Page 21 of The Spark

I grabbed my keys, cutting her off. “Come on, A. When’s the last time we went?”

Her lips parted like she had an excuse ready, but she didn’t use it.

She inhaled softly, then let out a slow breath. “Fine.”

I smiled, tossing her a look. “I’ll warm up the car.”

The car ride started easy.

Music debates. Laughs. Her teasing me about my obsession with snare drums and old samples. Me throwing jabs at her for pretending she didn’t love 90s R&B.

But somewhere between a red light and the second hook of a Donell Jones track, the air shifted.

“You remember that day?” I asked.

Silence.

She knew which one.

“The day we argued about albums?” she asked, her voice quieter.

I nodded slowly. “The day I almost kissed you.”

She turned, fast, her eyes wide.

I didn’t look at her. Kept my eyes on the road. My hands tight on the wheel.

“I regret not going through with it,” I said.

The words were soft. Too honest.

“But you know what I regret more?”

My voice dipped, low and slow.

She didn’t answer. I could feel her watching me.

“That night in 2020,” I said. “When I had you on the couch. Hoodie pulled up. Your legs over my shoulders.”

She inhaled sharp through her nose.

“I still think about how you tasted. How soft you were.”

I finally looked at her. “How you said please.”

Her eyes widened, lips parting, but I didn’t give her room to deflect.

“I wanted more,” I said. “Still do. “

She said nothing, but I could hear her swallowing down the truth. That she wanted me to finish.

“I think about that night more than I should,” I admitted. “About what would’ve happened if you hadn’t stopped me.”

The air in the car thickened. The tension between us stretching taut.

Because that was the moment I knew I wanted her. Not just as a friend. Not just for laughs or late-night playlists. But really wanted her. And now it was dangerous. The way we moved around each other. The way lust simmered beneath the surface, quiet but alive.

If we took this step, if we crossed that final line…

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