Page 19 of July's Bad Boy: Blaze
The air between us feels charged, electric. He's close enough that I can see the flecks of gold in his brown eyes, and can smell the faint scent of his skin beneath the wood smoke.
"I can't do this," I whisper. "Not if you're just going to leave."
He moves closer, his hand coming up to gently touch my cheek. "I'm not playing at this, Grace. Not with you."
And then he's kissing me, or I'm kissing him. I'm not sure who moves first. His lips are soft, insistent, and I feel myself melting into him, my hand finding his chest, feeling his heartbeat racing beneath my palm.
The kiss deepens, and for a moment, I let myself forget everything. The town, the road, the inevitable goodbye. But reality crashes back, and I pull away, breathless.
"I won't be a temporary thing, Blaze," I say, my voice unsteady. "If you're going to run the second you get the call, don't start something now."
He rests his forehead against mine, his breath warm on my face. "What if I don't want to run?"
"You will," I say, pulling back further. "This town isn't your world."
He doesn't argue, and that tells me everything I need to know. Instead, he nods and stands, taking one of the blankets to the floor near the stove.
"You take the bed," he says. "I'll be fine down here."
I want to argue, to tell him the bed is big enough for both of us, but that would be a dangerous lie. Instead, I nod and lie down, pulling the blanket up to my chin.
"Goodnight, Grace," he says softly.
"Goodnight, Blaze."
I listen to the storm outside, to his breathing slowly evening out, and stare at the ceiling. I'd spent so long building walls. And one stubborn rock star was chipping at every single one.
CHAPTER 7
BLAZE
I wake with a crick in my neck and a cold draft snaking up my spine. The floor of the cabin, while technically flat, feels like I've spent the night on a bed of pinecones. My back protests as I shift, blinking still semi dark from the rain that is still coming down.
That's when I notice Grace is already awake. She's propped up on one elbow in bed, watching me with an unreadable expression. Her hair is tousled from sleep, catching the golden light in a way that makes my breath catch.
"Morning," I croak, my voice rough with sleep.
"Morning," she replies, her voice softer than I've ever heard it.
We both know what almost happened last night. The almost-kiss hangs between us like a physical thing, charged and undeniable.
"Next time, remind me to fight harder for the bed," I say, attempting to stretch the stiffness from my limbs.
The corner of her mouth lifts in a small, secretive smile. "Next time, you don't need to."
My heart does a strange little flip in my chest. I clear my throat and push myself to sit, pretending her words didn't just send my pulse racing.
"Coffee?" I ask, already moving toward the remnants of last night's fire.
"Please," she says, swinging her legs over the side of the bed.
I busy myself with rekindling the fire and making some of the instant coffee I found in the cabinet last night. It's not great, but it's caffeine, and right now that feels essential. When I turn around with two steaming mugs, Grace has moved to the small table, wrapped in a blanket against the morning chill.
"Thanks," she says, accepting the mug. Our fingers brush, and neither of us pretends not to notice.
We sip in silence for a moment before Grace speaks again.
"I'm sorry about last night," she says. "Not for... you know. But for shutting down. It's just--" She stares into her coffee like it might contain the words she's looking for.
