Page 62 of The Assist
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
MIA
The second I kiss him, I know I’ve crossed a line I can’t uncross.
His lips are soft but unyielding, and for one long, suspended breath, he doesn’t move. And then he does. Slowly and deliberately, like he’s been holding himself back for too long, and now he’s unravelling, piece by careful piece.
I feel it in the way his hand lifts to my face, thumb grazing my jaw, reverent and unsure all at once. He kisses me like I’m breakable. Like he’s afraid I’ll disappear if he gets it wrong.
And it would be easier if I could pull away. If I could backpedal and pretend this is nothing. But I can’t. Not when he’s looking at me like this. Not when his mouth tastes like every question I’ve been too afraid to ask.
We stay there, still pressed against the kitchen counter like we’re trying to anchor ourselves to something real. His breath is warm against my cheek when we pause, foreheads nearly touching, and I’m close enough to feel the steady thrum of his heartbeat against my chest.
“Mia,” he whispers, my name sounds like a confession when he says it.
I swallow hard and pull back a fraction to look at him. His eyes are stormy, wide and searching, and his hand hasn’tmoved from my face. He’s holding me like I’m the only thing keeping him steady.
And maybe I am. God help me.
“I shouldn’t have done that,” I murmur.
His lips twitch like he might smile, but it never quite happens. “Not gonna lie to you,” he says, voice gravel-deep and quiet, “if you tell me that was a mistake, I might actually lose it.”
I exhale shakily. “It’s not that it didn’t mean anything, because it did. That’s the problem.”
“Then don’t pretend it didn’t.” He closes the almost invisible gap between us, and the air shifts. “Don’t give me that look like you’re already trying to take it back.”
I press my palms flat to the counter behind me, trying to steady myself. “I don’t know what I’m doing, Dylan.”
“Neither do I,” he says. “But I’m not gonna pretend this isn’t real.”
There’s a silence that stretches between us like wire; thin, sharp, and definitely dangerous.
“I spent half the night thinking about you,” I admit, the words escaping before I can stop them. “Every time I closed my eyes, I saw your face. Heard your voice. And it made me feel like I was losing something by not letting you in.”
His eyes darken, and he steps in fully, caging me in with his arms. His chest is warm against mine, and I can smell the clean scent of rain on his jacket, the faint trace of whatever aftershave he uses. It’s all too much, but not enough at the same time.
“You’re not losing anything,” he says, his voice low. “You’re just scared.”
I nod because it’s true. “You terrify me.”
“I know.” He leans in, brushing a kiss to my cheek so soft it makes my chest ache. “I’m scared too.”
And somehow, that’s worse. Because Dylan doesn’tscare easy. On the ice, he’s reckless. Bold. The kind of player who never hesitates. But this? Us? It’s got him spooked. Which only makes me want to fall harder. I close my eyes, letting my forehead rest against his. “This isn’t how I imagined it.”
He huffs a soft laugh. “You imagined it?”
“I’m not made of stone.”
A slow, lopsided smile spreads across his face. “Well, thank God for that.”
There’s another pause, and another shared breath. And then I pull him in again, this time slower, deeper, with everything I haven’t said conveyed into the kiss.
His hands slide around my waist, careful and steady, pulling me tightly against him. I feel the shift in him, the way he holds himself back even as he melts into me. I feel the way he could devour me, but doesn’t.
Because he’s waiting for me to say yes. To say yes to something more than this.
His mouth trails along my jaw, down to the hollow of my throat, and I gasp softly, my fingers fisting in the fabric of his shirt. I feel every inch of him pressed to me, every heartbeat that echoes my own.
