Page 30 of Rook

“I know you—and I doubt that,” she murmurs.

But I push back.

“Craved the thrill. Craved the cash. And hell, it cranked up the volume on my otherwise beige existence.” I scratch the back of my neck, feeling the weight of old ghosts settling on my shoulders. “State custody was my wake-up call. Turns out, I’m allergic to iron bars and concrete.”

“Still,” she presses, “it sounds like you were part of something bigger—“

“Part of something stupid, you mean.” My thumb hovers over the game controller, idle. “I wasn’t trying to change the world. Just wanted to feel like I owned it for a while.”

“Rook,” she says, voice dropping an octave, intimate in the dark space between us, “I don’t think you’re giving yourself enough credit.”

I snort, the sound more bitter than I intend. “For what? Nearly wrecking my life?”

She shifts, and I’m hyper-aware of the scant inches between us. “No, for doing what you did. You could have sold anything, but you were leaking suppressants to the masses—to omegas who needed it. Even if you got screwed, you were helping people.”

“By accident.”

“By choice,” she says. “Why not go back to coke, LSD? You could’ve made money on the side, but you risked state secrets instead. And even people who are doing it for the wrong reasons can end up helping.”

I shrug, sighing deeply. “Guess you’re right.”

“See?” Her gaze doesn’t waver. “That’s what makes you a good person.”

‘Good person’ isn’t a label I’m used to wearing; even those I consider friends have described me as a selfish bastard more than once. “You’ve got a strange definition of ’good,’ Aisling.”

“Maybe I do.” She smiles, a moonbeam breaking through clouds. “But I’m pretty sure I’m not wrong about this.”

We go still. The air between us could be cut with the edge of a knife. I can feel the heat coming off her skin, sense the slight rise and fall of her chest. It’s like we’re both on the precipice, a shared breath away from tumbling into something we might not come back from.

And I can’t stop myself.

Not anymore.

My lips find hers in an uncertain dance, hesitant at first like we’re both asking questions neither of us is sure we want answered. But then the kiss deepens, and it’s no longer about questions or answers. It’s just the two of us, the give and take, the slow burn that obliterates thought.

Her mouth moves against mine with a kind of innocence that’s disarming. She’s tentative, exploring, and I match her gentleness without thought. The world narrows down to this simple act—a kiss that’s pure and sweet, like something from another life where complications don’t exist.

I’m getting a different side of her than the one I’ve been fantasizing about…and somehow, it’s even better.

Her hands are feather-light on my shoulders, anchoring me to the moment. Time twists, stretches, melts away. There’s no past mistakes, no future uncertainties, just the now—that’s all there is, all there needs to be.

We break apart, but only just.

Foreheads touching, breaths mingling, we linger in the aftermath, silent because words would shatter the magic of what’s just happened.

And for an eternal second, everything is perfect.

I pull away first, the taste of her still lingering like a secret. Her eyes, those grey storms, lock with mine, and there’s a question in them—a silent plea for more.

“Rook?” she breathes out, her voice a soft note in the hush that wraps around us.

“Hey,” I say, my voice rough like gravel, “we should—“

Aisling cuts me off, leaning in, aiming to capture my lips again. But I catch her by the shoulders, gentle but firm. “Ais, wait.”

The room seems to hold its breath as she looks at me, confusion knitting her brows.

“I want to take this slow,” I tell her, brushing a stray blonde lock behind her ear. My fingers linger on the warmth of her skin, craving to stay.

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