Page 48 of Second Sin

He disappears back into the crowd, and I’m left in the hallway, still slightly swaying, face burning, Sebastian standing a breath too close.

"Let her fall?" I repeat his words, my voice low and incredulous.

“I didn’t mean—” He runs a palm over his jaw. “He had his hands on you.”

“I tripped. He helped me.” I shoot back. "It's not like he kissed me."

The words land like a slap. Too fast. Too pointed.

And for a second, neither of us breathes.

Because that kiss still sits between us.

His gaze flicks to mine. There’s still fire in it, but under that—something else.

Something unsettled.

“He had his hands on you,” he repeats, quieter this time. “And you didn’t look okay.”

I open my mouth. Close it again.

Because maybe I didn’t.

Because maybe the way Tyler’s fingers lingered didn’t feel as harmless as I wanted it to.

Still.

“He’s your teammate.”

“I know,” Sebastian says, low and steady. “That’s the only reason he’s still standing.”

I shift slightly, putting a few inches between us, chasing the illusion of control I no longer have.

The tequila’s still warm in my veins, blurring the edges of everything. The floor feels uneven.

I blink, and the hallway wobbles—just slightly, like the ground’s exhaling beneath me. The wall looks close. Feels close.

I reach for it anyway.

My hand swipes through empty space.

Too far.

The shift in momentum pulls me forward a half step—knees soft, breath catching, the tequila suddenly louder in my head than the music.

And then?—

Warmth.

Sebastian's hand at my waist, large fingers at my elbow, anchoring me before I can fall.

It’s instinct. Automatic. Protective.

But the worst part—the part that makes my breath catch and my knees threaten to go again—is that I want it.

Crave it.

His hand. His closeness. The way his body angles just slightly toward mine.

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