Page 15 of Ready or Not
“But you got me all figured out. You even got a nickname for me now.”
“Barely,” she shot back. "Barely is the key word here. I’ve only scratched the surface, but I want more.”
“Then ask for more,” my voice lowered an octave as I leaned forward into her personal space, and she didn’t back away. Instead, she held her ground, her gaze steady, though I noticed the faintest rise in her chest as she inhaled.
“What’s something you’ve never told anyone?” Her voice was suddenly softer, filled with a sexual undertone, and it turned me on in a way that made my pulse quicken. I swallowed hard, trying to steady myself, yet her proximity was wrecking my composure.
“A secret?” My voice came out a lot deeper and breathier than I intended, betraying exactly how much she affected me.
“Yes,” she replied, leaning in just a fraction closer, as if daring me to close the gap entirely.
Ay…Dios, ayúdame.
I ran my thumb along the edge of my glass, stalling as I dug through myself for something small enough to offer yet big enough to mean something. Finally, I stopped fidgeting and looked at her dead-on.
“I’m terrified of losing control.”
Her eyes softened at my confession, and for a moment, she didn’t say anything—just studied me like she was trying to see past it all. Past the guarded layers, past the smooth deflections. My heart pounded in my chest, each beat echoing in my ears as I waited for her reaction.
“Control,” she repeated quietly, almost to herself. She leaned back slightly, however, her gaze never wavered from mine. “Like what kind of control?”
I shrugged and forced a small chuckle, trying to lighten the moment even though it felt like I had just exposed a nerve. “The kind that keeps everything in check. Keeps people at a distance or situations from getting… messy.”
Her lips curved into a faint, knowing smile. “Messy like spilled drinks?”
“No, Spill-prone,” I chuckled, shaking my head. “Messy like emotions.”
She tilted her head, considering that for a moment. Her fingers absentmindedly traced patterns on the table between us.
“That’s heavy… You do realize that it’s a human thing to be a little messy, right?”
I grimaced. “Yeah, I get that. But it doesn’t mean I like it.”
She studied me for a moment, her expression unreadable, then leaned forward again, closing the distance I hadn’t realized had grown between us. Her hair caught the low light of the bar, shimmering like some kind of halo, and suddenly, I wasn’t sure if my confession had made her more intrigued or if she was quietly plotting my demise with all this closeness.
“Maybe you don’t have to like it,” she said finally, her voice a low murmur that tangled itself around me, pulling me deeper into her magnetic pull. “Maybe you just have to accept it. Let it… happen for once and you’ll see that it’s not so bad.”
I opened my mouth to respond—to deflect or make a joke or something that would put me back on solid ground—yet nothing came out.
She disarming me with just a few words.
Smirking at my silence, it was almost as if she knew exactly what was happening inside my head. That infuriatingly beautiful smirk—it was the kind of expression that made you want to both kiss someone senseless and argue with them just for the sake of seeing what else might unfold.
I leaned back slightly, trying to regain some sense of control, but her gaze followed me like it was tethered to mine.
“You make it sound so easy.”
“Who said it’s supposed to be easy?” she shrugged, her hand moving to cradle her empty glass, swirling the liquid inside absently. “The good things never are.”
“Is that your philosophy on life?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Maybe,” she said. “Do you disagree?”
“I—” I paused. “I don’t know if I agree or disagree with you yet.”
“Fair enough,” she said, tipping her glass in a mock toast before setting it back down. “But you can’t stay on the fence forever, you know. That’s just another way of keeping control.”
You can’t stay on the fence forever, her words replayed as I tried to process them, but they lodged themselves in my mind like splinters.
