Page 101 of Puck Prince

My heart slams into my ribcage.

Is he teasing? Does he know I was fucking with him a minute ago and he’s just upping the game? It’s always a game with him. That, I’m used to. But suddenly, I can’t seem to read the rulebook anymore. It’s in another language.

“Of course it is… right?” It seems like the right answer. Even if it does come out of my mouth awkwardly delayed and about two octaves too high.

“Because,” he says as if I hadn’t spoken, “the charity event is over. We performed for the people and did what we had to do… And yet, it’s pushing midnight, and here we are. Standing between your threshold and mine, waiting for something neither of us will admit, too. So I’m just curious, is it all still fake?”

It’s a trick question.

A trap.

We’re moving into very dangerous territory, and I’m not sure how to get out without being blown to bits.

I lick my lips, noting the way Owen tracks the movement. “What’s real is that our careers and reputations are on the line. I’m just trying to get through this without everything falling apart.”

Including my self-control. But standing this close to him, it’s already in tatters.

Owen lets out a noncommittal “Mm,” and releases the lock of hair he’s been holding. Still, he doesn’t step away. He breathes in slow and deep. His voice is a low rumble.

“I guess we should say goodnight, then.”

“Yeah,” I whisper. “I guess so.”

“I had a good time. Until I saw you get upset. That, I hated.”

“I had a good time, too…”

Too good. Even with everything that happened with Miles, this moment is overwriting it.It shouldn’t be this good.

There's a beat of silence. Everything seems to pause. The continual turning of the planet is hinged on our next words. On our next moves.

But the sirens in the far back of my mind convince me to take one step back. And another.

“I’ll see you later, Owen.”

He takes in a breath. “Yeah… Yeah, okay.”

We both turn to our doors.

We unlock them at the same time.

And we both spin right back around, facing each other.

“Owen—”

“Listen—”

We speak at the same time, and for a split second, just stare at each other. There’s a magnetic force drawing me over to him. I know he must feel it, too. I’m about to shred our rules into teeny, tiny, unreadable pieces.

Until our phones explode.

Chimes and dings and chirps shatter the moment as notification after notification rolls in.

“The fuck…?” he growls out.

I look at my phone, too. “Oh, God.”

“It’s Jaxon,” he sighs.

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