Page 69 of The Assist
Her words hit low and direct. And I don’t know whether to kiss her or run.
“I’m not pretending,” I say quietly.
She searches my face like she’s trying to decide if she trusts me. And then, just like the night before, she reaches for me first.
Her hands find my jacket, fingers curling in the fabric, and then she’s kissing me. Fierce, like she doesn’t want to second-guess it this time. Like she’s tired of her own rules.
I grip her waist and press her back against the side of my car, kissing her deeper. My body’s already pulsating, like she’s plugged me into the mains. Everything about her is hot and real and terrifying. She breaks the kiss just long enough to suck in a breath, after a brief glance at the floor, she looks up and me and smiles wide.
“I shouldn’t want this,” she whispers.
I brush her hair back behind her ear. “But you do.”
She nods, slow. Her eyes flick down to my mouth again, and then widen in horror.
“Oh God,” she mutters. “Murphy.”
I turn my head. Sure enough, Murphy’s halfway acrossthe lot, frozen mid-step, mouth open like he’s just walked in on a live soap opera.
“Really?” he calls out. “You couldn’t wait five minutes until I left?”
Mia groans and hides her face against my chest. I laugh, low and rough.
Murphy grins and throws us a thumbs up. “Finally,” he yells. “Now maybe Diesel will stop being a tragic fucking poem!”
And with that, he saunters off toward his car, whistling like the smug bastard he is.
Mia sighs against me. “He’s never going to let this go.”
“Nope,” I say, pressing a kiss to her temple. “But I’m not going to, either.”
She looks up at me, and this time, there’s no fight in her eyes. Just that quiet, bone-deep truth I’ve been waiting to see.
“I’m scared,” she admits.
“So am I,” I reply. “But I’d rather be scared with you than safe without you.”
And for the first time in a long time, I actually think that’s enough.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
MIA
Idon’t know what possesses me to say it. Maybe it’s the way Dylan looks at me like I’m the only thing holding him together. Maybe it’s the taste of him still on my lips, or the fact that Murphy’s bloody whistling is still ringing in my ears like a warning shot and I’m sick of pretending I don’t want this.
“Come back with me,” I say, quiet but steady.
He blinks, brows pulling together like he wants to make sure I’m serious. I nod. “To mine.”
There’s a beat of silence. And then he nods, wordless.
“I’ll follow you,” he says, his voice low and rough, and my stomach does that weird little flip that has become the norm every time Dylan speaks now.
We walk to our cars without another word. My hands tremble as I grip the steering wheel, and I catch sight of him in my rear-view mirror, engine idling behind me like he’s daring me to change my mind. I don’t.
I can’t.
My heart’s racing like I’ve been running sprints with the team the entire drive back. My lips are still tingling from our kiss. God, the way he touched me, like he was barely holding himself back. Like he was scared to want me too much.
