handle a kiss I didn’t ask for, so you’d play the martyr and throw the game to save me from the awkwardness. Is that it?"

"I was trying to be a decent guy, Addie."

"I don’t need you to manage me!" My voice echoes in the empty lot. "I don’t need you to make decisions about what I can and cannot handle. If I didn’t want to kiss you, I would have said no. I am a grown-ass woman, Chace. I am perfectly capable of turning you down."

He goes still, and for a second neither of us moves. His eyes drop to my mouth, lingering there just long enough to make my stomach tighten before they lift to meet mine again.

"So," he says, his voice rougher than before. "You wanted to kiss me."

"That is not what I said!"

"It's what you implied." He takes a step toward me. Then another. I hold my ground, though every instinct I possess is screaming at me to back up. He’s tall, solid, and radiating heat. "I'm just trying to understand the complaint, Sunshine. Because the way I'm hearing it, you’re upset I’m not kissing you."

"You’re hearing it wrong. I’m upset that you took the choice away from me." My chin lifts, a defensive reflex. "There is a difference."

"Is there?" He stops so close our chests are nearly touching. The neon sign above the bar door hums, casting light and shadow over his rugged features. He looks dangerous—like a storm about to break.

My heart is doing something frantic and loud, like a bird trapped in a cage. I step back, and my shoulders hit the brick wall of the building. Before I can even blink, his arm shoots up, palm flat against the brick beside my head.

He’s caged me in. "Here’s the thing, Sunshine," he murmurs, his voice a low, dark promise. He leans in, his face inches from mine. The scent of him—cinnamon and leather—makes my head swim. "If I had won that bet, you wouldn’t have walked away."

My breath hitches. "You don’t know that."

"I know exactly that."

He’s looking at my mouth again, his gaze unhurried, possessive. My brain starts supplying a list of reasons why this is a terrible idea, but none of them seem to matter. My reality has narrowed down to the warmth of his broad chest and the way his eyes track the movement of my pulse in my throat. He leans in further, and my world tilts. I don’t move. I can’t. I can only think about what his mouth would feel like on mine.

His breath skims over my lips—a ghost of a touch, a promise I’m not sure I can survive. Then, he turns his head at the last possible second. His mouth brushes against my ear, his stubble grazing my skin, sending a violent shiver down my spine.

"When I kiss you, Addie Dawson," he whispers, his voice vibrating through my very bones, "it won’t be because of some stupid bet." He pauses. I can feel his hot breath against my neck and can’t help but shift beneath him, a small moan escaping my lips as he grins against my ear. "It’ll be because you beg me." He pulls back just enough to look at me, that insufferable, cocky smirk playing on his lips.

I feel my face heat, a bloom of color that I know betrays every single thing I’m trying to hide. I push the heat down, replacing it with a hard, sharp spike of defiance. "Fuck you, Chace," I breathe, my voice surprisingly steady. "I will never beg you."

The smile that spreads across his face is slow, certain, and completely devastating. He reaches out and tucks a stray lock of hair behind my ear, his thumb lingering against my jaw just a second too long. "We’ll see," he says with a wink.

He actually winks, then turns and walks back toward the bar as if he hasn’t just completely dismantled my entire nervous system. The door swings shut, swallowing him whole, leaving me alone in the dark, staring across the parking lot, trying to remember how to breathe.