Total pages in book: 75
Estimated words: 77051 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 385(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77051 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 385(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
Juno and Arrow exchange a look.
“You mean check the security feed like a normal paranoid guy in love,” Juno says, “or stalk her doorstep like a love-struck weirdo?”
“Don’t answer that,” Ozzy says. “We all know the answer. It’s option two.”
I grab my hoodie and head for the door. “Thanks for the support, gentlemen.”
It’s late when I pull up outside the Riverside safe house. Her lights are on in the front room, a soft yellow glow illuminating the little potted plant Juno brought over. The guys did a decent job transforming this old building into something cozy. There’s a curtain on the window now, and I think Knight even added a bookshelf.
I don’t go to the door. I never do. I just stand there, hands stuffed in my pockets, heart aching with the want to be closer.
She’s safe. She’s okay. But I can’t protect her forever from this world or from the truth that her best friend might be a snake hiding in kitten heels.
I catch her curvy silhouette sliding across the curtain. She doesn’t look out—probably getting ready for bed. She favors those oversized tees, but they can’t hide the strength in her stance or the fire in her eyes. She’s tough. Braver than anyone I know.
And she kissed me like I was the only thing keeping her grounded.
God help me, I want more.
I lean against the building wall and close my eyes. For once, I’m not thinking about traps or data strings or cyber trails. I’m thinking about her smile. The way she bites her bottom lip when she’s concentrating. How she looks at me like maybe I matter.
And how I’m going to have to break her heart when this all comes out.
Because even if we prove Tasha’s involved, River is going to feel that betrayal in her bones. I want to be her safe place—but I might be part of what shatters her trust for good.
I tell myself I’ll leave after one more minute. Then my knuckles are on the wood.
I don’t mean to knock.
The locks click. The door opens.
River is barefoot in an oversized T-shirt and soft shorts, hair scraped up in a loose knot that’s losing the fight. She looks at me like she half expected this and half refuses to admit it.
“Hi,” she says.
I could say I was nearby. I could say I brought groceries. I could say anything that doesn’t sound like I can’t stay away from you.
“Hi,” I answer, and that’s all I’ve got.
She steps back to let me in. The safe house is warm and dim. The lavender plant on the counter is thriving. Of course it is. Everything survives here by sheer stubbornness.
“I shouldn’t be here,” I manage. “It’s late.”
“Why are you here?” she asks, shutting the door.
“I forget why.”
We stand there, two idiots in a room we built for danger, pretending we’re here for something as ordinary as conversation. Her eyes flick to my mouth and back up before she can stop them. It lands like a match.
“Did you need something?” she asks, voice all careful edges.
“Yeah.” I swallow. “To see you.”
Silence stretches between us. It’s heavy and thick with a tension I feel in my bones.
I cross the room before I can talk myself out of it. I stop close enough to feel the heat rolling off her skin. “Tell me to go,” I say, because I promised myself I’d always give her the exit first. “If you want me to.”
River doesn’t step back. She tips her chin up, and in that small motion I hear all the ways she’s refused to break.
“Stay.”
It’s a gravity switch. I fall.
I kiss her like I’ve been saving oxygen for this moment. She meets me with that fierce little sound I’ve only ever heard from her—want threaded with relief. My hands find her face—jaw, cheek, the wayward strand of hair that’s escaped her knot—and angle her mouth to mine like I’ve been planning this for years.
Because I have.
Her fingers fist in my hoodie and pull, dragging me into her until there’s not enough space for anything except heat. The kiss goes from soft to hungry in a clean snap. She opens for me and every line I’ve drawn burns away. She tastes like mint and something sweet—honey, maybe, or just the way her name feels when I say it into a pillow no one else will ever see.
I try to slow down. I try to be better than my own want. It lasts half a breath.
“Gage,” she murmurs against my mouth, and I break on the sound. I lift her, hands under her thighs, and her legs come around my hips like it’s muscle memory we share. The couch catches me in the back of the knee and I sit, dragging her into my lap. The lamp turns her hair to light blue, her throat to a line I want to memorize with my mouth.